by Spencer,Alan
"He said, "Son, get your dick in first, because you don't want to be the guy who gets sloppy seconds.""
Sue made a sour face.
Mac understood.
He clarified his father's words.
"I think my father basically meant whatever you do, get the best out of life, because no one's going to do it for you. Make your own decisions and don't let people push your around. Don't be stupid, basically. Take the initiative before someone better does. If we take guesses at how these monsters function, like what they want, how they work, and how to kill them, we're going to be giving up our lives for nothing. Now that'd be stupid. It's all guesses from our standpoint. I say we lay low, we wait these things out, and we let better qualified people, like our military, take these monsters on."
Mac thought on it a second. "I think you're right, Arnold. We tried to make sense of this. We didn't get far. We wait this out and lay low."
Heart-to-Heart
Mac couldn't handle sitting and waiting. He took to removing guns from their displays and loading them with bullets to busy himself. He was already thirty guns deep in the process. Sue sat with Arnold on the floor. Their back were against a display of vintage records.
She put her hand in Arnold's. "I hope you don't mind we hold hands. I'm just so scared. If I use the wrong thing, if I breathe the air in the room, if I look at something too long, I could die. Could you help me get me mind off of it? You don't mind if I ask you a question, do you? I know we've only met a few times in passing, but I've always wondered about you."
"Sure, ask away."
Please don't let it be about The Late Show.
"What happened on The Late Show?"
Answering this question would prove even more excruciating than going up against flying pieces of the human body.
Sue sensed his apprehension. "I'm sorry. It's a personal question."
"It's a very public question, actually. That's the problem. I'll tell you the story. What else are we doing here? I could die. You could die. What's a little bit of embarrassment going to hurt?
"I was hired by a talent scout to be in commercials. My agent eventually got me an acting gig. The movie was called Colton's Will. It's about to be released, and I'm invited on The Late Show. I'm swooped up into this media frenzy. My agent tells me more acting jobs are on the way. And keep in mind, I've busted my ass doing jobs that pay scraps for most of my life. The shift into the public eye is very overwhelming.
"I really buy into the fame crap. I'm going to be a big star. I'll make the big star money. I'm hot fucking shit. So I do this interview on The Late Show. Keep in mind, I'm not a real actor. I have no formal training. I'm guessing my ass off when I'm in front of a camera. Maybe that's how most of them do it in the business. I'm nervous as hell sitting in the hot seat on that talk show. It goes okay as that Bill Cringer chuckle-fuck asks me questions, and then all of the sudden, my midsection cramps.
"I can't help it. I'm sweating in my seat. The lights are so hot. My belly is tight with pain. It's not like I can get up on live television and excuse myself. Even if I could, it was too late. Seconds into the pain, I shit my pants. Bill Cringer gets a whiff of what's in my filled shorts, and he makes jokes about how he's going to have to replace his couch. I told him I ate at Taco Fest that day, and how it was a mistake, and Bill goes off on a new tangent about Mexican food. He says I should do commercials for Depends.
"Colton's Will bombed the next weekend. Everybody blames me. The deals to be in new movies all fell through. I'm back on commercials again. Before I can enjoy five minutes of my fifteen minutes, I'm back to where I started. Hemorrhoid commercials.
"What's worse, my wife files for divorce two months later. At first, I thought it was because of the public humiliation. The tabloids, the dumb ass entertainment TV shows, the paparazzi, the rag mags with pictures of us at inopportune times, the constant invasion of privacy, the threatening phone calls, it all got to her, or so I thought.
"My ex, she was always acting like something was up her ass towards the end of our marriage. She was on bad mood bitch mode twenty-four seven. We were constantly fighting, and I never knew why. Then I come to find out the truth. There was something up her ass, and his name was Carl.
"She wanted to divorce me, but she also wanted to find a way to get as much of my "incoming" money as possible and marry this other asshole. When my career came to a halt, she was done with me. She gets half of what I make, along with child support. So I keep doing commercials and scraping by. Today, my agent fired me. Then all of this chaos started. That's my story. It started with shitting my pants, and now how things are going down, it looks like it'll end with me shitting my pants."
He thought Sue was going to give him a disgusted look and dismiss him as a washed up loser. Then she smiled big. "No kidding? You shit your pants on TV. Taco Fest is awful. That Mexican buffet's like a gastric grenade. I'm surprised that place hasn't made us all shit our pants. If that's the worse you got, then I say you're doing okay. Your story could still be worse."
"Yeah, maybe."
Sue caressed his face. "Life could be much worse, Arnold. If we survive this mess, I'm going to get to know you a lot better. Shitting your pants doesn't make a difference."
"Gee, thanks."
Not Safe
They heard more people being attacked in the city. Whatever was waging a war against humanity, they were winning. Mac had fifty guns and counting loaded on the counters. He couldn't stop. Sue kept telling him to stop. He ignored her.
Sue said this to Arnold, "Thank you for talking sense into him. Mac had all these theories about the things out there. Even if we found out where they're hiding, if they're hiding somewhere, we're up against something three people can't stop. We'd only get ourselves killed.
"The problem, your father got shot up pretty bad in Vietnam. My dad, he didn't get as much as a scratch on him. He suffered some jungle rot in his feet, but that's about it. My dad always felt guilt over that. He watched so many die in combat. I think he wants to make up for it now. He almost had me following him out there with half-cocked ideas. I owe you one. Sometimes it takes another man to talk another man down from his own bad ideas."
Mac raised an eyebrow. Did the man overhear what she'd said? He didn't comment if he did. He kept on loading guns.
"Excuse me a moment," Sue said. "I'll be right back."
When Sue walked to the back room, Mac broke his silence.
"It looks like my daughter's got an eye for you. You break her heart, I'll break your balls."
He almost laughed. That was what was on Mac's mind while he was shoving those bullets into the chambers.
"I'll treat her like a queen. No, even better. I promise."
"All guys say that before they get into a woman's panties, but a guy like you Arnold, I shouldn't bust your balls. I've known you since you were born. I should practically hand you a condom. You're one of the good ones. I—"
The piercing scream interrupted Mac.
Together, the two men rushed to the back room to find out the reasons for the screams. Mac had two Magnum pistols. Arnold was holding onto a 22 pump action shotgun. He expected the backroom to be filled with the uglies. There wasn't a single one.
"Sue, where are you, honey? Please, answer me!"
He heard a shifting sound in the bathroom. "Over there. The bathroom."
Mac raced over to the door and threw it open without any hesitation. Arnold backed him up in case it was a trap. Mac collapsed onto his knees in tears. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. It required agonizing seconds to process the maddening image. Sue's skeleton was sitting on the toilet, drowning in her clothing. The skull head was thrown back in a scream.
Arnold searched the room for what had turned a fully-fleshed, healthy woman into a set of bare bones. There wasn't blood or signs of what killed her in such a fashion. Mac was weeping on the floor. The man was immobilized by his emotions.
The bathroom was very small. He searched the
sink, around the toilet, and there he found the box at Sue's bone feet.
Tampons.
Oh God no.
He didn't dare touch the box. He could see the bold words stamped on the back: Super Ultra-Omega Absorbent Feminine Napkins.
The tampon had sucked every fluid from Sue's body.
He didn't have the heart to tell Mac the method of her death. There was only one way to go forward after this moment. Waiting here for someone else to save them wasn't going to work. They had to take matters into their own hands.
"I'm so sorry." He helped Mac off of the ground. "Sue was a wonderful person. She didn't deserve this. But I know who deserves to die. You hear me, Mac? They're all going to die, and we're going to kill them."
Mac's teary eyes turned sharp. He clenched his fist and hit Arnold's shoulder. "Now you're talking. I'm with you, Arnold. Let's go kick some ass."
Loaded and Cocked
They worked together to load every hunting rifle, handgun, shotgun, and firearm in the store. Arnold even loaded up a crossbow. When over a hundred guns were lined up on the counters ready to be engaged against the enemy, Mac was studying the steel prod. He was trying to make sense of it yet again.
"Mysterious weapon, isn't it?"
He eyed the black steel rod, the flat iron sheet at the end, and the empty glass reservoir near the top of the handle.
"You've seen them using this to stamp items?"
Mac nodded. "Yep. It was like a branding device. They would stamp something, then they'd get this nasty giddy expression on their hideous faces. Like they were having fun doing this to people."
He thought back to the woman locked up in Mac's office. She said good ideas were hard to come by. He wasn't sure what to think of those comments then, but now, it made perfect sense.
"They're killing people in creative ways for a purpose. That woman in your office, she mentioned a "boss". They're doing this for someone. Like a job, or an assignment."
Mac's eyes were intense. "Who would they do this for, is the question. Why kill people like that? I mean so violently? These people need to die. I say we draw them in. They stick their heads in here, we blow them off. It's the best plan I got. It's too dangerous to go out there in the streets and hunt them."
"Wait a moment. There could be a better strategy. We can't just let them in here, right? Please, let's talk about this."
"Talking got my daughter killed. The only thing that will make me feel better is the sight of their blood."
"Mac, hold on."
He couldn't be reasoned with, and Arnold knew it. The death of his daughter was too fresh. When sensibility butted heads with rage, sensibility always lost the fight.
Mac opened a compartment behind his display counter. He revealed an M-16. "I'm going to draw them in. I've got a lot of illegal firepower in this store. A guy with some crazy weapons needed a loan a year back. He never came back for his guns, so here they are. The plan, they stick their heads inside, we blow them the fuck off. You with me, or are you going to shit your pants?
"And before you get all mad at me, think about what I'm saying. You've hocked stereos, TV's, and appliances to make ends meet between acting gigs. You would do anything to pay child support and take care of your family. You're not a joke, man. I know deep down inside, you've been depressed. Even since The Late Show, I've seen the sadness in your eyes.
"Don't you dare let someone else determine the level of your happiness. The public is nothing but a bunch of judgmental, empty-brained, douche bags. You don't need them to be happy. I understand the humiliation you suffered on TV. You want your chance at redemption, you take out as many of those dangerous sons-of-bitches as you can. Wipe them off the face of the planet. If America sees you kicking ass, they'll forget about you ever shitting your pants."
He did give him a chance to reply.
Mac rushed the door with his M-16 in tow. He unlocked the front door and started blasting bullets at the streets. "Come on down to American Pawn. I buy gold, silver, and your blood!"
He wildly scattered the machine gun fire. He emptied a clip, jammed a fresh clip into the gun, and filled the block with even more hot lead.
"Yeah, I'm the guy who put eight bullets into your back. How do you feel about that, you stupid bitch? Come on down to my shop. I'll shove my hot merchandise up your fucking ass!"
Arnold heard shrieks of anger from the jilted enemies' throats. Mac sprayed another clip and retreated into the store.
"Here they come, Arnold. It's time to redeem yourself."
Mac dug into the same place he retrieved his M-16's earlier. He slung on a belt of ammunition with bullets that were the size of small grenades. Next, he grabbed a weapon off the top of the counter called an M79 grenade launcher.
From all angles of the store, body parts by the hundreds were banging against the walls and windows. The store was throbbing. Arnold couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Stay back, buddy. This is for Sue."
Mac's face was full of hatred and fury. The man wasn't thinking logically. If he unloaded a grenade in the store, they were asking for trouble.
"No, you can't!"
Too late.
He shoved a grenade down the bore of the weapon. He pulled the trigger.
BA-BOOM!
The 40mm cartridge took a bite out of the wall, wrenching the front door from its hinges.
Body parts were thrown back onto the streets, reduced to hot paste.
"Yeah, that's right! FUCK YOU!"
Mac blasted another grenade, and another, and another.
"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!"
The front wall of the store was exposed and on fire. Mac didn't care. He enjoyed the show. The man had lost his mind. Losing Sue was too much for him, and Arnold had to keep his head on straight for the both of them.
He grabbed two Detonics 1911 handguns laying on the floor. The uglies were coming in from the backdoor. This time, they weren't in the form of flying pieces. They were coming at him with metal prods in their hands. The horde of twenty were stamping things left and right. Their solid white eyes were bulbous and wild with zealous energy. The veins holding their bodies together bulged with fast-pumping blood. This is what they enjoyed, Arnold, thought. They fucking got off on creating new ways of killing people.
Things were coming to life in the store. A standing pinball machine fired two silver balls in Arnold's direction. He ducked in time. The balls went right through the brick wall and out the other side.
He blasted eleven shots into the pin ball machine to put it down.
Scrambling for new guns, he located and unleashed shots from a Browning pistol. He saved himself by unloading on a collection of flying rings and jewelry. Mac wasn't so lucky. A ring slipped onto his finger and ripped it right off.
He raged in pain. "That's it, Goddamn you!"
Arnold dove for cover when the M79 erupted with another grenade. Every enemy in the near vicinity went up into vapor and slammed into the ceiling to come back down liquid drops.
Ears ringing from the insanely loud blasts, Arnold was squeezing off rounds from a Beretta 92FS. Three shots decapitated one of the uglies who was about to stamp a Gibson guitar.
The enemies reduced themselves to flying pieces again. Arnold dodged a flying woman's head. He kicked a hand across the room. A breast slammed into the side of his head and knocked him on his ass. Blinking stars from his eyes, he reached for any weapon he could locate.
American Pawn only had two stable walls remaining. Mac was throwing his head back in delight as he unleashed grenade after grenade at the enemy. Arnold saw cars driving by in the streets. One Cadillac had a person's head where the exhaust pipe was located. The sight disgusted him so much he choose a Browning 870 pump action shotgun to turn the vehicle into something bound for the scrap yard.
More and more enemies were coming in after them. They were overtaken by the hundreds of flying body parts that reverted back to standing individuals in seconds.
Mac ha
d run out of grenades. He was now using an Ithaca 30 shotgun against the horde.
It didn't matter now.
The man was surrounded.
"Run, Arnold! Save yourself! Don't let them touch you!"
The room was spinning around Arnold. No matter how many shots he unleashed at the crowd, the bullets did nothing. Mac was cursing and shouting in horror. This time, the uglies didn't bother to use a product against him. They beat him to death.
Arnold was up against the only standing wall in the building. A door was at his back. It was the bathroom door where Sue had died.
He too would die.
He was unarmed, but he was clutching onto something. He thought it was a baseball bat, but he was wrong. He was clutching onto one of their prods. He must've picked it up off of the ground without realizing it.
The uglies were surrounding him. Over the standing enemies, lone heads, arms, heads, and fists hovered. They were ready to pummel him like they did poor Mac. He was good as dead. Forget redemption, he thought. He would remain a washed-up, never-was, go-kill-yourself, pants-shitter. They would chisel a hard luck epitaph onto his tombstone.
He heard a searing noise. He smelled burning. Before he processed what was happening, the door behind him opened up, and he was pulled right through to the other side.
Part Four
Inside
Arnold was falling through the door one moment, and then the next, he was leaning up against a closed door. He was now standing in a long hallway with white walls and bright florescent lights overhead. Everything was blotted out by the intensity of the overhead bulbs. The place was so clean and sterile. It required moments for him to collect himself. He was panting and out of breath. His heart was a chugging engine. His eyes stared at the flat steel end of the cattle prod. On the surface, he saw the words: Take Me To Their Hideout.