Doctor Trek - Sammy's War (1) DOCTOR TREK THE NEW ADVENTURES SAMMY'S WAR BY IAN KIDD CHAPTER ONE He should have known their relationship was over when she asked him to have sex with her. The Willis' were going to have to move due to financial pressures, and she wanted him to be "the one". Of course, he was only too happy to oblige, but then the Willis' had decided they weren't moving after all, so it was "hands off" time again. Sammy Davis Jnr. had not been pleased. Then Cody had decided she was going to America to be an exchange student for a whole year. Sammy hadn't been pleased about that, either. Having been cut off from his own time, his own planet, his own universe, and even his own dimension just to be with her, Sammy thought her leaving was a bit of a cheek, really. And he told her so. So she left, thinking that not only was he arrogant, insensitive, sex-mad and obnoxious, but that he had a screw loose somewhere, too. True, they'd kissed (a very long one, Sammy had made sure - well it had to be to last a year) and made up before she left, and they still wrote to each other every week, but Sammy still had the feeling she thought he was a bit weird. Which Sammy thought was a bit of a cheek, as well, considering she'd lived through the Krites/Master/Visitors crisis in the small US town of Twin Peaks as well as him, and had seen him give up his travels through time and space with Captain James T. Who to be with her. Then again, once back in Ramsay Street, things HAD been a bit strange. He'd gone to live with the Robinsons without asking them, become best friends with Josh Anderson after about thirty seconds, and despite his efforts, had them all (including Cody) still referring to him as "Todd". Perhaps being in Ramsay Street numbed the brain, Sammy had thought, or perhaps they were just Australian. He still wasn't sure which, although after viewing a few so-called Oz sit-coms, he was increasingly starting to favour the latter option. But despite it all, he thought she still loved him, and was certain he still loved her. Which rather meant getting "the letter" had been a double blow. It had started off ordinarily enough, but then the handwriting had changed completely and she'd said "You know what we said about seeing other people? Well - " It had taken all the Robinsons to hold him down to stop him killing himself. Why in God's name had he said "We can see other people, providing - " Why? Why? How could he have been so fucking STUPID? After six days in Erinsborough Hospital suffering from shock and feeble knofe marks on each wrist, Sammy had been discharged, the Robinsons being told "Keep him away from knives and especially girls". Sammy had spent those days in a bewildered haze, remembering the great times he'd had with Cody. Their first meeting, their first kiss... their in-depth discussion of parallel universes on their way back from Twin Peaks: "So my life was a tv show called "Wickersley Comp", correct?" "Yeah, but I hated the way they wrote you out." "Why?" "It was so STUPID. You got abducted by a time-space ship! Science fiction is so DUMB." "Cody, we're made for each other." Things hadn't been so good back in Ramsay Street. She'd forgotten the Twin Peaks expedition, so talking to her about his past made her look at him all strange, she'd insisted on calling him "Todd" all the bloody time, and on occasion he'd even caught himself playing football and acting Australian. Jeez, this street was weird! Now she was gone. Out of sight, and he well and truly out of her mind, her having fallen some yankee macho jock, who probably wore her undergarments to impress his friends when she wasn't looking. All his life he'd come second place (not true - once or twice he'd come third) and he was pig sick of it. And losing Cody was the sickest thing he'd ever known. For now he was stuck in some parallel universe fantasy nowhere, with morons who called him after a tv character he never could stand and who weren't even real anyway. He'd done it all for the girl he loved, and now she was gone, her love for him a distant memory for her, that she would one day look back on with either affection or (knowing his luck) nausea. Sammy was fed up. He was lonely, and he was trapped in a backward country of a backward planet in a universe that wasn't even real. It had been one of those years. And it was about to get much, much worse. Sammy knocked on the front door of the Willis house. He'd made up his mind. He'd be damned if he was going to stay in this sub-standard Aussie soap longer than he had to. He was going to get Cody's full US address from her parents, steal a lot of money from the Robinsons to pay for the airfare (hey, it wasn't real money, so it wasn't real stealing) and fly over to the US to confront her and hopefully win her back. If he failed, he was going to Carbury in England, sneak in behind the army patrols, and hitch a ride off this godforsaken planet - the Captain hadn't made him watch "Battlefield" for nothing. If he was stuck forever in unreality, he was damn well going to enjoy himself as much as possible while he had the chance. The door opened to reveal Brad, Cody's unbelievably stupid brother. "Yeah, man?" "Are your parents in?" Sammy asked. Brad thought for a moment or two. Sammy could see the steam rising. "No," he finally decided. Surfies, Sammy thought despairingly. "Well, could you give me Cody's new address? I understand she's moved." "Hunh?" Brad looked mystified. "Her address? I know she dumped me an' all, but - " "Whose address?" Could he really be this stupid? It was like having a conversation with a urinal. "Cody's," Sammy smiled patiently. "Cody? Who's he?" Sammy stared at him disbelievingly. God, he was a RETARD. "Your sister." Sammy tried not to lose his patience. "Oh yeah man, Gaby," Brad grinned moronically. "Not Gaby," Sammy said through clenched teeth. "Your other sister, Cody." God, she'd only been gone two months and her own brother couldn't remember her! "No. No Cody here," Brad showed his nauseatingly perfect white teeth. Sammy felt like punching them all out. That'd take the grin off his ugly face. "I know she's not here. She's in America. That's why I want her address, for Christ's sake!" "Don't get heavy, man," Brad reasoned. "Don't Frobisher me," Sammy warned. "Give me Cody's address." "Wrong house, man," Brad smiled. "No Cody in this family." That was fucking IT. "Is having an IQ of minus thirty a prerequisite for a surfer?" Sammy stormed. "For God's sake, I'm not asking you to put two and two together, I know that would be a bit beyond you, but I would expect you to know the name of your own friggin' sister!" Brad watched this tirade, gobsmacked. "Look, Todd man - " "I'm not fucking Todd!" Sammy screamed. (I should hope not.) "God, I'm sick of this show! Why I ever watched it in the first place is bloody beyond me!" "Hey, what's going on here?" Doug Willis asked, coming up the driveway behind Sammy. Sammy turned and breathed a sigh of relief. "Mr Willis - thank goodness. Someone who can hold an intelligent conversation for more than thirty seconds without it being about surfing." "What do you want, Todd?" Pam asked, joining Doug. "All I want is Cody's address," Sammy explained. "Is that too much to ask?" "Cody?" Doug looked puzzled. "Who's Cody?" Sammy stared. "Mrs Willis?" "We don't know any Cody here," Pam smiled, revealing nauseatingly perfect white teeth. Sammy stared. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" "We really don't know what you're talking about," Doug smiled reasonably, revealing nauseatingly perfect white teeth. "But - " Sammy stopped. Wait a minute. Back up a moment. THREE of them with those vomit-inducing teeth? Was that in any way plausible? Brad the surfie nerd, yes. How else would he attract the blonde bimbos? But Pam? Doug? This was ridiculous. It was like being at an oral hygiene convention. And why didn't they know their own damn daughter? What on Earth was going on? Not on Earth. Something weird was happening. Brad, Pam, Doug, all gleaming white teeth. All vapid, slightly menacing, rather too wide to be believable grins. Sammy didn't have a clue what was going on, but he wanted out - fast. He didn't realise he'd left it just one day too many to leave Ramsay Street. CHAPTER TWO Sammy stumbled across to Joe Mangel's house. He needed help. Joe was a bit of an idiot, but he was good fun and basically a nice guy. Sammy didn't know what was going on over at the Willis', but he got the feeling, whatever it was, it shouldn't be. "Joe!" he yelled. "Joe!" The door opened to reveal an attractive woman in her late twenties. "Hello?" Sammy was taken aback. "Is Joe in?" "Joe who?" Not again, Sammy thought. "Who the hell are you?" Jeez, he was beginning to sound like Bart Simpson. "Julie Martin, but I really don't see - " "Oh, to hell with this!" Sammy raced off. "Well, really!" Julie fumed. Sammy reached the Robinson house and fumbled with the lock. At least his key still worked. Sammy entered the house uneasily, to breathe a sigh of relief to see Helen having a snooze on the sofa. "Thank God," he said aloud. "This whole place has gone nuts." Gently, he shook her awake. Helen's eyes opened. "Oh, sorry, I just fell - " she looked at him and screamed. "Todd! You're dead!" She collapsed. I have that effect on women, Sammy thought, trying to find a pulse. There was none. Great. Just bloody great. This day was turning out to be a real bummer so far. His bedroom door - the one he shared with Josh - opened. "Josh!" Sammy called. "Helen's - " he stopped. A man with flowing dark hair came out of the bathroom, carrying a shotgun. "Helen, I'm just off to kill that gang leader who beat me - " he broke off, taking in the scene. "Then again, I could put it off for a while." He aimed the shotgun at Sammy. "Wait!" Sammy squawked, throwing his hands up. "Yes, wait, Wayne," a beautiful blonde entered. "Annalise - " Wayne began, his finger never wavering from the trigger. "Oh, you can kill him if you want," Annalise smiled seductively at Sammy. "After I've HAD him." Sammy gulped. "No," Wayne said firmly. "He's dead. I kill him - and then you can have ME." Annalise raised an eyebrow. "You got yourself a deal." Wayne fired, and Sammy dived behind the sofa. He jumped up, pushed Annalise away, hand on tit (totally unintentional, he told himseld later), grabbed the gun and aimed at Wayne, backing toward the door. Wayne ran at him. Sammy fired. Wayne kept on walking, a huge hole in his chest. "Oh, fantastic!" Sammy spat. "It's Night of the Living Dead Neighbours. Just my luck." He fired again. Wayne's head blew off in a shower of... well, nothing. No blood. No brains. "Can't say I'm surprised," Sammy quipped. He ran out of the door, and stopped in horror. The entire population of Ramsay Street were gathered together, holding pickaxes, shovels and knives. Apart from the Willis', he didn't recognise a single one of them. But they all seemed to recognise him. "It's Raymond Chambers!" Julie Martin roared. "Get him!" The neighbours charged. I get it, Sammy thought. I'm supposed to run in terror, they catch me, beat me, and kill me. Some plan. Fuck that, thought Sammy. BANG! BANG! BANG! Sammy fired relentlessly, dropping the Ramsay Streeters like flies. True, by rights, the shotgun should have run out of bullets by now - but hey, being in a fantasy world has it's perks. Eventually, they were all dead. Except Brad. He knelt, cowering before Sammy. "Please!" he begged. "Show mercy... spare me!" Sammy blew his head off. "I hate surfies!" he roared. He had to admit it, he was getting quite accomplished at killing people. But then again, they weren't real people, so it wasn't real mass-murder. Mind you, that excuse was starting to wear a bit thin. * * * * In the offices of the Junior Gazette Newspaper, Norbridge, Acting Assistant Editor Spike Thompson was sat in his boss' chair, feet up on the desk, gently snoring. Auburn-haired "Tiddler" crept up to his side. "Spike!" she yelled loudly into his ear. Spike leapt up instantly. "Look, I'll get it up some other time, alright Lyn - " he stopped. The entire newsteam stared at him. Tiddler giggled. Spike grinned shamefacedly. "Oh... yeah... right. Just a nightmare, guys." The newsteam tittered. Spike turned irritably to Tiddler. "What is it?" "Phone call for you," Tiddler reported. "Sammy Davis Jnr." Spike goggled at her. "THE Sammy Davis - " "No, no," Tiddler shook her head. "He's a teenager." Spike ran his fingers through his hair, perplexed. "I don't know any - " "He said he was in Twin Peaks with you," Tiddler informed him. Spike stared. "Oh, hell! THAT Sammy! Why didn't you say so?" He grabbed the phone urgently. Tiddler rolled her eyes and walked away. "Sammy, is that really you?" Spike began. "How you doing?" "My girlfriend dumped me, I tried to do myself in, the woman I was living with died from the shock of seeing my face, my neighbours changed overnight and just tried to kill me, forcing me to shoot every one of them with a shotgun apparently incapable of running out of bullets. Been your average, run-of-the-mill week, really." Spike grinned. "Just like old times, eh?" "You could say that." "So what can I do for you?" Spike grinned. "I was wondering if you could help me trace someone currently living in the US." "Well, as a matter of fact," Spike smiled, "Lynda's over there right now." "In the US?" "Yeah. Up at some summer camp that's reopening. Big murder happened there a few years ago, apparently. Just the kind of sordid story our beloved editor adores." "Look, I know this is a big favour to ask, but - well, I have no cash, I don't know anybody I didn't just killl, and short of robbing a bank I can't get any. Could you send me some money to get a plane ticket to the US? Then I can catch up with Lynda, and she can help me find who I'm looking for." "I can do better than that," Spike told him. "I can arrange it with the airline from over here. I'll book you on the next flight I can. You still in Melbourne?" "Just." "Good. I'll arrange it, Sammy, take it out of the newspaper's finances," Spike promised. "Lynda won't like that." "No, I know," Spike grinned. "But we gotta have something to fight about when she gets back, now haven't we?" "Okay, right. And Spike - thanks a helluva lot." "No sweat," Spike frowned. "Things really that bad over there?" "Yeah. And I've a feeling they'll get worse before they get better." Spike hung up, pondering. He wondered what was really going on over there. Tiddler came over, holding a picture. "Can you help me with this, Spike?" "Sure, Tidds," Spike took the picture from her. "Oh, and make sure you get it up this time, okay?" Tiddler smirked. The newsteam exploded into laughter. Spike scowled. Camp Crystal Lake, America. Lynda Day scowled as she watched the teenage counsellors stripping off and playing about in the pool, as if they hadn't a care in the world. They hadn't, but that attitude just didn't suit the editor of the Junior Gazette. She'd travelled half-way around the world for this story, and had expected something worth the effort. Not murderous furballs, lizard aliens and time-travelling cafes, of course, like the last time she'd been in the US, but SOMETHING. The reopening had seemed like a good story at the time. The notorious Camp Crystal Lake being reopened, the site of dozens of gruesome murders over the years, the majority of which had been committed by one Jason Vorhees, an ice-hockey mask wearing, machete wielding maniac who, if the rumours were to be believed, had come back from the dead as a vengeful zombie on more than one occasion. Lynda didn't believe a word of it, but the locals presumably did, and the murders had been real enough, so it had seemed like good old-fashioned sleazy headline material. Colin in particular had encouraged her to go for it, which should have been warning enough. For the story was a dead duck. All the locals had seemed genuinely pleased to have the camp reopening, and she hadn't even found any crazy old men to cry "You're dooomed!" for a catchy headline. At this rate, she was going to have to make up the whole story herself. Down but not out, Lynda trudged across to see if she could conjure up any real or even fake terror in the counsellors. Either way, it sold papers. If that failed, she'd just pack it up as a bad job and wait for Sammy Davis Jnr to arrive this afternoon. Spike had said he'd sounded freaked, and needed her help, so maybe there was a story in there, somewhere. "Hello?" she said, interrupting the pool frolics. The teens turned and stared at her. They were picture-book perfect looking. Lynda hated them all at once. "I'm Lynda Day, I'm a journalist." "Brenda," a beautiful brunette, whom Lynda hated most, introduced herself, pouting all the while. "That's Brandon, Kelly, Dylan, Steve, David, Donna - oh, and Andreia." Lynda noted that the one called Andreia was as ugly as sin, presumably there to make the rest of them look less like magazine cut-outs. It wasn't working. "I was wondering if you could tell me whether you felt safe working in such a notorious murder site?" "What's 'notorious' mean?" Kelly demanded. Lynda nodded, her suspicions confirmed. "Anyone?" "What's it to you, lady?" Dylan was trying to look all moody and serious. Lynda thought he looked a prat. "As I said, I'm a journalist, and the reopening of this camp has created a bit of controversy." Everywhere but here, she thought. "Oh, we've got a conservatory too!" Kelly squealed. Lynda ignored her. "So I thought maybe considering what happened to your predecessors when they were counsellors here, that you might feel just a little bit... apprehensive?" "I like it when guys are apprehentive to me," Kelly pointed out. "No, man," Dylan said moodily. "Not scared of nothing." He tried to look all moody and threatening. Lynda wondered which of the other guys was his secret gay lover. "So no one minds that when this camo was last open, all your counsellor predecessors were chopped up into little pieces?" "They all had little penises? Really?" Kelly giggled. "I thought it was just Dylan here." Lynda rolled her eyes. Maybe it was past time to give this whole thing up as a bad joke. Deep in Crystal Lake itself, something stirred. Someone, rather. Jason Vorhees. The notorious undead serial killer was still, in his own inimitable way, alive and kicking. Not that Lynda and the picture-book-looking-and-reading teen counsellors were in any immediate danger. Jason wasn't going anywhere. Yet. The last time he'd been on shore, on one of his relaxing killing sprees, he'd been shot in the chest at least ten times, clobbered over the head, set alight with petrol, and had the blade from a speedboat motor driven into his neck. Understandably, he hadn't been in the best of moods after all that. Those damn teenagers never could take a joke. And to top it off, he had been chained to a rather large rock and sent to the bottom of the lake for all eternity. Bummer. Which is why he wasn't going anywhere. Yet. CHAPTER THREE "Camp Crystal Lake?" Sammy leant back in his seat in the taxi cab, and wondered. "Now where I have heard that name before?"
Copyright © 2002 Ian Kidd |