Charlie returns. He has to learn about this guy. He is dying to know how he can hold in that much booze and not go to the bathroom. And where does he keep that fucking money stashed?
Weaving through traffic once again, he makes his way to the table. Past a newspaper stand where he spots The Daily Gab and its news of The End. Big headline that proclaims the Apocalypse has begun! Idiots, all of them. All of those assholes in the media. Anything to scare people into buying more trash mags.
Daily Gab. What kind of name is that? He glances at it again with a frown on his face and for just a moment he thinks it says The Daily Cunt. And what the hell does that headline say? Charlie rubs his eyes and snatches up a copy, but he must have been seeing things. It is still called The Daily Gab, and the cover story is still “The Beginning of the End!”
He tosses it aside and stomps over to the guy in the robe. The man who has blown him off, stood in one place for three days and spent a fortune on the table. He is wobbling now, moving from side to side like the booze is finally hitting his system.
People stop and watch him toss dice. They stare for a minute then shake their heads and walk away. Some leave. Others cash out their chips and go to the bar.
“How are you this bad at the game and yet you keep on playing?”
“Bored.”
“Oh.”
The guy has a stack of chips that can’t be more than ten or fifteen grand. The dealer keeps her eye on him as much as she does on the dice.
“Can I ask your name?” Charlie wonders why no one has thought about that.
“Sure.”
“Um, what’s your name?”
“I am that I am.”
“Sounds like some shit Charlton Heston would say in a movie,” Charlie chuckles.
“So that’s where Dad got it.”
A woman in a bright red dress that barely covers her voluptuous form steps up to the guy and runs her hand over his arm. He looks at her, at her cleavage and then at her legs, which are on display thanks to a slit that runs ALL the way up. Charlie even watches as she moves.
“High roller. I like your style,” she says. “Is this silk?”
“Samite.” He looks away from her to watch the dice as they crash against the back of the table. The ground shakes as they strike.
“ME!” the man yells when he tosses twelve for the second time in a row. The woman stares at him with suddenly adoring eyes.
“You can’t be serious!” Charlie yells just as another, larger quake shakes the place. This one is much stronger and almost pulls him off his feet.
“Can’t I?” the man whispers, and his voice, though quiet, is everywhere at once.
A trick of the building, the way sound carries. The building moves again, and this time the power flashes out. The room goes silent for a split second before people start shrieking.
“Ah crap.”
“Craps,” the dealer corrects just before an enormous red shape smashes through the middle of the building from the floor up. It tears apart tables and tosses people aside like they are kindling. A man in a suit, who happens to be disadvantageously located, is smashed into the ceiling as the giant column tears it apart.
Massive. Charlie has seen water towers that aren’t this thick. It rises, slowly, curves over in its relentless path of destruction. The building is sheared in two around him, and all he can do is cringe. He finds himself cowering near the man in the robe and uttering the Lord’s Prayer by rote. The first thing that comes to his lips, even though he has not been near a church in at least two decades.
The man in the robe tosses back a drink but stands unyielding as the ceiling joins the floor. Daylight pours in for the first time since the place was in the early stages of planning. Massive chunks of concrete with lights still attached fall to the ground. Tables explode under the impact, and the unmistakable sounds of coins tinkle as slot machines fall over or are crushed.
A river of chips falls into the chasm that is left by the giant red thing. Charlie stares after them and counts thousands of dollars. His mind is doing stupid things like wondering how in the fuck they are going to recover the money.
Then the man pushes back his robe and utters words that seem to set the air on fire. He raises his hands, but before he can get his entire phrase out, the giant red column whips back over and smashes him to the ground.
Charlie tries to avoid the enormous red thing, but it is moving too fast and he is far too scared. As it descends and pulps his body to a mass of skin and blood, the last thought his mind manages is, “Is that a giant fucking cock?”
War Gets a Load in the Face
The semi trundles down the winding road at a good clip. The problem with the big rigs is they need a lot of room to stop. So it isn’t exactly rocket science that they need to be driven around the speed limit and never too fast when going downhill. Most truckers adhere to that rule, especially when there are a lot of cars around.
The difference between most semis on the road and this particular truck is the person at the wheel. She’s got the cabin filled with angry faces that match her own furious glare. Every few minutes she shakes her head and stares daggers at the road like it is her own personal enemy. Edwina looks at her darling love and reaches over to pat her knee. Darla covers her hand with her own large palm and pats back. Then it is back to staring at the road. The only thing missing is a pulsing soundtrack to get the girls even more worked up.
Edwina lowers the window a notch and sniffs the warm air that rushes in. She holds a map in her lap because the stupid GPS is on the fritz. It had them on the right path for the first hour, but then it started going crazy, showing them maps of other states. At one point it zoomed all the way out and she could have sworn it showed them a giant erect penis with a pair of hairy balls to match, covering up what should have been Nevada.
Then it started flickering and jumping around like it was possessed. Darla scowled even harder than she had when they started this little road trip. She grabbed the thing, bashed it against her thigh a few times. Checked it again and then slammed it against the dash. The GPS bounced back but hit the floor. Edwina dug it out, and when she flipped it over the screen was cracked and there was the unmistakable image of a big middle finger on it.
“Piece of shit,” she said and rolled down the window to toss it.
The ground bucks under the truck like they’ve hit a massive pothole. They bounce so hard that Edwina is afraid Marcel will fly right out of her thigh-high leather boots. The boots stay on, but she hits her head on the roof and then plops back into her seat with a curse.
“Take it easy, Darla!” Marcel snaps at the driver.
“I didn’t even see anything. What the hell just happened?”
Pounding from the back of the semi indicates that the other girls aren’t too impressed with Darla’s driving either. She leans over the top of the steering wheel to get a look at the road as it whisks by.
“What the fuck was that? I swear there was nothing on the road,” Darla insists.
“I didn’t see anything either, honey,” Edwina reassures her girlfriend.
Then another jolt shakes the truck, this time harder than before. It feels like they hit a large animal. Or a person. Darla doesn’t waste time after this one. She downshifts and brings the big rig to a shuddering stop.
The side door slides open, and a couple of angry faces appear in Darla’s side window. Shylah Rae, with her waist-length blond hair in a long ponytail, is the first to approach the side of the cab.
“What in the world are you driving over?” she shouts.
“Keep your panties on. I didn’t hit anything.” Darla says. “I think.”
She jumps out of the truck and walks around the front to check for damage. She has on her no-shit-taking blue jeans and a big flannel shirt opened over a sheer white tank top. Her one perfect tit is displayed through the soft cloth.
“I don’t see any damage.” Edwina stands behind her and stares down the long road, but there is no sig
n of whatever they just hit. All she can see is black asphalt.
Darla looks over the grill for damage, but the metal is just as clean and silver as the minute they left the compound, with the exception of a few splattered bugs. The big bulldog over the grill grins down at her, and for a second she thinks he turns into a squirming little dick. She does a double take, and the dog is back. She shakes her head but can’t get the picture out of her mind.
The ground jumps underneath them. Marcel falls on her ass, spitting curses like a viper as she smacks into the ground. Darla falls against the side of the truck and grabs hold of a hand rung to keep from being flung to the ground. Edwina rides the quake, shifting from foot to foot in her sensible sneakers. Then the ground thumps one more time and everyone goes down.
“What in the gin-soaked fuck was that?” Darla yells.
A couple of the girls squirrel out of the side of the semi, guns cocked and ready for action. They are prepared to shoot the face off the first man who looks at them in the wrong tone of voice. Edwina isn’t sure what they plan to do against an earthquake.
Maggie and Linda are an odd pair—short Asian women who argue all the time except when they hold weapons. Then they are more wicked than a pair of buddy cops with rocket launchers. Their shoulder-length hair flies around their faces as they exit the vehicle. With tight military precision they assemble, followed by two other girls, one with a giant chain-gun in hand and the other with a shotgun.
“What’s going on?” Maggie asks no one in particular. Edwina always imagines her in one of those movies about the Vietnam War. She would be one of the young women who are sick of being whores and take up weapons. Maggie is just a badass from the word ‘Ho Chi Motherfucking Min’. She can strip, clean, and put together a 9mm so fast it is a Guinness world record waiting to happen.
Explosions erupt in the distance. Really big explosions. Like the world is on fire explosions. Chunks of earth rise into the air and fall with thunks so loud that the sound waves engulf them a half minute later, bringing them to their knees again.
The sound waves wash over the hillside and shake the ground and the trees that line the side of the road. They rattle the rocks on the ground, blast some weeds around like they got hit by a big blower. Dust flies and Darla gets a nose full, which makes her want to sneeze.
They dust themselves off before dashing for the truck. They crouch down by the side and hold on for dear life. Marcel has a dangerous look on her face, but when the world is shaking around you, there isn’t much sense in getting mad at it—or so Edwina reckons. Edwina clings to the ladder on the side of the truck. Darla hangs on behind her, a cocktail of sweat and fear permeating the air. They all reek of it, and she can’t remember ever smelling this particular mixture before.
There is a fresh rumbling, something that seems intent on making their already fucked-up day worse. The sky darkens, and balls of fire streak across the cloud layer and land in the distance. Usually Edwina feels safe with Darla by her side, but now all she wants to do is find a closet to hide in. Or a bunker about five hundred feet underground.
One of the fireballs breaks off from the pack headed into the distance and tears a path of destruction through the ocean of trees. It falls short of the women and their semi and smashes into the ground with a shudder Edwina can feel in her teeth.
Edwina cowers behind her wall of woman flesh, but most of the debris flies overhead. When the ground stops moving, the women turn, dazed, to face the massive hole that has been smashed into the ground about a hundred yards away. From within it comes a shape. A thing of beauty that shimmers and shifts like a dancing tissue. As it emerges, it takes on the form of a dreadful apparition with four legs.
Tattered clothing hangs around its body. Shifts and glows first bright, then dull like it isn’t even there. The air around it shimmers and grows cold. It’s like a freezer door opened and the thing stepped through.
Edwina shakes her head because the thing can’t be real. It’s got a head, sure. One encased in a big hood. She expects it to lower the cowl and look around as if lost. It doesn’t so much as flinch as it breaks into a gallop. That is a horse underneath its body, and the creature looks worse than the thing riding it.
Edwina steps back toward the truck. She doesn’t trust her eyes, but she does trust the handgun at her side. It’s a lovely dull black and when she draws and shoots, hunks of lead fly out in the general shape of the 9mm variety. The thing kicks up, but she is so used to the recoil that she can fire and steady in a split second.
Other shapes rise around the horrendous thing as it trots over the scorched field. Forms resembling humans extract themselves from the earth. Puffs of the ash that is all that’s left of the fallen swath of trees shimmer in the air as hundreds of the creatures pull themselves free of the ground. Edwina checks her second pistol even though she already knows it is loaded with one in the chamber and the safety on. She comforts herself with the thought that she has another clip at her side and one tucked in a tiny holster around her ankle.
The girls back up as one. The air is alive with something Edwina can’t put her finger on. Pain and suffering should hang over this place, but there is only the vibration of excitement. Edwina looks around for Marcel, who appears to have retreated into the semi. For a split second, Edwina wonders if she is hiding. Then she giggles at the silly thought.
The rear door opens, and out pours an army. They have guns, assault rifles, hunting rifles—one even has a sniper rifle. That would be Sue, who trained in the military to take out targets from a distance. She was never allowed in the field; she was told she had been simply a ‘pet project.’ The man who delivered the news said it was because she was a girl and would crack under pressure. She punched him right in the nose, which shut him the fuck up. She loves to tell that story. Loves to talk about the expression on his face as he fell on his ass.
Sue climbs up the side of the semi and takes up position. A pair of girls with modified AK-47s join her. It’s not legal to own an automatic, but they were able to make the change for about ten bucks a gun.
Darla is at her girl’s side, just sidles right up and runs her hand over Edwina’s ass. Edwina looks at her lover and smiles. Darla smirks and raises the big Remington shotgun. She checks the load and then jacks a shell in. Others move behind what cover there is. Larger rocks on the other side of the road provide some protection for those with longer-range guns.
Then the big shape is on the move with the things creeping out of the ground just behind him.
Where the horse steps, things wither and turn to dust. There is an aura around the monster. It hangs dark and ominous. Edwina doesn’t really want to die, but if she is going to bite it today, at least it will be with her family.
Marcel is dressed in her full leathers. Black boots that lick up her thighs and leave a tiny amount of bronzed flesh exposed beneath a skintight black leather skirt. Her tits pop out of her equally tight top, displaying enough cleavage to be just as hot as hell.
She carries an assault rifle over her shoulder in place of a purse. It’s a pretty little AR-15 with a short barrel and a place to slide her arm into the stock. She keeps it slung over her back and walks to the edge of the road. The creature grows close, the massive steed puffing dark steam as it gallops toward them.
It doesn’t seem interested in stopping, and Marcel doesn’t seem interested in moving out of the way. She reaches for the holster at her side and draws an enormous handgun. She raises it in the air and fires one warning shot. The noise is a boom that echoes up the hillside, rolls away like thunder. The figure stops before her, but Marcel doesn’t budge.
Edwina shoots a look over her shoulder and is reassured as every gun in the arsenal is lowered at the man. Maggie lies flat, but the big barrel hangs over the side of the semi and at this range, there is no way she can miss.
The horse puffs and snorts, and black horse-slobbery shit falls in a puddle. The figure drops its cowl, and reveals not the skeletal face with fangs and blood d
ripping from its eyes that Edwina expected, but the visage of an older man. He has a large bald head and glasses, and when he attempts to smile only one side of his face quirks up.
“I am War,” the man rasps. He extends one hand and gestures behind him. An army of dead is clawing its way free of the grass and dirt. The corpses moan and howl as their heads turn to find their leader.
“I am Marcel.”
“Stand aside, woman, I bring death and destruction. You shall not hinder me.” His voice vibrates inside Edwina’s brain as though someone were drilling inside her skull. Each time he speaks, she wants to bite her tongue in half to stop the pain.
“Fuck you. You fucking pig.” Marcel lowers the Magnum and holds it in one steady hand.
“You have no idea of the power I possess. If I so desire, I will lower my hand and the army behind me will eat the souls of those who stand behind you. I will take your head and use it to piss in. I will …” He cuts off with a surprised look as a hole appears in his forehead.
Marcel has heard enough. The thunderous boom of her gun rings across the field again. The man whips back out of the saddle and falls to the ground in a pile of tattered black cloth. Then he turns to dust before their eyes. His robe puffs into ash and is swept along by the wind. The horse screams, and little jets of fire snort from its nose … and it falls over. Its flesh takes on a stony appearance and crumbles when it strikes the ground.
“Holy shit!” Edwina exclaims.
“Holy fucking shit!” Darla outdoes her.
The girls holler their approval as Marcel turns and gives a bow. She strides back to the truck.
“Darla, wanna get out of here or do you want to do some target practice?”
“I feel like shooting stuff,” she calls back, her eyes on the slowly advancing army.
“Right. Well those fuckers look kinda like zombies to me. Like the stupid movies. So I say we shoot them all in the head. Seemed to do well enough by the big guy on the horse.”
More calls erupt from the ladies, and one even fires, dropping a corpse with a shot to the brainpan. Dirt and bone fly in every direction as its head explodes. Grinning, Marcel holsters her handgun, brings up the rifle and starts shooting at a steady pace. Fire, one drops. Fire, another head explodes.
The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole! Page 10