That was exactly the thought Dr. Mishima had in mind, and for years afterward the good doctor would chastise himself for not having thought of it sooner. So absorbed were he and Matt-san in the discussion of the door that Mishima didn't notice the rumbling sound that was coming from outside the research building. The din of the lab processing equipment masked the sound at first, but gradually the noise got louder. When the nuclear entrepreneur finally realized something bad was about to happen, a forty-foot wall of water smashed into the side of the building. The giant wave crashed into the lab, tossing everything every which way, including the doctor and his somewhat capable assistant. Years worth of scientific research was destroyed in moments and, though the two men survived the sudden rush of water in one piece, the Nucliette was not so lucky. Within minutes, the purple, oblong cube was headed out to sea. It was only after the scientist and his assistant were safe again on dry land that the doctor noticed Matt-san was holding the door of the Nucliette in his right hand. He'd grabbed it from the swirling water during the sudden flood. He thought it was the paper towels.
The three sprung to their hooves in unison once the radioactive soup had run through their bodies. Mutation affected each of the trio in exactly the same way. All three now sported sharp, jagged teeth, with mouths that looked eerily similar to that of the reclusive Blue Albion shark. It also seemed as though someone had given the youngsters hefty doses of the popular Green Bull energy drink, as they ran everywhere. They each had glowing, purple eyes. They sniffed around like dachshunds on the trail of a frightened mole, darting from truck tire to signpost to one of the metal doors from the debris pile, bashing into one another and anything else that happened to be in the way. Adjacent to that metal door, wrapped up in the flypaper, seaweed and some fishing net that had glommed on during the trip across the ocean, was a long-dead coloursided white back fish. Once Huey bumped into that and determined it was edible, he started tearing into it, fish pieces flying everywhere. Crackle and Curly were on it in seconds and within a minute all that was left was the white back's skeleton. That sent the three calves (if that;s what they could still be called) careening off, madly searching for more food. They sniffed at, but thankfully didn't attempt to chomp into, the rest of the herd.
All John Steerman needed was to get the two mutated cows separated. He had dashed behind the twenty-foot-wide "Welcome to Lineback" sign, scrambling away from Mewati and Lactose Tolerant. Just a few seconds of breathing space and he was certain he could, at the very least, immobilize one of the beasts. The farmer's opportunity came faster than he could have ever hoped. The two cows took separate routes in chasing John back behind the sign. Mewati, bursts of fire now mixing with the smoke emitting from her nostrils, headed right around the corner of the billboard. Lactose Tolerant, acid dripping from nearly every teat on her saddlebag udders, ventured left. Both let out series of moos that the farmer was certain were some sort of cow communication. He'd heard that from the animals back at Contented Corners. As soon as both purple-eyed bovines appeared around their respective sides of the sign, John sprang into action. Spinning his lasso in the ready position, he flung the rope down at the feet of the dragon-cow. Two more steps were all it took and Mewati strode into the middle of the lasso. John yanked hard on the rope and down the dragon-cow dropped with a thud and a moo. Within seconds, John was at its side, whipping the rope left and right, up and down and through. In a respectable ten and a half seconds, the cow was bound tight. John lifted his right arm triumphantly, signaling a job well done.