by Allen Gamboa
“Well,”—he pulled the .38 from his waistband and tried to keep his voice from sounding like a teen aged girl’s—“this is either a really good thing or a really, really bad one.”
“I don’t think it’s the first one, mate,” Ricky whispered.
“Shit.” Leeland could feel the pain in his groin. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Piss, man, I need to piss.”
“Leeland…” The smaller man pointed the barrel of his pistol at the floor. What appeared to be several big patches of dried blood were scattered all over the tile floor. Leeland knelt down, still having to badly urinate, and ran a hand through a sticky spot. “Don’t touch that, it’s probably blood.”
“It is.” Leeland rubbed his sticky fingers together then wiped them on his jean shorts. “Dammit.”
“That’s nasty.”
“That’s a whole lot of fucking blood,” Leeland said in a hushed tone as he started to notice more and more sections of dried and sticky blood. His urge to pee had overtaken his curiousness and fear. Leeland turned his attention away from the mess on the floor, and once again continued his search for the bathroom. At the back of the cantina he saw two doors that appeared to be propped open. One was marked Hombres and the other was Señoras. From where he stood, he could see an obvious puddle of sticky blood by the men’s room door. Fear gripped his legs tightly, making him unable to walk on his own to the back of the bar.
“Leeland?” Ricky whispered again, causing Leeland to jump and almost piss himself.
“Shit, Ricky!” Leeland's voice cracked this time. He looked over at Ricky then made a command decision. He unzipped his fly and promptly started to urinate on the tile floor.
“Bloody ‘ell, mate.” Ricky shook his head as he turned away from the big American. Right now, he was scared shitless and Leeland was whipping it out and pissing in the middle of the cantina; any other time they probably would have been beat senseless and shoved into a Mexican prison, never to be seen again. Ricky's bladder started to call out to him too. “What the ‘ell, he said, quickly unzipping and joining his partner in adding more puddles to the floor.
“Damn, that sure feels good.” Leeland smiled in relief. The cantina doors slowly swung open behind them and five blood splattered figures staggered inside.
“Nothing like a good squeeze,” Ricky chuckled, a little of his fear vanishing in his urine stream. “Shake it more than once ‘an yer playin’ with it.”
“I needed that,” Leeland said a little too loudly as he zipped up. A horrible stench suddenly filled Leeland’s nostrils. “You shit yourself, Ricky?”
“I thought that foul smell was you.”
“Nope.” He wiped his right hand on his jeans shorts then turned back to Ricky. “Hurr—” The big man’s jaw dropped as he saw the bloody group of people quickly tottering in their direction. Ricky noticed Leeland’s eyes suddenly get big and his mouth open wide. Ricky instantly got the chills and cut his urine off in mid-stream.
“Some… someone behind me? Fuck, there’s someone behind me, isn’t there?” Before Leeland could reply, Ricky felt several pairs of cold hands roughly grip his shoulders. The Brit tried in vain to pull away from whoever had a hold of him. He saw Leeland with his .38 out and in a shooting stance. Leeland was yelling something, but Ricky couldn’t hear it over the horrifying moaning sounds that were filling his ears.
“Back the fuck off!” Leeland shouted at two of the bloody men that were quickly making an erratic beeline for him. As they grew closer, Leeland realized the rotting stench had been coming from them. The nearer the two men got, the more he noticed the dried blood and fatal wounds that covered their bodies; they reminded him of the woman from the car wreck. What the fuck is going on here? He swiftly raised his .38 and fired. The first round hit the closest man in the chest. The impact pushed him back a bit, but he kept coming. Leeland fired again, striking the same man in the knee. With a terrible groan, the man fell over onto the floor but continued to crawl after Leeland. The second man tripped over the first and both attackers became piled up in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Leeland!” Ricky screamed as he struggled with his unseen assailants. He tried to pull free but found himself being thrown to the tile floor. Ricky hit the ground so hard the wind was almost knocked out of him. The Brit tried to scramble to his feet but was pinned to the floor by three foul smelling men covered in black blood and entrails. The smell was so obscene that Ricky was starting to gag. He fought for his life against the three obviously crazed men but it was of no use. With broken teeth they ravenously tore into his arms, legs, and face. Ricky screamed in agony as he weakly tried to wriggle free. He felt a jagged, bone-exposed hand rip the skin from his chest and reach into his rib cage. Ricky let out a high-pitched scream then disappeared into darkness.
“Ricky!” Leeland hurried away from the men that were still entangled on the floor just in time to see the three men voraciously tearing apart what was left of Ricky’s body. The Brit’s blood and entrails were splattered all over the floor and the men were hungrily devouring Ricky’s flesh.
“Fuckers!” Leeland unloaded the remaining four rounds into the three men without any visible effect. Cursing, he could see Ricky was long past saving and the bullets didn’t seem to stop whatever these things were that attacked them. The men he shot didn’t even seem to notice them; they continued to feast on Ricky’s still warm corpse. Leeland looked behind him to see the two men on the floor still trying to untangle themselves, all the while crawling in his direction.
Shaking with fear and adrenaline, Leeland knew he had to get out. Ricky was gone; beyond saving. With a little scream, he ran full speed through the double doors. Another one of the crazies was stumbling through the doors at the same time; Leeland steam-rolled the man, knocking him down and stepping heavily on his face. Leeland’s weight on the man’s skull crushed his head in and his tennis shoe clad foot became stuck inside. The big man screamed wildly as he noticed his foot was snugly jammed in the man's head. Black blood and brain matter covered his bare ankle. Wild-eyed, Leeland could see more figures moving oddly in his direction. He tried frantically to yank his foot out but couldn’t. Cursing, Leeland ran to the car dragging the dead man’s body with him.
“What the fuck?” Bailey turned down the car’s stereo that was playing Holiday Road, the theme to the old National Lampoon's Vacation movie.
“Leeland?” Tanya leaned forward in the back seat. She started to push the seat up when Baylie started up the car.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Leeland screamed as he threw open the passenger's door. Both women started to say something as he dropped heavily onto the front seat and began kicking hysterically at something stuck to his right foot. Tanya quickly looked over Leeland’s shoulder.
“Oh my…” She couldn’t believe her eyes. Leeland struggled for a few more seconds and, with a sickening sucking sound, was able to jerk his foot free from the man’s head. As the body lifelessly slid to the ground, Leeland slammed the door shut.
“Get us the fuck outta here!!” he screamed, his eyes full of tears.
TRUCK STOP ROMANCE
USS BOXER LHD-4
OFF THE COAST OF CALIFORNIA
1200 HOURS
“Never been on one of these Marine boats before,” Hale told Morgan as he looked around the busy deck of the huge, amphibious, assault ship. Besides the CH-53D Sea Stallion helicopter they were using for their mission, six other newer Sea Stallion helicopters were parked further down the deck.
“Hell, I’ve never been on any kind of ship.” Morgan watched the aircrews in their different colored uniforms move about the deck of the carrier doing their various duties. “Don’t like boats. Didn’t even have a toy boat as kid.”
“Why don’t you like boats?”
“I get sea sick.” Morgan shrugged, feeling a little nauseous. “You got some of those motion sickness pills?”
“Yeah.” Hale dropped his pack to the deck and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out the
small cylindrical container and tossed it to the other sergeant. “Swallow, don’t chew, I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”
“Sounds familiar… oh yeah,”—he dumped a couple of the pills in his mouth—“that’s what I told your mom last night.”
“Not mom.” He grabbed the pill bottle out of Morgan’s hand and shoved it back in his pocket. “You are a very sick man, Morgan.”
“You’re just figuring that out, Hale? Sometimes I wonder about you Air Force guys.” He smiled.
“Hey, you two,” Cross shouted from behind as she made her way down the aft ramp of their helicopter. “I see the L.T. unassed in a hurry.”
“Yep,” Hale said as both men turned in Cross’ direction. “I think he’s afraid to be alone with the sergeant here.”
“Now why is that? Just because he almost killed me in training?” Morgan feigned innocence. “Lieutenant Kubicek and I are like brothers.”
“Uh huh.” Cross set her pack on the deck and slung her Mini-14. “The L.T. was sitting by the door gunner the whole trip. One good nudge and…” She opened her arms wide. “Pacific Ocean is a deep place.”
“See, Hale? Cross always has my back.”
“I can see why she’s your favorite. She’d be mine too.” Hale glanced around the busy deck then back at the two sergeants. “I bet the lieutenant is going to be a hemorrhoid stuck to the captain’s ass until we get back in the air.”
“No doubt.” Cross started to wrap her hair into a ponytail. “Last time I checked, he was still Time magazine’s Asshole of the Year.”
“As long as Kubicek stays on the chopper, I’m all good with it. He can get this mission under his belt and proceed with his half-step march to the Pentagon. The sooner he’s out of our hair, the better.”
“I can think of faster ways.” Cross smiled. “But, team player that I am, I’ll leave it to the captain to keep the L.T. in check.”
“Chain of command, Sergeant, remember your chain of command.” One of the helicopters near the bow of the carrier started to lift off. “The QRF choppers should be here within the hour. I guess we better join the captain below deck,” Morgan said, checking his watch and wishing the Dramamine would hurry up and start working.
“Where are we to meet up?” Cross asked.
“The Officers’ Mess.”
“You hungry for a greasy pork sandwich, Sergeant?” Hale smirked as he stared the senior NCO in the face.
“You’re an asshole, Hale.” Morgan felt his stomach start to churn a little. “A real asshole.”
“That was for slamming my mom. Those pills should kick in soon.” He slapped him on the chest plate. “You’ll be fine.”
“See, this is why I hate boats.” Morgan said, stifling a belch.
“Yeah,”—Cross adjusted the rifle on her shoulder as the three continued to walk off the flight deck—“turns you into a little bitch.”
“Cross,” Morgan said, trying to fight the mild nausea, “just find us the damn mess hall will ya?”
“Aw.” Hale shook his pack; it felt lighter than usual. He stopped and dropped it to the deck and gave it a quick once-over. “I must’ve left my med kit on the chopper. Go ahead; I’ll catch up with you. I want to make sure it’s aboard and not lost.”
“We’ll wait.” Cross shrugged.
“Go ahead, no need for us all to hold up the captain.”
“All right, see you in the mess, wherever the hell that is,” Morgan said as the two sergeants turned and headed away from the flight deck.
Hale was quickly making his way back to their helicopter when he noticed two soldiers standing near the aft ramp of one of the newer Sea Stallions. One was dressed in Marine BDUs and the other was dressed in Army cammies. Both men appeared to be deep in a heated conversation as Hale approached.
“Eight months pregnant, and in a nasty, nasty, truck stop bathroom.” Hale heard the black Army private say.
“Nasty truck stop bathroom?” the marine, who was the bigger of the two enlisted men, asked.
“Yeah and she has the clap.”
“A real nasty truck stop bathroom?” The marine rubbed his chin.
“That’s what you are hung up on? The nasty truck stop bathroom.”
Hale shook his head at the two soldiers. “Jeez, you grunts will screw anything.”
“Uh… sir… we were just…” the bigger soldier started to stammer.
“Whatever floats your boat, Private, and it’s Sergeant. Who am I to judge? Don’t ask, don’t tell. Right?”
“Sergeant?”
“Never mind. What the hell is Army doing on a marine boat?” Hale asked the smaller of the two privates.
“I’m National Guard, Sergeant. They’re some bad riots in San Diego so the Marines are letting us use their choppers to fly in guard units and supplies.”
“Riots?”
“Some strange shit going on out there. I hear there’s rioting in L.A. and Seattle. We haven’t heard why exactly.” The Marine pulled a pack of gum out of his shirt. “You guys Special Ops or something?”
“Something,” Hale said, remembering they were outfitted like mercenaries and not active duty American soldiers. “Any rioting in Oregon?”
“Not that I know of,” the Marine said, offering the sergeant up a stick of gum. “I’m from Gold Beach.”
“No shit? I’m from Medford. Thanks.” He popped the gum stick in his mouth. He hadn’t heard about the break out of riots but he felt a little more secure in the knowledge that his wife was tucked away in a small town in southern Oregon.
“What are you guys up to?” the National Guardsmen asked.
“Training.” Hale smiled slyly as he glanced at the young man’s name tape. “Private Jefferson.” He looked at the Marine’s uniform. “Washington. Hmmm, just like the presidents.”
“Yup.” The marine named Washington nodded. “Just like the presidents.”
“I like that.” Jefferson smiled.
“Well, good luck with your truck stop romance. Thanks for the gum,” Hale said, continuing his path for their helicopter.
“That’s one big muthafucker,” Jefferson said when Hale was out of earshot. “Anyway, how about nine months pregnant…”
WALKING ON SUNSHINE
FOUR MILES OUTSIDE OF PASSADO, MEXICO
“He finally fall asleep?” Baylie glanced over her shoulder into the back seat of the black Impala where Tanya cradled Leeland’s head in her lap. The ex-stripper nodded as she ran a hand over the unconscious man’s head. “Thank God for small favors.”
“What the hell happened?” Tanya said quietly. “Ricky… and then those people out there? What is going on?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything that crazy and I’ve sure as shit never seen Leeland fall apart like that.” She stared out the dirty windshield at the deserted strip of highway they’d finally stopped and spent the remainder of the night on. They were now parked several miles away from the town of Passado. “He was ranting about Ricky getting eaten alive and bullets not hurting them.”
Tanya looked up at Baylie. “What were they?”
“I don’t know, but that was some freaky shit. I think I finally stopped shaking about an hour ago.”
“Me too,” Tanya said as Leeland stirred a little in her lap and moaned Ricky.
“He was an asshole but I kinda miss the jerk,” Baylie said, throwing a quick glance over at the empty passenger's seat. A couple of his old cough syrup bottles lay on the floor, the same ones she’d earlier asked him to throw away. Fucker, Baylie thought sadly. “Do you believe Leeland about them eating Ricky?”
“I don’t know.” Tanya frowned. “He might have been confused, but he wouldn’t lie about what happened. You saw those people in the streets. I mean they tried to attack the car when we drove by. That’s pretty crazy, right?”
“Maybe they were rioters or hopped up on drugs,” Baylie said as she carefully watched their surrounding areas.
“Leeland was scared shitless. If it w
as just rioters or druggies, he wouldn’t be this freaked.”
“I know, Tanya, Leeland was out of it. You saw him dragging that dead guy around on his foot. He was fucking freaking out.”
“And you weren’t?” Tanya tapped Baylie on the shoulder. “You weren’t?”
“Yes. We all were. It’s just hard for me to believe this shit.”
“Ordinarily, yes… but you saw Leeland. You saw the people in the town,” Tanya said, rolling the sleeping man off her lap and onto the seat. “How do you explain that? Remember that woman from the car wreck and the way she went after Leeland? Something bad is going on here, Baylie.”
“Something really bad,” Baylie said, trying to hold back the rising fear inside her. “You know, Tanya, when we first met I thought you were just another one of Leeland’s dumbass stripper girlfriends. What the hell are you doing with him?”
“Trying to change the subject, Baylie?” she said, trying to form her trembling lips into a smile.
“Yes. I’m fucking freaking out.” Baylie quickly turned to face Tanya. The ex-stripper could see the look of fear in her eyes and wondered if they mirrored her own.
“He’s a means to an end.” Tanya stared down at the sleeping man. “Just a means to an end, but now…” The big man started to wake. “Go back to sleep, Leeland,” she said quietly.
“No!” He shot straight up and looked out the windows. “Wh… where are we?”
“A few miles outside of Passado,” Tanya said reassuringly.
“We need to go!” he said, panic in his voice. “We need to go! They’re coming! They’re coming!”
“Easy, baby,”—Tanya gently rubbed his back—“we’re safe. There’s no one around.”
“Leeland, it’s cool.” Baylie added. “The road’s empty, been like that all day.”
“No… no!” He grabbed up his .38. “They’ll eat us! Ricky!”
“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” Tanya said smoothly. She noticed he was now just a shell of his former self; gone was the cocksure tough guy from before. Tanya saw he was just a scared little boy. What the hell had happened in there?