by Erb, Thom
“Motherfucker.” Her teeth clinched in a sneer. She wasn’t one to help cops, but this Ranger dude was cool. He’d given her a ride, food without any bullshit. She took a hit off of the bowl and held it. Releasing the smoke, she heard the chaos and had to do something.
Another round of shots rang through the dingy, tiled room. The room rocked, and thunder seemed to be punching through the paper-thin walls.
She flinched at the sound, her hand found the hilt of the Buck knife in her backpack. She ran to the door and slowly opened it a crack. She wished she'd left the door closed.
She could see one of Mexican guys hurrying to stand, while the other pulled a gun on the white kids in the booth right outside the bathrooms.
Beyond them, she winced and lost her breath as she caught the sight of the Ranger’s cowboy boots underneath another pair of legs. Thick, grease stained sneakers laying soles up were attached to the motionless body.
Stacy Jo strained to look closer, and her chest tightened like a vise as she saw the pool of blood spreading out from the prone Ranger’s location behind the booth.
A blinding flash of lightning whitewashed the young girl’s tears as she stared out into the bloodbath of the diner. She needed to do something. She caught the Ranger’s blood-covered boots moving. Kicking in the thick, coagulating fluid on the old floor. Her face broke into a trembling smile. The guy may have been a prick and a drunk, but he did help her. That’s more than any adult had ever done in her seventeen years on this hellhole of a planet. She gripped her knife tighter, inhaled deeply, and then slowly let it out.
The closest asshole was a big dude, slowly walking toward the Ranger. Stacy Jo could see another figure coming at him from the right, a pistol in his hand. Cold sweat poured down her face and back. She felt like she was standing outside in the storm. She didn’t have time to think about the weather.
She slammed the door open, it banged against the wall as she ran like a cat at the big Mexican. She heard more shouting. Screaming. It was her own frenzied voice that filled the diner. She leapt, landing with all her weight on his burly frame. The man grunted as she swung down with all her might, burying the knife to its hilt in the man’s chest. Warm blood bathed her trembling hand as she clawed at the big man’s eyes. From deep inside her, a feral, primal scream flowed out as she gouged and battered the big man. All sound was lost in loud barrage of thunder. It rocked the diner, and a flurry of lightning bathed all the inhabitants in a glowing light.
Then, in a ghastly whisper, the power went out. All went black.
32
Thug
Sonuvabitch. The girl’s scream signaled she was okay. I gripped the pistol, raising it up at the black figure coming straight at me in the darkness. It weighed heavy in my wet hand. I wasn’t sure if it was blood or sweat, but that didn’t make a damn difference. The lights going out was the best thing for me. At least now, this piece of shit and me were on the same playing field. Well, except for the bullet in my goddamn arm. I would kill for a shot of whiskey, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“Dianira, drop the fucking gun,” I shouted into the blackness. The shape I assumed was the shit-bag gang-banger kept walking slowly toward me. Like he was savoring it. Asshole.
“Oh, senor McCutcheon. Did you miss me, esé? I really missed you.” The voice was filled with daggers and thirst.
“Hell, dip-shit, you have enough time to miss me while you were making sweet man-love with your cellmate Bubba Bigprick? I bet you were the bottom.” Although it killed me to do it, I shifted Jimbo’s limp body to my left, using him as cover, while I rested my pistol arm on his broad shoulder.
“Ha. It’s good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, pendejo.” His voice slowly pushed through the darkness. “After all, esé, don’t they say that laughter is the best medicine?”
I couldn’t see shit. A bright wash of light splintered the darkness, bathing the psychopath in a yellowish light. He was five feet away. A brutal grin split his battered face. My arm flared with pain, and I could feel the broken glass inch deeper into my thigh as Jimbo’s body weight pressed down on me.
I had the piece of shit murderer in my sights. Lightning danced and flitted, providing the only light in the diner, casting demonic shadows on the old movie posters and road signs Jimbo had collected over the years. Dianira never took his deep-set, beady eyes off me. Bastard.
I pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, exploding a hanging light from the yellowing ceiling.
“Fuck!”
I could still hear the girl screaming and wrestling with the goon to my right. She needed me. Dianira snapped his head toward the commotion and didn’t look happy. Good.
“Quit dancing with that bitch. We got shit t—” His words cut off as a dark form jumped the prick from behind. The man was short, stocky, and strong. Whitney. The old, tough-as-nails truck driver’s name brought a wide smile across my face. It didn’t last long as pain replaced it. I took the opportunity to try and get out from under Jimbo. My chest tightened, and I forced back a tear as I gently laid my best friend onto the cold, blood-covered floor. His blank eyes stared at me in a frozen plea for help.
The two wrestled in the darkness, save a few sporadic blasts of lightning. Whitney was one tough sonuvabitch He was a Navy Seal in ’Nam and strong as a damn ox. The old man knew his way around a barroom and was no stranger to blood. He was going to give me the time I needed to get this insane shit under control. So I thought.
A deafening gunshot blared through the diner, and as I got to my knees, my gut wrenched as Whitney slumped to the floor in a sick thump—his bearded face now a bloody wreck. A bullet hole split his mouth and nose. Shattered teeth, bits of skin, and shredded lips exploded in a red fountain into the cold, air.
I didn’t have time to mourn for the trucker or Jimbo. I fired one at the Mexican prick, but the hours of booze were kicking my ass. I knew I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn even if I was on the goddamn inside.
“Fuck me!” I screamed, as the slide locked back on my pistol.
Okay, plan B, asshole. I only had a second to close in on this scumbag. I sprung from my crouch and closed the short distance faster than I thought my drunk legs could muster. The Mexican gang-banger turned toward me just as I drove my shoulder into his stomach. All air inside his wiry body rushed out in a loud humph. He fired a round from the pistol. I heard a girl scream and then the sound of shattering glass.
Stacy Jo!
Shit! No time.
We both went sprawling over the trucker’s limp body. I heard the pistol clang to the floor and slide away. My left arm felt like three-dozen welders decided to build a damn skyscraper inside it. I still could take this shit-bag. I’d done it before.
I was on top of him. I threw my useless arm over his chest and sat up—trying to buy me enough time to get my legs underneath me. A fire raged in my arm as the guy grabbed the bleeding wound and squeezed. He cursed me in words I’d never even heard Inez’s father say when talking about his daughter’s worthless gringo of a fiancé.
Lightning offered flashes of vision—like a strobe light on fast-forward. The Thug squeezed harder on my arm, and I heard myself scream. The shit-bag laughed and squeezed harder. I didn’t like that. I swung my pistol arm up toward his face, and the strobe light caught his ‘oh shit’ face, then the strobe went black again.
“Fuck you, pendejo.” The thug grunted and punched with his other hand, knocking my gun aside as I squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore a hole into the linoleum close to his head. I heard the bitch let out a squeal.
The guy reacted fast. I used to be fast, but the hard years of fieldwork, booze, and self-loathing, had taken their toll on me. I felt a searing pain in my ribs. I thought I heard a crack.
The strobe was back. All I saw was the spinning ceiling fan as he twisted his hips and thrust his knees upward, sending me slamming into the booth to our left. The strobe went black again. This time, an eardrum shaking round of thunder
took its place.
“Not this time, esé. Oh no. This time… I gut you like a pig. Just like your bitch ass friend.” The thug’s wide, blood slathered grin was above me. He looked like a Kodak film negative. I’d never seen so much anger and evil in one man’s eyes. This sick fuck didn’t just have to kill. No, he loved to kill. He had a taste for blood. I had to end him.
The strobe was replaced with darkness. I heard the piece of shit laughing. It chilled every inch of me. My arm flopped onto the floor. Shooting spasms of fire filled the damn thing. I could barely move. My body ached all over. I could still feel the blood running from the wound. My head was spinning, and the herky-jerky strobe light of lighting was making my gut rolled like a Maytag. I tried to twist my hips and legs to send the thug off balance, but he had his core weight centered over me.
“Pendejo.” The thug leaned down, reached behind him, and pulled out a long, thin knife. The Strobe caught its glint then disappeared. I could feel his hot breath on my face. It smelled of pot, sex, and maple syrup. He laughed. I turned my face to avoid the fish and skunk smell. I felt the scumbag’s lips against my cheek. I couldn’t move underneath his dead weight. In the darkness, I still heard the sounds of a struggle back where the bathrooms were. My only hope that the kid was okay. I was in my own world of shit as I felt cold metal of the knife slowly cross my throat.
33
Bad Girl
Stacy Jo spun around the big man’s shoulders, facing him. She drove him backward, the pistol in his hand went off, and she heard the girl in the University of Houston t-shirt let out a horrid scream. A spray of blood painted the window behind her.
“Crazy bitch,” the big man muttered, pawing at the knife buried in his burly chest. The guy fell, sending them both in a clumsy crash. Stacy Jo saw the smaller Mexican jumping up from the booth.
“Bobby,” the guy’s voice was shrill and filled with a panic. He danced around like his feet were on fire. Stacy Jo rolled against the counter and fought to catch her breath. Rain and thunder pounded the diner, and she could hear the Ranger and that vato fighting on the other side of the counter. Her heart felt as if it was going to implode in her chest, and her pulse raced like Tony Dorsett on speed. The big man lay in a pool of blood. His body twitched, and his thick legs kicked out. His meaty hands slapped at the Buck knife in his chest.
What the hell was going on? She frantically tried to wrap her racing mind around what was happening. No answers…no luck.
“What the hell you do, bitch?” the thin guy screamed at her, trying to help his big friend lying still on the floor. “Oh Christ, Bobby. Shit… shit… Fuck… shit,” he cried out, falling over the man on the floor.
Stacy Jo lay on the floor and caught a glimpse of movement from the bathrooms. The chaotic flashes of lightning slowed the scene to a stop-motion cartoon like she and her best friend back in Arcadia Falls used to draw on the bottom of their notebook paper. They’d draw a girl slowly, page-by-page, giving a guy a blowjob, and it’d be animated as they flipped each drawing. This was no drawing, and this guy in the blood stained Adidas jumpsuit staggering out of the darkness didn’t look right. Blood and spit hung like a sling from his slack jaw. The man swayed back and forth. Spastic flashes of lightning broke up his drunken motions.
What Stacy Jo witnessed next seized every part of her. She tried to scream. She tried to warn the skinny guy trying to wake up the big guy lying in a spreading pool of blood. The guy in the jumpsuit lunged at the skinny guy, and the sound he made reminded her of the lions she’d watched on PBS, tearing into the zebras flesh. Jumpsuit lunged and bit the spastic dude, ripping a huge chunk of his flesh from his neck. The guy screamed out in agony and tried to fight off his attacker. It was too late. Jumpsuit was digging his teeth deep into his neck and shoulder. Blood and chunks of flesh tore from his thin frame.
“Dios Mio.” Stacy Jo made the sign of the cross as she saw the big man…the dead man, slowly sit up. The knife still buried deep in his chest. Her mind fractured and every sense of reality splintered into a thousand horrid fragments. She backpedaled, only to find the coolness of the counter at her back to prohibit her retreat. Her head swirled, and she looked for an exit. The one by the pay-phone was clear.
She stood up. Her knees banged together, and her hands trembled. Her brown eyes shot open, and the big man slowly, awkwardly got to his feet. Her heart seized as behind him the college girl twitched, and then sunk her teeth into her boyfriend’s face, ripping flesh and muscle from it. She swallowed.
Stacy Jo’s stomach cinched tight, and she felt vomit rise in the back of her throat. The insanity of the moment froze her. Lightning cast the entire diner in surreal haze and thunder rumbled beneath her feet. She needed to get the hell out of Dodge. Now.
The big dead guy, College lovers, and the Adidas guy, all were slowly walking toward her. She needed to think. There wasn’t a lot of time, and the chaotic storm wasn’t making it any easier. She took a deep breath, saw the side door, and began to run for it. She skidded to a stop on broken glass and blood.
The Ranger, she thought and looked around. He was lying on the floor in a sea of blood with the scummy dude holding a knife to his throat.
Damn it! She had no idea what the hell was going on. People eating each other? The dead getting up, and with a hellfire case of the munchies? Her head raced, but there was no way she could leave the Ranger alone. Not after what he’d done for her. Hell, no. Reluctantly, she spun on her heal and saw a pistol lying in the floor next to some guy’s leg. She picked it up and aimed it at the Mexican on top of the Ranger. She squeezed the trigger as a blast of white lightning lit up the scene. She didn't even look back as she jumped through the window of the diner. The glass shattered easy, having already weakened by gunshots. Stacy Jo felt a tidal-wave of jagged glass rip into her skin as she escaped into the raging storm.
Her scream was lost in the wash of thunder.
34
Lowdown in the Street
I kicked up with my legs with all I the strength I had left. The prick on top of me let out a loud cry the same time a gun shot rang out from my right. I knew that sound. It was my pistol. But who?
The girl. Stacy Jo. She was still alive. Tough chick. I knew I liked her for a reason. I allowed myself a millisecond to grin and then took advantage of the opportunity.
I spun my hips, and it sent Dianira rolling off to the left, into the darkness. My arm still burned like a bitch, but I hoped to live long enough to pay his sorry-ass back. I staggered to my feet, and my head felt like my brain was inside a fishbowl. I inhaled slowly, let it out, and saw the shit-bag in the shadows grabbing at his shoulder. Good. The kid hadn't killed the asshole. It was my turn. I pulled the Ka-Bar from its sheath on my belt, smiled at the gang-banger, and took a step toward him. I heard her scream.
The supernatural storm raged on. The wind and rain rocked and brutally attacked the diner. The frantic lighting continued to cast jumping images in my pain and booze filled head. I froze. I couldn’t believe what the hell I was seeing.
“Stac…” the words caught like nails in my throat as I watched her leap out the window. The fat guy, who had a big Buck knife sticking out of his chest, was ripping skin, muscle and fat from one of the college kid's face. They looked at me for help as blood poured from their cheeks and necks like a fire hydrant in the summer time. Her large blue eyes fixed on me. My chest again began to pound.
“No,” my words were lost in the swirling storm. I wanted to help. My pistol clanked to the floor, she disappeared beneath the thrashing arms and bloody hungry maws of the two monsters.
I reached out and pulled them off, but only made it two steps before a sharp burning sensation filled my back. I cried out, as the all too familiar pain of a knife pierced my lower back. Guessing by how it suddenly became a bitch to breathe, my right lung was toast.
“Your ass is mine, pendejo. I will make you suffer. Suffer like I did.” Dianira lifted me up with the blade of his knife, and my legs felt like I was w
alking in Jell-O. He shoved me toward the side door. We passed the feeding frenzy. I felt my stomach churn and my heart ache as I heard the girl crying for help beneath the pile of death and gore. He snatched me by the belt and the knife handle, throwing me through the glass side door.
What the hell was this guy? A Mexican super villain? The bastard wasn't at all affected by all the fucking zombies munching on the living. What the hell?
Hundreds of shards of glass bore into my skin as I flew out into the freezing rain. I felt my body hit something solid, a person maybe. I didn’t have a hell of a lot of time to analyze as I slammed into the mud of the parking lot.
The world was a hellacious blur. The storm raged on. Thunder rumbled the ground like a battalion of tanks were running the diner over. Lightning flashed like a goddamn Iron Maiden concert, and the rain pounded down like frozen nails from the black sky. My mind was a damn jigsaw puzzle on a keg of Jameson. The fucked up weather. Those jack holes eating people. What the hell? I had far more worse shit to worry about as my eyes went from blurry to clear, just in time to see that shit-bag Dianira standing over me with a pistol.
Fuck me.
34.
Sleep Warm.
Sharp, needle-like raindrops felt good against her skin. Stacy Jo was grateful for the thick mud she landed in next to the dumpster. She didn't have much time to relax. The entire parking lot of the diner was slowly being swallowed up by staggering forms. The teen was all too aware of what those nasty bastards were there for.
She could still hear the sound of fighting inside the diner, but she had to get away. Her heart weighed heavy leaving the Ranger, but there was nothing she could do for him now. She waited and finally a spot opened up. She ran toward the Ranger's car. If all else failed, the vehicle offered at least some form of protection.