Soon, they were in the car, heading back downtown. Big E glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. He tried to make out exactly what was pursuing them, but all he could see was a pale wave of fury filling the courtyards of Purgatory Heights taking down everything in its wake… trees, basketball posts, streetlamps.
"Better grow yourself a lead foot," Zulu urged. "They can book like a Kenyan marathon runner."
Big E floored it and they sped onward toward the city. "Exactly what are we running from?"
Zulu relaxed and settled against the pink leather seat of the Caddy. "There was a Mennonite farm across the river in Arkansas before the Burn. Had a big herd of cattle, couple of thousand head. Well, it was only a few miles from Ground Zero when one of the bombs blew. Killed the Mennonites and their families, but a lot of the cattle survived. The radiation drove them crazy, made their hair fall out, and covered them with sores and boils. And they don't eat hay and shit anymore, either. Got a taste for meat. That's why they crossed the bridge to Memphis. They'll chow down on anything with two legs."
That loud bellowing came from behind them again, like a battle trumpet calling the ranks to follow. "Doesn't sound like any cow I ever heard," said Roy.
"That's Studmuffin," Zulu told him. "The leader of the Herd. A thousand pounds of Brahma bull with a chip on his shoulder and a 24/7 hard-on. Saw him take down a gang of bikers once. Screwed the leader – a big ol' Viking-looking dude – and then ate him, boots, bones, and all. You sure don't want him getting hold of your ass."
Big E checked the mirror again. He could detect a larger entity ahead of the pink-fleshed stampede; massive, almost demonic in nature. His rectum puckered as he stamped the gas to the floor. "Let's get to the boat."
Fifteen minutes later, they were tooling through the deserted streets of downtown Memphis.
On their way down Beale Street, Big E's belly growled. "I could sure go for some good barbecue ribs right about now… but I reckon I couldn't stomach what passes for the stuff these days."
Zulu licked her lips. "You know, skin-head ain't half bad if you use the right sauce…"
"Hush!" said E, giving her a warning look. "Just hush up."
It wasn't long before they reached the riverfront. They parked the Pink Lady near the Pyramid and headed toward the river. In the distance they could see Mud Island, a tourist attraction that was now a colony for lepers.
"I think we lost those cows," said Roy.
"Don't worry, Little E. They're still coming. We just outran 'em, that's all," said Zulu.
"You're awful sure of yourself, aren't you?" There was something about the woman that rubbed him the wrong way. "Sure got a mouth on you, I'll say that for sure."
Zulu whirled and wagged a dark finger in his face. "Listen up, you bargain basement hip-slinger! You dis me one more time and I'll scalp off those muttonchops and wear them for pasties. Got that?"
Roy swallowed dryly and nodded. He could tell she wasn't bluffing.
"There's a walkway down to the boathouse over yonder," said Big E. "Stop your yakking and come on."
They were approaching the walkway, when a man appeared out of nowhere. He was a big fellow, a mountain of muscle and meanness covered with a multitude of tattoos and piercings. He toted a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in one black-gloved hand.
"Excuse us, pardner," said Big E, "but we gotta get down to the river."
"You ain't going nowhere, slick," said the man. He grinned, displaying a set of false teeth he had constructed out of jagged metal and wrought iron. He leered at the two women. "Of course, we could talk a deal if you give me a taste of that. Tail for toll."
Big E frowned. "You'd best shut your mouth and stop talking about these ladies like that. My mama always said 'Manners matter'. Looks like you're sorely lacking in that department."
The brute flashed his junkyard smile. "Oh, yeah… I think I ate your mama last night… but not with carrots and potatoes, if you get my drift."
A dark expression shown in Big E's eyes, like the brewing of a violent storm. "Here, hold this for a moment," he said, handing his MAC-10 to Zulu. Then, without warning, he whirled and slammed a karate punch square into the man's grill, knocking his steel chompers deep into the back of his throat. Choking, the man swung his spiky bat at E, but the King ducked the attack. He delivered a cobra strike to the man's breastbone with the heel of his hand, shattering his sternum. Then he followed it up with a powerful roundhouse kick square into the man's groin. The blow separated the man's testicles like twins delivered at birth, sending one in the direction of Mississippi and the other heading fast toward Missouri.
The small of the man's back slammed against the metal railing that separated walkway from river. He teetered there, eyes full of pain and confusion, until Big E sent him backward with a high kick to the chin. With a grunt, the man toppled over the rail into the churning waters below.
Big E shrugged his narrow shoulders defiantly. "Nobody… I mean nobody… talks trash about my mama."
Together, the four made their way down the walkway to the boathouse. As Big E searched for the right key to open the side door, they looked across what was once known as the Muddy Mississippi. The Bloody Mississippi was more like it now, for the roaring waters ran crimson red and was littered with human refuse; decapitated heads, discarded limbs, and waterlogged organs.
"Good Lord," said Darlene. "So the rumors were true."
Zulu nodded grimly. "Yeah. The National Guard has started a meat processing plant upriver in Ohio. Mostly to feed their own troops, but they're dealing to civilians, too." She turned her eyes away as an aborted fetus rose to the top, then disappeared beneath the surface again. "Kind of like that movie Soylent Green, without all the secrecy."
"Damned cannibals!" grumbled Big E, unlocking the boathouse door. He glanced over his shoulder. "No offense intended."
"None taken," all three said in unison.
They entered the dark boathouse. Big E fumbled with a battery-powered emergency light. The glow revealed a U-shaped dock with a long, sleek speedboat parked within its corral. "I had a fellow keep this in tip-top condition for me. It runs like a dream and is packed with a week's worth of supplies, as well as plenty of ammunition and old issues of Playboy."
Roy and Big E worked the chains that raised the bay door of the boathouse. They were preparing to board the vehicle, when Zulu raised her hand. "Wait a second. Listen."
All four grew silent. Above the lapping of the water, they could hear the thunderous rumble of the stampede pounding the pavement above them.
"It's the Herd," she said. "They've found us!"
"Hurry!" ordered Big E. "Y'all get in. I'll untie the boat."
Zulu, Roy, and Darlene hopped into the speedboat. Zulu cranked the motor. It rumbled to life, then purred like a baby tiger as it idled in its spot.
"Come on, E! We don't have much time."
"Dadblamed knot!" cursed Big E as he fumbled to untie it. Then directly overhead roared the bellowing of demon beef and the roof collapsed. Rancid, pink-fleshed bovines riddled with infection and gangrene rained down from the riverbank above, hitting the heavy planks of the dock. Their legs collapsed and shattered beneath their weight, but pain failed to deaden their hunger. They snapped and gnashed with yellowed and rotten teeth. One took a hunk out of the back of Big E's right thigh, while another clamped down on his left shoulder.
Big E screamed out in pain. "They're on me like a bunch of freaking zombies!" he hollered. Zulu and Roy fired their automatic weapons, riddling the cows with bullet wounds. The King finally got the rope untied and cast it toward them. "Go on! Get outta here!"
"No!" shrieked Darlene. She reached across the stern of the boat and clasped at Big E's hand. "We're not leaving without you!"
Again more of the roof caved in and, this time, Studmuffin came with it. The big Brahma landed directly behind Big E and bellowed, nearly deafening them. He shook his massive head then started toward the man on the dock, lowering his head
and charging.
"Go on, sugar dumplin'," Big E said calmly. "Get to the island and live it up. But promise me one thing."
Tears formed in Darlene's eyes. "Anything."
"Don't let anyone forget me."
"I promise," sobbed the woman. Then Roy was there, pulling her backward. Her hand slipped from Big E's grasp and, with it, something hard fell into her palm.
Zulu and Roy prepared to fire again, but it was too late. Big E whirled like a dervish in black leather, delivering punches and kicks to the man-eating cows around him. One kick ruptured the udders of a sore-ridden Jersey. Its bag ruptured with an explosion of pus, blood, and clabbered milk.
Suddenly, Studmuffin reached him. They watched, horrified, as one of the Brahma's horns pierced E's lower back. The curved shaft gored him, emerging just above his belly button. Crying out, he was lifted off his feet and wagged around like a rag doll in the hands of a petulant child.
"Big E!" screamed Zulu. Tears streamed down her dark face as she watched him writhe and struggle to break free. But there nothing they could do. If they fired, Big E would take the brunt of the attack.
Through his agony, Big E looked down upon the three. "Go! Get to the island and live easy. The maps and charts are in the compartment next to the stereo. Don't worry about me."
Through her tears, Zulu engaged the gear and sent the boat into open water. When they were several yards away, she turned, took something from a tattooed bag at her waist, and tossed it. "Catch, Big E!"
Despite his agony, Big E managed to catch the object. It was a P-15 concussion grenade; a particularly deadly kind developed for the Iran War.
"Thanks."
Zulu stared the man in the eyes. "I love you, Daddy."
Big E nodded. "Keep the faith, baby doll." Then he pulled the pin with his teeth and tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the dock, bounced, and landed directly beneath Studmuffin's burgeoning bullhood.
The boat surged swiftly into the heart of the river. Five seconds later, the grenade went off. A fireball like a miniature nuke engulfed the boathouse, obliterating Big E, as well as Studmuffin and his harem of diseased heifers.
Darlene flinched and watched as something landed on the stern of the boat. It was a tatter of Big E's black jumpsuit, bloody and smoldering. She almost reached out to snatch it up, but got an uneasy image of Jackie Kennedy scrambling across the back of a limousine, clawing for a fragment of her husband's head. She refrained from retrieving the tatter. As the boat surged forward, it slid off the stern and into the bloody waters… lost forever.
She felt Roy's hand on her shoulder. "He's gone. Better come up front with us."
Zulu made a quick turn in the middle of the Mississippi and headed south, in the direction of the Gulf. "Well, that sucked," she muttered, wiping away snot with the back of her hand. Desperately, she searched for something to take her mind off what had just happened. "Let's see what sort of tunes we've got here."
She shoved an old 8-track tape into the outdated stereo system. Abruptly, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" came blaring through the boat's quadraphonic speakers.
"I ain't listening to that sad shit, that's for sure," said Zulu. "I know Big E had something better than that in his stacks." She punched the big chrome button of the player, sending the 8-track to its next channel. Instantly, a familiar crescendo of percussion and thrumming of electric bass heralded the next song.
"Yeah!" hooted Zulu. "That's what I'm talking about!"
"All right!" roared Roy with a grin. "Time for a hunka-hunka-Burning Love!" He leap-frogged the windshield of the speedboat and stood on the bow, swiveling his hips and matching the song, lyric for lyric.
At the stern of the boat, Darlene sat staring at the smoking ruins of the boathouse on Memphis' west side. She suddenly remembered the object in her palm and opened her hand. It was a ring. Heavy, solid gold, and bearing Big E's famous slogan. TCB with a jagged lightning bolt underneath.
Taking Care of Business.
Big E had done that. He had taken care of business, but not for his own benefit. His business had been their salvation and he had paid the ultimate sacrifice to obtain it.
She slid the ring on her finger and found that it was a perfect fit. Forget you? she thought. Never.
Darlene stood up and started toward the bow to join her friends. She knew that there was no need to grieve the King. After all, he had already been dead and buried a long, long time ago.
Someone took a potshot from across the river, nicking a hunk of fiberglass out of the nose of the boat, close to Roy's dancing feet. Zulu sent a burst of slugs from the MAC-10 in their direction. "Hey, you be leaving my boy alone here!" she shouted out. "He be working his stuff!"
"Darlene!" called Roy. He extended his hand with a wink and curl of his lip. "Come dance with me, sugar dumplin'".
With a smile, she took it and was soon twisting and strutting on the bow, as Zulu clapped and danced behind the wheel.
Together, the three rocked their way all the way to the island.
FLESH WELDER
"Who is it?" asked Nurse Taylor. The woman in the drab white uniform jacked a shell into her sawed-off shotgun and stood beside the warehouse door.
"It's me… Owen," came the voice of a child.
"Let him in," allowed the kindly doctor.
After the rolling steel door had been hoisted, letting in the sweltering dragon's breath of a high noon gust, a bizarre procession entered the cavernous building; a battered and rusty red wagon pulled by two harnessed curs. The dogs, one a Doberman, the other a mutt of indeterminate parentage, were a sorry pair. Both were ravaged with mange and parasites, and the effects of malnutrition showed in their bloated bellies and sharp, serrated ribs.
A small, black boy led the dog-drawn wagon. They knew him only as Owen, one of the doctor's regular scavengers. The child was a seasoned survivor at the tender age of nine. His dark face bore the battle scars so common in that brutal day and time; horizontal slashes from a razor fight, as well as a bullet-punctured lower lip. But the most noticeable disfigurement appeared in the form of raw radiation burns which covered the right side of his face and neck like brilliant pink islands on an ebony sea. He was well-armed for a child, toting a .38 snub-nose on one hip and a long-bladed butcher knife on the other.
Doctor Rourke waited until the door had again been lowered and secured before he emerged from his darkened office and approached the child.
"So, Owen, what have you brought me today?"
"Lots of good junk, Doc." Owen smiled up at the big man with the air of a true wheeler-dealer. "The fighting has been hot and heavy down on the southern limits this morning. Right after the SA's began pulling back and our boys started mopping up, I snuck in with the wagon and took my pick of the casualties. Real fresh stuff today. No day-old crap like last time."
"Excellent," said Rourke, crouching beside the bed of the wagon. "Let me see what you have."
With the flourish of a stage magician, Owen whipped back the olive drab tarp, revealing his store of merchandise. The doctor examined each item carefully, nodding his approval. "Yes," he agreed, "yes, I do believe this is your best batch yet!"
Owen beamed proudly. "It's been a whole lot easier since you lent me the scalpel and bone saw, Doc. Now I can work faster, get what I need before the disposal crews come to clean up."
"Shall we retire to my office and conduct our business, my friend?" The bearded physician ushered the boy inside a partitioned room.
Then came the bartering. Doctor Rourke brought out a crate of assorted post-war canned goods and firearm ammunition and set it on the desk beside the goods to be bargained for. Like two Indians trading over a campfire, boy and man swapped to and fro with courtesy and respect. The doctor examined each body part meticulously, checking for freshness, muscle tone, and size. Those that did not meet his standards, due to irreparable damage, disease, or rigor mortis, were discarded. The trading was done diplomatically: a box of .38 ammo for a man's arm, a can of beans
for the leg of a child. As each transaction was haggled over and completed, the food and ammo were placed in Owen's wagon while the human limbs were stacked neatly like cord wood on a gurney to be carted into the warehouse deep-freeze for proper preservation.
The last item was a healthy human heart floating in a quart mason jar of fresh blood. The doctor was interested, as he already had a potential customer for the organ. "How about a couple of cans of halved peaches, along with a box of shells for your father's twelve-gauge?" he offered, figuring it to be more than a fair trade.
Owen's face suddenly grew sad and angry. "I ain't got no use for shotgun shells no more, Doc. My dad…. he's dead."
The physician laid a sympathetic hand on the child's shoulder. He had noticed that the boy had been somewhat nervous and preoccupied, especially during one period of bartering. Now he knew why. "I'm terribly sorry, Owen. When did this happen?"
"Three days ago… before the big counterattack. The army came to Ruin Town looking for men to fight. Any man able to hold a gun they armed and herded into trucks headed for the front. They came for my dad, but he'd been awful sick with that new plague that's going around. They dragged him out of bed and, when he wasn't able to stand, they pushed him out into the street and put a bullet in the back of his head."
"Who was it, Owen? Do you know who was responsible?"
The boy nodded, near tears now. "It was him, Doc. It was the General."
Rourke's normally serene eyes now darkened into angry pits. Jeremiah Payne, also known as the General, was a ruthless looter and murderer who performed wholesale injustice and horrid atrocities under the protective guise of military authority. He and his band of roving mercenaries fought the enemy when a battle presented itself. But, when the hostility died down, they were back to their old tricks, descending upon the meager population like hungry wolves. Cowardly bushwhackers with automatic weapons, that's what they were; sadistic thieves who preyed without conscience on the weak and helpless.
"What about you and your mother?" Rourke asked.
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