by Black, D. S.
His parents had been there ever since, rotting away for a year now. At first Larry wasn’t sure why he didn’t simply go up and dispatch them. Was he afraid? That wasn’t it. He’d led them to the room with ease and was sure he could put them down with similar simplicity. But, something held him back. Love? A desire to hold onto his Old World parents? That was a laugh indeed. Larry had never been happier. The end of the world brought him plenty of joy.
So, why did he put up with the stench? In the basement, he didn’t smell them at all, but when he went throughout the house, the smell of rotting flesh was strong.
Then in a eureka moment, he knew. Chaos wanted him to store them. They still had a role to play.
What role would they play in this apocalyptic drama?
When he realized the answer, he’d sat back and laughed like a maniac.
Mullinax 4
1
The Colonel sat back in his large leather chair and propped his feet up. He opened his desk drawer and took out a box of cigars, took one out and lit it, twirling it in his fingers till the tip was evenly red. He blew out the smoke in large circles. His daddy had taught him how to do it. His daddy had taught him many things. How to shoot, how to treat women. Daddy was a cop too, back when cops could be cops. Allowed to beat the hell out of anyone who smarted off without having to worry about a nosy smartphone carrying liberal. Not having to worry about YouTube uploads that got millions of hits before the New Media started working against them. Back then, cops were worshiped; their authority rarely questioned. A few broken bones? A dead suspect? No big deal.
He remembered the way his mother's battered face looked; how he was strangely turned on by the black eyes and the choke marks on her throat. He thought back then that maybe he was different than other boys; maybe he was supposed to get angry and protective, but he relished the nights when his father would come home and beat and rape his mother; it was to this sick drama that he'd first reached orgasm. It was raining cats and dogs that night, the wind screaming against the windows; yet the sounds of his father slapping her around and ripping off her clothes, calling her a fat bitch came clear from directly above his bedroom. The thumps on the hardwood floor, the cries of his mother, begging him not to do it, not to shove that bat inside her; he was certain that it was the mini baseball bat his father bought at a local sports store; he’d reach orgasm to the screams of pain and agony from his mother's broken and bloody lips. It had been music to his ears, an erotic symphony played out at least once a week. His father would drink heavy and hard at the Police Club Bar, then come home and put on a manly play of power and control.
Now he stood, slid his chair aside, walked to the large window, puffed the cigar and stared down at the football field full of drug-crazed, yet deadly loyal soldiers and the women they kept as toys. He felt a strong and steady confidence riding through him, like a thick stream of empowerment had been pumped into his veins.
2
He left his office and walked down to the field. He enjoyed walking down the stadium seats and jumping onto the large football field that was now a military base. Many of the seats had been removed and replaced with bunks. On one end of the field, where the goal post had been removed was a large tent that housed the women. The rest of the field was used for battle drills that went on all day every day until the sun went down; after that, the party started. The women cooked the meals and then fucked the men at night. It was after all, the only jobs nature ever intended them to have. Women were never meant to be astronauts, lawyers, doctors, and certainly not cops or soldiers. Nope! Cook and fuck, that’s what their worth amounted to.
A young man with buzzed red carrot hair walked up and saluted the Colonel. Mullinax returned the salute and said, “Good morning Captain Brady. How’s the day looking?”
“Hot as they come. Heard you lost your gals this morning.”
“I did! I did! The Mountain King wanted the biology professor for a pet project.”
“The Dead Zones? Think she can figure it out?”
“Who knows! All I know is that the sexy blonde is gone, and I'll have to pick girls from that poor looking lot over there.” He pointed towards the end of the field where the women were finishing up making breakfast. The food hall was a long tent structure that sat directly in front of the womenfolk’s quarters. Many of the men just called it The Slut Zone.
“We're running drills all day, Colonel. You know how it goes. They got their White Mist up their noses, food in their belly, and now they’re ready to burn some calories.”
The Colonel liked Captain Brady. He'd known Brady from the Old World when they both worked down in Horry County. He'd found Brady fighting off a group of zombies a few weeks after the Fever and had helped him kill em off. They'd then came up to Columbia in the hopes of finding some semblance of order. What they'd found was The Militia.
He slapped Brady on the shoulder, “Carry on Captain.”
3
He sat in the shade of the bleachers watching the Captain run drills with the soldiers. Captain Brady was years younger than him; he thought he remembered Brady telling him twenty-five. He'd met Brady's dad years earlier, right after the boy had graduated from the police academy.
“I'm damn proud of my boy let me tell ya, cause there ain't no future in my industry. Not after that damn online taxi service came and allowed any damn person with a car to call themselves a taxi driver.”
Mullinax had agreed with him it was a damn shame, and certainly didn't tell him he used the service while on vacation numerous times.
“Felons! That's who drives for that company. Nothing but thieving murderers! I went to the County board and told em something needed to be done, that they can't just let any unlicensed yokel drive around calling themselves a taxi driver. Bandits! That's what they are, fuckin bandits!”
The freshly graduated Brady clapped his old man on the back. “Pop, it’s the new age of electronic freedom. Those guys who created that app are rolling in the cash now. Good luck on beating them in a legal fight. It’s been tried and failed.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck it! I'm going home, son.” He grabbed his boy's head and kissed the top of his carrot top. “I'll be drinking my blues away to the sounds of Confederate Railroad with a bottle of Black Velvet to keep me company. I'm proud of ya son. We need good boys like you in the law these days. With all them libtards trying to give special rights to blacks and queers and those confused idiots calling themselves transgender! Jesus! It’s like Sodom and fuckin Gomorrah!”
The old man had walked away grumbling to himself.
“Don't let the old man make you think he's all bad or crazy,” Brady said.
Mullinax had laughed and clapped the new cop on the back. “Not at all, Officer Brady. Sure, you can't use the straightforward approach like he does; at least not while you're wearing the badge, but between me and you, he's right on a lot of issues; I have no doubt.”
Now, sitting in the bleachers watching Captain Brady run the men ragged, especially the new recruits; he knew he'd done right by keeping Brady close to him. Brady was a firestorm of energy; he was the future of The New World. Young, bright, strong, manly, and not willing to take shit from anyone except his superiors. Even before the Fever, Brady had agreed with Mullinax that cops were soldiers and most everyone else was the enemy; if you weren’t on the right side of the thin blue line, then you were an enemy combatant that needed controlling or killing.
Order! That was what they were about before the Fever, and that's what they were about now. And nobody could stop em, no sir. No way! The Militia was invincible.
4
He moved down toward the womenfolk’s end of the field. When he got there, they eyed him with suspicion and anxiety. He'd fucked each one of them. It was after all, the rules. First taste always goes to those in charge. He stood watching them as they cleaned the kitchen wares and cleaned the clothing of the soldiers on washboards. Oh, how the Colonel loved to watch women do what nature intended. He eyed a few of the yo
ung ones, clearly illegal according to Old World standards. But the New World rules stated that he could fuck anything with a vagina, regardless of age. He owned these women, but they all paled in comparison to Tasha's beauty; her youthful blonde-haired elegance. Her pouty little lips and her firm, supple body.
Oh well, he figured he find another girl like Tasha at some point. Until then, these whores would have to do. He wasn't in the mood right now though; he made a mental note to come back down before sundown and pick out a couple of girls to hold him over till he could find something better.
He turned to walk back to his office, where he intended to do some drinking when the first gunshots rang out from somewhere outside the stadium. Then an explosion, maybe one of the vehicles. He heard shouting and screaming, and then the gun torrents up top let loose. The radio on his hip cackled loudly. He picked it off his side. “What the hell's going on?”
“This is Torrent One reporting sir! A group attacked the front gates. A hit and run.”
“Stay alert! They might be testing the defenses,” the Colonel said. He was already moving to intercept Captain Brady, who was running towards him.
“Captain! Get up to Torrent One's position and see what you can see. I'm heading to the front gates. Let's not get cocky. There’s still a lot of people out there who aren’t under our control.”
“Yes, sir! Don't worry, we'll keep our eyes open and our ears cocked!”
A fiery explosion erupted from near the front gates. He grabbed his radio: “Jesus! What the hell was that?”
A voice came back: “Someone just fired a goddamn rocket!”
He clipped his radio on his belt, and grimaced. “Fucking hell! Lost my new girls and now this! It's turning into a beautiful morning! Full of bullshit and blood!”
He ran up the stadium steps as fresh gunfire erupted. The soldiers were running, gearing up and taking positions near the front gates. They were going to go after whoever was out there and take em out before they could do more damage to the stadium.
The Colonel went into his office and turned on the stadium-wide speaker system. There was now gunfire ringing out in every direction, the sounds travelling through the hot humid air.
He spoke into a microphone, and his voice broadcasted loudly from stadium speakers: “This is your stadium! This is your time! The Mountain King is watching! Let’s do him proud boys! Let’s do him damn proud!”
Pinky Meets the Comic Warriors and The Battle for Columbia
1
Hours before the attack on the stadium; Pinky, Candy (Jack rested back at the farm), and Johnny Rainmaker, along with nearly a hundred others from the farm moved over the woods roads built by the Militia.
With Rainmaker leading, they drove quickly and were aware of Dead Zone Green on I-20. Pinky and Rainmaker knew about the Dead Zones, but never experimented with trying to cross it. Rainmaker had scouted the Militia's movements for months and knew most of the paths they took.
They'd reached the outskirts of Columbia without any trouble. As they made their cautious march to the stadium they took notice of another group of survivors heading in the same direction. When Candy peered through the binoculars, she recognized Okona's bald and shining head immediately. She suggested letting her approach alone since that would be less likely to cause them to open fire; and once Okona saw her, things should go smoothly from there.
And they did. She walked up to them as they were resting against some trees, seemingly discussing their next move. At the sound of her boots crunching over sticks (she made no attempt to move stealthily), they raised their rifles and demanded to know who was approaching.
“Someone you know, Okona. Don't shoot me, fellas. I'm a friend.” She walked out of the trees with her hands up. “And those are hard to come by these days, I’m sure you know that.”
“What the?” Okona lowered his rifle and stared for a moment. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“You know her?” Duras asked. He clearly didn't remember her from their first encounter.
“He does.” Candy answered for him. “And I'm here to fight the Militia.”
“All by yourself?” Duras asked, a sly smile crossing his face.
“No,” Okona said. “I don't think she's alone.”
“He's right. I'm gonna fight em with you.” She lowered her hands and put them on her hips. “And the one hundred men I have with me.”
Vice spoke up, “One hundred men! Where?”
She gave a whistle and a wave. Moments later Pinky and Rainmaker walked up.
“The rest are waiting a little way back. We didn't want you to mistake us for the Militia,” Candy said.
“My name is Pinky Satterfield. This here is Johnny Rainmaker, Candy says we can probably trust you. Least as far as fighting the Militia goes.”
“Right now, an enemy of the Militia is an ally. You are right,” Okona said.
“It’s still going to be one hundred versus five thousand,” Rainmaker said. “Not the best of odds, but we will hit them hard. They're overconfident and that’s to our advantage.”
They were three miles away from the stadium, in the thicket of Fort Jackson Military Reservation. Fort Jackson was considered too open to zombie activity by the Militia and hence not used, but today there were no zombies in sight. Thick, green leaves protected them from view. The morning was hot, but their spirits were high. They made their plans for the attack. They'd hit them from every side, draw out their forces in long bottlenecks as they came out of the stadium, and hit them hard. With a little luck, they might just pull off a victory that seemed impossible. They'd seen only a few zombies moving about and that was indeed questionable. Yes they'd been silent and foxy, but to see no zombies did cause a little worry and confusion. It would have been better to know where a large horde may come a moaning, hungry for their sun battered hot flesh.
But when the guns lit up, the dead were sure to come, no doubt about that. Probably in large droves. They planned on guiding the dead straight into one of the entrances, giving the Militia something to think about while they sent a small team to find Mary Jane and Tasha and help save any other prisoners. Little did they know that their hope of saving Mary Jane and Tasha went out the door as they sat under the shady trees; those girls had a date with the Mountain King.
The survivors were armed with rocket launchers, automatic rifles and grenades. It wasn't quite a kamikaze mission, but it was close.
2
They began taking up positions around the stadium. Candy went with Okona, Duras, Vice, Rhino, Chris and Ice Man. Their job was to take out the torrents in the north stands, not far from the student gate. Just beyond the north side of the stadium is George Rogers Boulevard. Just over the boulevard is the Fair Grounds. The Columbia Fair Grounds offered shelter, allowing stealthy movement. The Militia had cleared the Fair Grounds months earlier and there were only a few zombies moving here and there like lost patrons seeking the food stand.
Hidden on the other end of the Fair Grounds, behind what used to be student apartments were fifty of the one hundred men that came from the farm. Once the torrents were down, they would charge and take on any of the troops coming out of the north side of the stadium. While they lured the Militia troops to the north, Pinky and Rainmaker would flank with the remaining men through the player entrance to the south.
The pieces were set. The lines drawn.
The Battle for Columbia began.
3
The first rocket smashed into the torrent and blasted it straight to hell. Whoever was manning that station died in a fiery orgasm. The next shot took out the torrent on the lower level in the same manner. The men waiting in the rear began moving up, rifles at the ready, prepared to storm the gates. They heard the echoing voice of Colonel Mullinax urging his men to fight.
Like an angry bee hive, a swarm of soldiers streamed out of the north gate and opened fire. Bullets came in a deafening storm of zipping and pelting. Ten men were killed immediately and soon they found themselves o
utnumbered and pinned down. They fired fast and accurate shots, killing dozens of the drugged soldiers, who seemed more than happy to die. But more came, and then more. It was as though they had an endless amount of reinforcements. They flowed out of the south gate in a screaming, maddening craze; their eyes wide and gleeful at the prospect of dying for the Mountain King. The men (Candy being the only woman) were quickly pinned down behind large concrete cylinders, rusted merry go rounds, rickety food stands, and anything else that offered enough cover to avoid the onslaught of bullets coming from the mob of Militia soldiers flowing out of the stadium.
Candy threw a hand grenade that killed three Militia soldiers attempting to cross the Boulevard. Duras took a sniper position and took well-placed shots with his Springfield. Chris and Okona were in a strife position, gunning down Militia soldiers at will. Ice Man, Rhino and Vice threw more grenades and killed rushing Militia soldiers by the dozens.
It was a battle worthy of song and drink. It was a valiant stand, but as the day grew old, ammunition ran short; weariness grew, and the Militia soldiers continued to stream out of the gate.
They held the line. Somehow, they held it. By the time dusk loomed in the failing light, a mound of soldiers lied dead across the boulevard.
A few miles down the road, a thousand zombies heard the gunshots and started their hungry march towards the mayhem.
4
As the battle-weary survivors drew the Militia out of the north side of the stadium, Pinky and Rainmaker charged the south gate with fifty strong and well-equipped men. They'd waited till the fight was bitter on the north end before storming the gate. They quickly fired rockets, taking out the south end's torrents. As they rushed through the gates, they entered a long concrete tunnel that was once only used by beefy Gamecock football warriors. Now, instead of jock strapped college football players, the burning black eyes of Johnny Rainmaker led the way onto the field. They soon found themselves under heavy fire.