Armageddon Hyde in The Chosen and the Damned

by Joseph Terra Jr

  The sun was down when she finally reached the intersection, and the dark night was crawling out of the eastern sky like Satan's breath. There was no signpost, but the woman had told her the way: south to Angel Falls, north to Buttfuk. As she swung her truck to the right, she realized for the first time how quiet the roads were. She had driven the better part of three hours to get here, and in all that time she hadn't seen a soul. It was strange for the road to be that quiet, even out here - there were plenty of folks who still worked, plenty who went from town to town and who still maintained some kind of vehicle. Where is everyone? Armageddon wondered. Even if I'm driving into a war zone, like that sinful bartender said, there should still be some people. Where are the checkpoints? Where are are the guards, the men, the militia?

  As if in answer, a bright pink flare came flying up from behind a nearby ridge, racing up into the darkening sky. Armageddon slowed the truck, and as the noise of the engine died down she heard the distant rattle of gunfire.

  The Battle of Buttfuk

  Some are are called to battle. Others just drive right on into it.

  Armageddon crested the ridge and dropped into a low crouch, reaching inside her coat as she did so. Her fingers curled around the grip of her .357 Magnum, the steely grip cool and reassuring beneath her fingers. A wide, shallow valley lay beneath her, strewn with rocks and shadows. The shadows nearest to her were still, and she took them for hoodoos or maybe cactus, but she saw a flicker of movement in the far distance. A burst of gunfire - some kind of automatic - cracked and reverberated across the valley, followed by the revving of many engines. Suddenly there were lights everywhere – headlights, spotlights, dozens of lights flaring into life in the darkness. She heard the blast of a siren, and the rough crackle of man's heavily amplified voice, the words too tinny and distant for her to make out. Now there was the rattle and roar of many guns, and as the last of the sunlight faded she saw tracer fire flashing in a dozen places down below.

  Lord save us, she thought, what have I walked into?

  But of course, she already knew the answer. Fights and violence were common in this part of the world, from robberies to gang fights to drunken brawls; but this was no gang fight, unless the devil had brought them all together for his own hellish sport. No, this was a clash of armies - hundreds, maybe thousands of fighters. Angel Falls and... and the other place, she thought, at war over their cursed drugs. Oh Lord, what do I do now?

  But of course she knew the answer to that too. One was not brought to a battle in the desert only to turn and run: that simply wasn't the way these things went. But what am I meant to do? She wondered. Surely I'm not meant to help these heathens. There's no good side here - it's just bad guys and more bad guys. She glanced up at the sky, but no answers were forthcoming. And so she did the only thing she could think to do: she drew her gun and headed in the direction of the fighting. Get closer, she thought, see what you can see.

  The slope wasn't too bad - wouldn't have been in daylight, anyway - but she feared going down it too swiftly in the dark. She went down in an awkward sideways shuffle, careful not to overbalance, cursing the lack of light. By the time she reached the bottom, the sounds of battle were at fever pitch. She looked across the valley at the distant lights; it was hard to the judge distance in the dark, but she thought the nearest of them was near a mile off. Part of her wanted to run towards it, but the rest of her knew better: hurrying into a mass battle was just asking to take a bullet. She put up her gun and went forward at a trot, weaving through the rocks, ready to dive for cover at the first sign of trouble. The first quarter mile went by without incident and she stopped to take stock. The sounds were much the same - guns, sirens, amplified voices - and she had no idea who had the upper hand. She drew closer, keeping her pace steady, neither hurrying nor lingering. A new sound reached her: a rhythmic Wokka-wokka-wokka that took her a moment to identify. A helicopter? It had to be. For a couple of druggie towns, Buttfuk and Angel Falls had access to some impressive armory. Armageddon wondered if it was okay to think the name Buttfuk instead of saying it. She thought it probably was, but she said a little prayer just to be on the safe side.

  As she moved on, she saw a beam of light fall on the battlefield from high in the sky. It seemed the helicopter bore a searchlight, which the pilot had only just remembered to turn on. She could hear men and women shouting, distant but audible between bursts of gunfire. The heavier engine noises had died down, but she thought she heard the higher, buzzing sound of dirt bikes somewhere off to the the west. And then, for the first time, a voice she could almost make out: it seemed to be coming from the 'copter. Someone up there had a bullhorn, and they appeared to be yelling instructions of some kind down at the battle below. If they're giving orders, then maybe if I get close enough I can finally figure out what's going on. Armageddon double-timed it in the direction of the 'copter. The heli itself was all but invisible against the night sky, but she could easily track it by its light, which was drifting slowly in her direction. A single headlight appeared in the west, racing towards her, and Armageddon dropped down behind a nearby rock. Dirt bike, for sure, she thought as it whizzed by. As the engine faded, the bullhorn crackled into life once more, and now she was finally able to make out the words:

  "YEEEEEEAH, YOU BUTTFUK BASTARDS! I FUCKED ALL YOUR MOTHERS! ALLL YOUR MOTHERS! HEY MARTY FROM THE FIRE DEPARTMENT - I FUCKED YOUR MOTHER LAST WEEK! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT, MARTYYYY?!"

  The voice gave a howl of demented laughter that trailed off into a truly alarming bout of coughing and gagging. "SHIT," the voice said,. "I THINK I BREATHED IN SOME OF OUR OWN STUFF. WHAT THE FUCK, DEREK - GET THIS THING HIGHER!"

  The spotlight drew slowly upwards and then drifted away from Armageddon's position. She saw a flash of something dark falling through the searchlight's beam, and then a thick cloud of smoke billowing up from the ground below. It was far enough away that Armageddon had no real fear of being caught in the smoke, but she caught a whiff of a strange, sweet smell. Not wanting to get any closer to the cloud, she changed course, heading in the direction the dirt bike had gone.

  "Lord," she muttered, "I know you didn't send me down here just to get my head blown off by some dreadlocked hippy, but I surely could use some direction here."

  The east side of the battlefield was bordered by clusters of rocks. They were too closely packed to drive a four-wheeler through, but Armageddon saw several dirt bikes go zipping through as she approached, headed away from the battlefield. The men on the bikes appeared to be retreating from something, but she couldn't see what: there were no obvious signs of pursuit. There were jeeps and ATVs parked everywhere on this side, and men and women crouched behind them, trading fire with some unseen enemy. The riders sped away into the night, right by Armageddon's hiding place: the closest passed just yards from her where she stood. The bike was driven by a hulking man dressed in some kind of cowboy outfit, his hairy belly spilling out from below the waistcoat, while a tiny woman with a purple mohawk rode pillion behind him, a submachine gun clutched in one tattooed hand. Armageddon waited until the tail lights were well into the distance, and then crept toward the edge of the battlefield. Well, here I am, she thought. Now do I dare get any closer?

  "No, goddamn it!" a voice shouted nearby. "No, I never said that! Don't you put that on me, damn it!"

  Armageddon jumped and whirled towards the sound, ready to fire. The man was close, no more than five yards away, and he seemed no more aware of Armageddon than she had been of him. He was clearly a fighter, dressed in some sort of half-baked camo gear that wasn't right for the terrain, an army-style helmet on his head and what looked like an old AK-47 clutched in one hand. But the gun was shouldered, pointing up at the sky, and the man himself was turned away from her, shouting and gesticulating with his free hand. Armageddon took a slow, shaking breath and eased her finger off the trigger, though she kept the man firmly in her sights. Who on earth is he yelling at? she wondered - she couldn't see anyone.

  The man
continued. "My god, do you even see yourself? Do you even see what you're doing?" he paused a moment. "You project all your insecurities on to me! Even the marriage counselor said so! And it's not fair, Martha! It's not fair!" The man cursed and stomped his feet. Armageddon edged closer, almost in spite of herself, compelled to see who on earth he was arguing with. As she edged out from behind her rock and the man came more clearly into her view, she saw that the object of his vitriol appeared to be a large cactus. "I'm done with this, Martha!" The man shouted. "Now you go on home, and don't you bother me at work again!"

  Armageddon turned, and headed into the battlefield. Some things were just easier.

  There was a pair of jeeps at the end of the line of vehicles. They looked to be of military make, but neither bore any kind of logo. One, for reasons that were unclear to her, was painted bright pink. A pair of bearded, mulleted young men crouched behind it, reloading their weapons as Armageddon approached. Not once did any of the people take a glance back; they clearly felt secure in their position here. They were hers for the taking if she wished - but as sinful as these people were, Armageddon was not about to fill them full of lead when neither one had made a move against her. Armageddon took the sixth commandment seriously. She hesitated a moment, unsure of her next move. Did she call out to them and risk them plugging her then and there? They certainly looked edgy enough to shoot first and ask questions later. As she stood, mulling her next move, a pair of headlights came into view, crawling slowly along the line. Armageddon cursed and ran back toward the stones, though this time she took a place well away from the man/cactus squabble.

  The new vehicle was another jeep, of similar make to the others, but this one had a logo on the side: A.F.A.C. Angel Falls Army Corps? Well, at least I know who's who. The jeep rolled slowly up the line, and a platoon of soldiers - real soldiers, in full camo and bearing machine guns - following along in its wake. On the back of the jeep was a stocky, silver-haired man in military uniform, one of those fruit salad medals on his chest, shouting into a bullhorn: "Two minutes to full attack! At the signal, push forward! Two minutes to full attack! At the signal, push forward!" Armageddon wondered what the signal would be, but she supposed she'd know it when she heard it. Up and down the row, she saw men and women donning gas masks. The two mulleted young men pulled a bag out their jeep, opened it, and then looked at each other in consternation: there appeared to be only one mask. There was a quick conversation and then one of them ran after the officer's jeep, leaving his comrade alone. Sensing her opportunity, Armageddon crept forward.

  The young man picked up the mask and then fumbled with the straps, muttering. He slid the mask down carefully over the mass of his hair and then dropped like a stone as Armageddon hit him from behind. She relieved him of his gun, a curious-looking auto-loader she hadn't seen before, and then slipped on the gas mask. At least now I'll blend in, she thought. So long as no one's looking too closely... She glanced around warily, looking for the other man, but there was no sign of him. And then, moments later, a new sound could be heard. Nearby, from a speaker system that Armageddon couldn't see, came the crash and howl of the devil's favorite instrument, the electric guitar. A great roar came from the Angel Falls troops, and as one they left their posts and charged forward, streaming around the rocks and onto the open ground to the south. Several land rovers led the charge, and Armageddon saw a spotlight and a heavy machine gun mounted on the back of each. A man's voice rose above the guitars in a strange, nasal wail:

  Generals gathered in their masseeees...

  Just like witches at black masseeees...

  "Did he just rhyme "masses" with "masses"?" Armageddon snorted. "And they say the devil has the best tunes."

  She shut out the demonic wail of the guitars, put her head down, and ran after the fighters.

  The Battle of Buttfuk - II

  FRANKENTRUUUUUUUCK!!!

  They would later dub it the Battle of Buttfuk, but Armageddon called it a confounded mess. She saw the two armies come together at the center of the valley, fighting with incredible ferocity and a remarkable lack of efficiency. In spite of the fact that they clearly expected to face chemical weapons of some kind, fully a third of the Angel Falls side weren't wearing gas masks. Guns were fired wantonly and seemingly at random, rarely finding their targets. Near the center of the battlefield, someone had set up a series of electrified trip wires: which side, Armageddon couldn't say, as men and women from both sides blundered into them with equal abandon. She saw a contingent of seven bare-chested men standing in a row, firing what appeared to be squirt guns: each man had a large red letter painted on his chest, and together they spelled out BUTTUFK. They rushed a land rover from the side; one was cut down at once by gunfire (UTTUFK), but then they got close enough to fire their squirt guns at the occupants, who promptly piled out of the vehicle and either staggered off into the night or started singing. Moments later, Armageddon heard the familiar Wokka-wokka-wokka of the helicopter and a tinny voice shouting: "HEY, THOSE SONSABITCHES STOLE OUR IDEA! DEREK, I’MMA BLAST THOSE GUYS!" There was a flurry of gunfire from on high and the squirt-gunners scattered. Gunner K ran right past Armageddon, yelling out "Hey, Baby!" as he did so.

  While neither side had anything remotely resembling military discipline, the Buttfuk side appeared to be noticeably less... well, sane... than their Angel Falls counterparts. A sizable number were sans shirt, sans shoes, and occasionally sans pants. Half of them also appeared to be drunk - which made them a good deal more effective than the other half, who appeared to have indulged in all manner of psychedelic substances. She saw an old man of eighty rush a fully-armed contingent of men armed only with a pair of garden shears before getting tazed and beat down with billy clubs. She saw a middle-aged man roll up in pickup truck and heave a large box out into the sand near a contingent of Angel Falls troops. Bullets flew all around him, but his enemies were only marginally better shooters than the Buttfuk men, and none found their mark. Laughing triumphantly, the man hit a lever on the box, which fell apart in all four directions, releasing scores of snakes into the field. "AHAHAHAHA!" the man shouted. "FEEL THE VENOM, SCUM!" the snakes promptly fled in all directions, and a moment later an Angel Falls shooter finally found his mark. "Shit," the man muttered. He keeled over, clutching at his leg, a look of deep disappointment on his face. An Angel Falls soldier ran up and stuck a gun in his face and the man raised his hands in surrender. The soldier threw him down on his stomach and hastily cuffed his hands. They're taking prisoners, Armageddon thought, looking around. That can only mean they're winning - can't it?

  It certainly seemed that way. The Angel Falls troops continued to push forward, and ahead, the Buttfuk troops appeared to be rallying for a last stand. At the west side of the valley was a line of vehicles, of similar number and composition to the enemy's, all outfitted for desert travel. The vehicles has been ringed together in a circle, and Armageddon saw that many of them were loaded with transport crates. She saw a single heavy gun set up behind a row of trucks, but from what she could tell it hadn't fired once. A contingent of men and women on dirt bikes circled, and when they saw the enemy they howled defiance and raised their guns. Now that damned 'copter swept overhead once more, and Armageddon heard a now-familiar voice:

  "OOOH YOU GUYS ARE IN FOR IT NOW! YOU GUYS BETTER RUN BECAUSE HERE COMES THE BIG CHEESE - THE ULTIMATE ASS KICKERRR - FRANKENTRUUUUCK!"

  Once more the devil's guitars screamed, but now another noise rolled up beneath them, robbing them of their power: a massive engine, absurdly loud, deep as a rock crusher and loud enough that Armageddon winced and covered her ears. The ranks of Angel Falls parted and a great metallic monster rolled through, a giant truck the size a barn, laden with armor, an enormous cannon mounted on top. Numerous smaller guns bristled out of the front and sides. The truck's headlights flashed, the engine gave a great farting noise, and then the beast rolled slowly forward.

  "FRANKENTRUCK!" the copter voice called out deliriously. "FRANKENTRUUUUUUUUU-" T
he voice cut off suddenly as a rocket flew from the truck's cannon and slammed into the copter's side. As it whirled, shattered, down towards the earth, Armageddon heard a voice on the truck's PA, cutting momentarily through the music:

  "I MEANT TO DO THAT," it said.

  The boom of FRANKENTRUCK!'s big gun was still echoing in Armageddon's ears as she reached her own, more modest vehicle. The battlefield was almost silent now, with only an occasional shout or curse piercing the stillness. As she climbed in, she briefly wondered if she could mount a gun to the roof of her cab. No, that was silly. Who would fire it?

  Enough idle thoughts, girl. We've got work to do.

  Her purpose had finally become clear when Buttfuk's generals had finally fled the field. Angel Falls had quickly overrun what was left of the Buttfuk forces, taking scores of prisoners and herding them into a large U-Haul hooked to the back of an army truck. There were women amongst them, Armageddon saw - and who knew what kind of terrible fate waited for them as captives? No, she could not stand idly by and allow that to happen.

  She eased her pickup back onto the road, and then after a moment's thought she cut the headlights. The moon was only half full, but it shed enough light to see by, and the last thing she needed right now was to catch someone's eye. She had an army to follow.

  Jailbreak

  "...ain’t we supposed to be guarding the prisoners?"

  The sign said HOBO and then trailed off into a mess of stringy semi-dissolved goo. Hobo wasn't much to look at, just a gas station with a wind turbine and pair of old houses. There was a single working streetlight above the gas station entrance, but the station itself was unmanned: either it was closed, or the proprietor had fled at the army's approach. There were lights on in one of the houses: it appeared to be hosting a party of some kind. There was some kind of awful thumping music playing and men going back and forth holding drinks.