World War Forever (Highway To Armageddon Book 2)

by Harold Bloemer

  Pitbull chuckles as he hands me the cider. I drink several ounces of it, swirling it around in my mouth to wash away the foul-tasting moonshine before finally swallowing.

  With a slightly inebriated grin, I say, “That’s much better.”

  Pitbull turns toward Lance and grabs his right hand.

  Lance rips his hand out of Pitbull’s grasp and hollers, “Hey man, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! I don’t swing that way, and if I did, it wouldn’t be with some middle-aged cyborg freak.”

  Pitbull’s eyes glow so red that they look like they’re about to ignite on fire. “You implying that I play for the other team?! I’m straight as a whistle, buddy. I was just admiring that glove you’re wearing. Where’d you get that from? Rasputin?”

  Lance calms down now that he realizes Pitbull isn’t going to try and cuddle with him later. “Oh, yeah. I took it off his hand… right after I hacked his arm off with an electric sword.”

  Pitbull laughs and says, “Right on, kid! I whole-heartedly approve of the amputation of limbs. So it still works and all?”

  Lance holds up his gloved hand so Pitbull can see the spirals of electricity dancing across his fingertips. “Yeah man, I can take out a whole army in seconds with this thing.”

  Pitbull suddenly grabs Lance’s arm and pulls up his sleeves, revealing his track-marks. Lance tries to pull away, but Pitbull’s grip is way too strong.

  “I thought that’s what I saw,” Pitbull sneers. “So you like to party, huh? You’re into the hardcore shit, I take it?”

  Pitbull finally releases his grip, allowing Lance to pull his arm back.

  “Every now and then I do,” Lance admits. “What, are you going to give me a hard time about it like Boom Boom and Grenade?”

  Pitbull scoffs. “Hell no. I like to party, too,” he says with a discreet swipe of his metallic nose.

  Lance’s eyes light up. He glances at me before leaning toward Pitbull and whispering, “You got some stuff here?”

  Speaking nowhere near as quietly as Lance, Pitbull bellows, “I got all kinds of shit, kid! I’m in the middle of the fucking jungle with a bunch of homicidal savages, for Christ sake! How do ya expect me to keep my sanity without a little cocaine and ecstasy?”

  Lance’s cheeks flush red from embarrassment, but I know it’s only because I’m sitting here listening to them gush over their love for illicit drugs. If I wasn’t around, Lance would be hooting and hollering right along with him.

  “Lance, you better not even think about shooting up,” I snap.

  Lance rolls his eyes. “Get off my back. You act like you’re my mother or my wife.”

  “I’m neither of those. I’m just a friend who’s worried about your health.”

  Acting like the world’s biggest douchebag, Lance brazenly sneers, “What are you gonna do if I do decide to shoot up? Huh?”

  “This.”

  I leap to my feet and punch Lance in the nose. Lance yelps and topples out of his chair, banging his head against the steel floor.

  Everyone turns around and stares at us. From a few tables away, Krystal shouts, “You go, Boom Boom! Kick em while he’s down! Stomp on his balls!”

  “Shut up, Krystal,” Lance mumbles as he groggily gets back to his feet.

  “You gonna let a girl embarrass you like that, son?” Pitbull chortles, clearly enjoying the show.

  “Stay out of this, Pitbull,” I shout. “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “You know what, Boom Boom, I’m getting mighty sick and tired of you lording over all of us, like you’re better than everyone,” Lance says, clutching his bloodied nose. “I seem to remember it wasn’t too long ago you were the one using drugs to cope.”

  “I was using pain pills, Lance, not heroin.”

  “I already told you that I’m going to wean myself off of it after we find Klaxton. I mean, Jesus Christ, don’t we have more important things to worry about than my casual use of drugs?”

  “Casual use?” I say in astonishment. “Lance, there is nothing casual about your drug use. It’s almost become your sole reason for waking up in the morning!”

  Lance and I delve into a heated argument, with each of us talking over one another. I know everyone is watching us, but I don’t really give a damn. Lance has pissed me off one too many times.

  After a minute of us trading profanity-laced tirades with one another, the front door slides open and someone says, “Everyone relax, we have returned!”

  Lance and I stop our heated argument in mid-sentence and turn around. Waltzing into the compound with a bullet-proof vest and clutching a smoking machine gun is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on. He appears to be around my age, with shaggy black hair that partially obscures his intense green eyes. Pushed back overtop his head are some weird looking goggles with flashing lights on the side. His skin is bronze, which, combined with his accent, would indicate he is of Hispanic descent. His body appears pretty muscular, and he has two cute dimples that accentuate his charming smile. This might just be the liquor talking, but I would make out with this hunk in a heartbeat.

  Trailing behind the gorgeous Latino is an attractive young woman with curly blonde hair. She’s pretty short, but I can tell from the hardened expression on her otherwise cute face that she’s no pushover. Then again, one could probably gather that from the blood-stained dagger she’s clutching in her right hand. Like the cute Latino dude, the woman is wearing a bullet-proof vest, and she’s also sporting a utility belt with various knives and daggers dangling from it.

  The last person to enter the compound is a woman covered from head to toe in a black burqa. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and assume she’s Muslim. Why else would she be completely covered in dark fabric in the middle of the sweltering rainforest? The Muslim woman is dragging a bloodied, unconscious, half-naked man by his left angle. The man is still breathing, but just barely.

  Pitbull hurries over to the newcomers and jovially says, “Sanchez! Hunter! Veil! So glad you could join us! And I see you’ve brought a guest!”

  Pitbull leans down and inspects the half-naked man sprawled out on the floor. “Looks like a member of the Ashaninka tribe. Where’d you find em?”

  The short girl replies, “Not too far from here. He was with three others, near the tributary where we think the meeting’s going to take place. The others escaped, but this dumbass fell over when trying to flee. Figured he might have some intel about tomorrow.”

  “You’re probably right,” Pitbull says approvingly. “A member of the Ashaninka Tribe wouldn’t be this far from their village unless they were part of the clandestine peace negotiations with Thiago’s daughter. We can interrogate him when he wakes up.”

  I shake my head in confusion. “Raid? Clandestine peace negotiations? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Pitbull opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by the cute Latino rushing over to me and gushing, “Holy crap, you guys are here!”

  I cock an eyebrow and say, “Er, yes… yes we are.”

  The Latino smiles, nearly blinding me with his pearly white teeth. Talking in a very fast, hyper manner, he exclaims, “Holy freaking crap! You’ll have to excuse my excitement, but you and Lance and Krystal are like my heroes! I’ve been a fan of yours for years, ever since you guys become famous bounty hunters. And the way you guys took down Klaxton, I mean… that is the stuff of legend! I was super stoked when Pitbull told us you guys were coming down here. And I about shit myself when he said we were going to help you guys go after Klaxton! I mean, you guys are the reason I got into this line of work in the first place!”

  “Er, thanks man,” I say after a brief pause. “Glad we could… um… be an inspiration.”

  “Why you so fucking hyper?” Krystal blurts out.

  “Krystal!” I snap.

  The Latino dude laughs and says, “It’s okay! I get that all the time. I really can’t help it. I have ADHD and a lot of energy, so sometimes I get super bubbly and s
tart rambling. If I ever start to get annoying, just let me know!”

  “You’re annoying,” Lance says without missing a beat.

  The Latino laughs. “Haha, you guys are too much!”

  He then thrusts his hand toward me. “I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Sanchez.”

  I shake Alex’s hand and smile. “I’m Boom Boom. I guess you already know who Krystal and Lance are,” I say, gesturing toward my rude partners.

  Alex runs over and enthusiastically shakes Lance’s hand.

  “It’s a real pleasure, man!” Alex says all excitedly.

  Lance grunts something undecipherable.

  Alex runs over to Krystal and shakes her hand as well.

  “Wow, you look even more badass in real life than you do on TV!” he gushes. “Oh, and I like your new wig!”

  “Even though you’re annoying as fuck, I like you,” Krystal says.

  I gesture toward Grenade, who is still slouched over eating a can of beans while mumbling to himself.

  “And this is our good friend, Grenade,” I say.

  Alex runs over to Grenade and thrusts his hand into his face. “Hey man, what’s up? I dig all the scars!”

  Grenade sighs and says, “I’m going out for a smoke. No one follow me unless you want your ass kicked.”

  Grenade gives Alex one last glare with his shiny red eyes before storming out of the compound, the steel doors sliding shut behind him.

  Alex turns to me and grins. “He seems nice.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass, is what he is,” I reply.

  Pitbull staggers over to us, reeking of alcohol. “Lemme introduce the rest of the gang to ya. The cute blonde here is Jesse Hunter. Don’t let her tiny stature and beauty trick ya. Hunter here is one of our finest assassins. She can slit the throats of an entire room of sleeping soldiers in one minute flat.”

  “And that’s on a bad day,” Jesse says in a bored voice, cleaning one of her bloodied daggers with a washcloth.

  Lance stares at Jesse lustfully. He would find her sexy. Twit.

  “And the walking bed sheet over there is Veil,” Pitbull says, pointing his gleaming metallic index finger at the woman wearing a burqa. She continues to stand in the back of the room, eerily still and silent. Something about her really unnerves me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  “Veil here is the silent type, but she’s an effective killer,” Pitbull rattles on, slurring his words and hiccupping like crazy. “I’ve seen her shoot someone in the middle of the forehead from half a mile away. Klaxton sent her down here a few weeks ago. Something about wanting us to be more ‘diverse’ or some shit. Personally I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, or if you’re the disciple of fucking Satan. As long as you kill good, you’re fine in my book. None of us know what she looks like, as she’s never removed her burqa, but I like to imagine she’s a sexy Arab chick with big knockers.”

  Veil tenses up. I bet she would love nothing more than to shove a shiv into the small section of exposed flesh underneath Pitbull’s metallic face.

  Veil storms past us, bumping into me in the process. I groan and stagger back. She elbowed me in the gut, hard. Guess she doesn’t like redheads.

  Veil disappears into one of the bedrooms and slams the door shut.

  “Was it something I said?” Pitbull stupidly says.

  Pitbull jabs his metal finger at the unconscious native and barks, “Take his smelly ass down to the dungeon. We’ll interrogate him in a bit, after he wakes up from his little nap.”

  Jesse grabs the native by his ankle and, proving she’s a lot stronger than her small, slender body would imply, drags him down to the dungeon. I grimace when I notice the trail of blood leaking out from underneath the native’s battered body.

  “So what exactly is our plan for tomorrow?” I ask Pitbull.

  Cracking his metallic knuckles (the sound is enough to make me wince), Pitbull says, “We’ve already interrogated a few natives we’ve stumbled upon in recent days, and apparently the daughter of Chief Thiago of the Chiquito Tribe, a dazzling young woman by the name of River, is attempting to secure a peace treaty of sorts with the son of Chief Anaconda of the Ashaninka Tribe, a young piece of shit by the name of Jaguar. Jaguar and a few of his friends took down one of our scouts a few weeks ago, shot her in the neck with an arrow… hence the animosity. We’ve actually lost quite a few good men and women in recent weeks.”

  Pitbull glares at me with his gleaming red eyes and adds, “That, sweetheart, is why I’m not too fond of the savages.”

  I merely nod. Now’s not the time to argue with a madman like Pitbull. I’m merely seeking information.

  “So why are River and Jaguar trying to hash out a peace treaty?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t Chief Thiago and Chief Anaconda attempt to work something out?”

  “Because they’re bitter rivals, that’s why,” Pitbull says. “They have no desire for peace. River and Jaguar are under the naïve assumption that if they work out some sort of truce and take it back to their fathers, the truce will hold. That, of course, is utter bullshit. It ain’t gonna fly. There’s too much bad blood between those two tribes. It’s all a fairy tale.”

  Pitbull lights up a cigar and blows the smoke into my face. I step back and cough.

  “Why exactly are these two tribes at war again?” Lance asks. “From what I understand, they’re the last two major tribes in the Amazon. Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to join forces and take on… well, us?”

  “You would think,” Pitbull says, taking another swill from the half-empty bottle of moonshine. “But they’re savage Indians. They ain’t got no brains. They do all kinds of stupid shit.”

  “So what are they fighting over?” Krystal asks as Ax and Lesnar continue groping her body. Their continuous display of affection is really quite disturbing.

  “Basically the Ashaninka are trying to steal the Chiquito’s land,” Pitbull explains in a bored voice, as if he couldn’t care less about the topic. “Farmers and loggers have started encroaching on the Ashaninka’s land. The Ashaninka tried to fight them off, but their arrows and spears are no match for body armor and machine guns. So they instead focused their efforts on driving out the Chiquito. The Chiquito control a stretch of fertile land off the bank of an Amazonian tributary. It’s also many miles away from the nearest outsider. They think if they can kill off the Chiquito and take control of their land, they will be safe from all the farmers, poachers, and loggers who have swarmed into the area after LeBeau lifted the embargo on Amazon development.”

  “You mean Amazon devastation,” I say.

  Pitbull sneers. “What are you, one of them tree huggers?”

  “Yes, as we all should be,” I retort. “The reason things are so screwed up is because our ancestors raped the Earth of all her natural resources. You would think we’d have learned from their failings by now.”

  Pitbull waves me off, clearly not interested in having a debate about the ongoing environmental degradation of our planet.

  “The Chiquito, unlike the Ashaninka, have no qualms taking on outsiders who are technologically superior to them. In fact, they seem to love the challenge. Chiquito natives have been raiding farms and logging outposts in the area for months. Even ones that are dozens of miles away from their nearest villages. The Chiquito have this almost admirable ‘David versus Goliath’ complex. That’s why we came down here in the first place. To quell the Chiquito’s insurrection. The Ashaninka haven’t been much of a problem. They’ve been easy to scare off. But these Chiquito Indians… they are some tough motherfuckers. As I alluded to before, they, along with that Ashaninka jackass Jaguar, have taken out quite a few of our brethren. There were initially 20 of us. Now we’re down to half that number. A few were merely wounded and went back to America, but the rest, well, their graves are all around us. I’d love nothing more than to march into their main village and crush them.

  “So anyway, the plan is to fly out to a small clearin
g a few dozen miles from here,” Pitbull rattles on. “We’ll hike through the jungle to River and Jaguar’s suspected meeting place. Hopefully we’ll be able to catch them by surprise. After what I imagine will be a brief skirmish, we’ll tie up River and Jaguar and whoever else is with them, bring them back here, and interrogate the fuck out of them. Find out where the Chiquito are hiding Klaxton. Shouldn’t be too difficult. In fact, compared to our little shootout in Alaska, this should be pretty damn easy.”

  To say I’m not terribly fond of Pitbull’s so-called plan would be an understatement of truly epic proportions. But I bite my tongue. I have to remember that the most important thing is finding Klaxton. I can’t worry about the plight of the indigenous Amazonian peoples. At least, not at the moment. That will have to wait.