Chapter Fifty Two. Duck!

Duck!

If it hadn't been for the voice which told him to do so, Derby may not have hit the ground fast enough to avoid being struck by the next bolt of electricity, which was fracturing the air around him like ricocheting ball bearings.

"Over there, quick," said the voice, "behind the limo!"

"How did we get thrown from the limo in the first place?," Derby thought to himself as he sped along the ground like a lizard in a mine field. "And why does our luxury limousine look like it was bombed by a four deuce mortar platoon?"

From behind the bombed out limo, Derby was able to sit up and try to make sense of the war zone he found himself in. First order of business was to identify the voice which had guided him to safety.

"Stay low and close to the car," came the command, which sounded eerily like a chipmunk version of a recent conversation. "And be careful not to smash me, I'm in your pocket."

Derby was a little bruised and dusty, but in his grip were still the white and black marbles, which he clutched now as if they were the keys to the cabinet holding the ruby slippers. After he deposited them safely in his pants pocket, he began to explore his other pouches on his clothing to locate the source of the squeeky voice.

"Shirt pocket, Derb," said the voice. "Careful, I'm a little slimy."

Reaching gingerly into his shirt pocket, Derby found the slippery goober of a being which was directing him in guerilla reconnaissance.

"Hey there," said the worm, to the monster nose and face which stared at it in disbelief. "Fredalnte Muscovito, at your service!"

"You're a worm!," exclaimed Derby, who would have demanded even more explanation if it wasn't for the electrical warfare that was blowing holes in everything within a fifty meter radius.

"Sort of correct," answered the inched-up gummy goober. "Remember those steamy strands of rubber bands you saw in the cavity of my former noggin? Well, Voila! I try not to let a little inconvenience of deadly ray gun zapper bolts to ruin my day. Now Eat Me."

"Well screw you too," said Derby, thinking Fredalnte was being indignant.

"No. I mean, Eat me. Like really eat me," ordered the talking slippery smelly buggar of a dirt worm. "Then we'll finish up the lesson about how all this accumulated Yang energy has got the whole ball of Earth dangling by the last straw of the camel's back, just this side of the eye of the needle."

"Slow down there, Mr. Goobie Worm," said Derby to the less attractive Fredalnte. "One step at a time there little fella. Let's start with this whole Eat Me concept. Sniffing you is bad enough at the moment. Eating you? Out of the question!"

"Over the teeth and through the gums, look out Derby tum tum, here I come!," joked Freddie the inch worm.

"You're not going over the teeth, nor anywhere near a periodontal treatment of my gums!," demanded Derby, who was winding up as if to throw the winning pitch at the World Series. "Now think of another way to help me or you're out of here, Worm Bag."

"Shereeeee!," whistled the slimy crawler, "Hold the presses! For one thing there are other worms from where I come from and for the second thing, I'm your way to safety. I know who is firing the lightning bolts. You throw me away and you're throwing your life away slugger! Now Eat Me or be damned!"

"OK Mister smarty pants," said Derby the professor to the wiggly night crawler, "Whom or what is firing the electrical storm and why are they trying to kill me?"

"It is a they and we call them False Yin," spoke the worm.  "It is sort of like a political action committee for the 71 monsters who run the world. They masquerade as the Divine Feminine to infiltrate the consciousness of progressive warriors. Once they've managed to steal the hearts and minds of men (and women) they become the strong arm for EYF. Very nasty group."

"EYF?," asked Derby simply.

"Excess Yang Foundation," answered the stretchy megadrile.

"Sounds ridiculous to me," Derby replied. "I think we should find another way to move for......," and before he could finish the sentence, the remains of the limousine lit up like an xray machine made of Kryptonite and then vanished, leaving Derby exposed to the war zone and a thousand rays of light.

"Gulp," was the sound of the worm being swallowed. "Damn worm better know his shit," Derby thought as the disgusting, slimy, Fred worm mucus coated his throat, gagging him to just South of Spewville.

"Can you hear me now?" said a voice from somewhere inside himself.

"Good," came the reply from the same source.