by Goforth, Jim
He couldn’t see how they were getting out of this, or what magic Black and his cohorts would be able to conjure up. With each situation that cropped up where he thought they were fucked, somehow they’d slithered narrowly out of it. But this time…
“You were saying something about having a brainwave, Boss?” One of the lesser officers spoke up, his voice a little higher and reedier than the strident bark of Boss and the deep gruff utterances of Brenner. “Before that metal weasel fuck interrupted?”
“Yeah. That I was. Now, sooner or later, all these rocker punks are going to turn into goddamn zombies and they need to be dead before then. It’s our God-given duty to make sure that happens, hell, we are all god-fearing men and officers of the law, and the way to uphold it and protect our towns, and well, even Blackwater Park, every other city these slime-sucking scumfucks are going to go infest, is, of course, to wipe them off the face of the earth. But first…” Boss paused for a moment, catching the eye of all his companions, looking around to ensure he had the utmost attention of each. “First, have a good look at the womenfolk they have here. Look at them. Be a damn shame to just let all this fine flesh go a-wasting like that.”
“I’m on the same page, Boss, shit, I think I’m a chapter ahead,” came the gravelly growl of Brenner, and to his horror, Mark realised he too was on the same page. He was pretty sure everybody else forced to lay in humiliation, at gunpoint on the shaded cool concrete, were well aware of what these folk, supposed protectors and upholders of the law, were inferring.
“Wait a minute,” this came from the guy with the thin reedy voice. “What do you mean?”
“What do I fucking mean, Haines? What the jolly fuck do you think I mean? All these folk―these zombies―have to die before they go all batshit crazy and start ripping us up and anybody they get to, goddamn eating them. Like what’s been going on in Armada, what happened in Noumena, all along the way here. Shit, goddamn Noumena is a natural disaster area, fucking no-go zone. Ain’t nobody going in there unless they have a couple dozen tanks or some such shit, and even then these fucking flesh-chawing, walking corpses are going to keep coming. But, before they die…before these dirty sluts here have to die, they should serve a purpose. Catch my drift now, partner?”
“I…yeah…” Haines lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and Mark grasped at a tiny sliver of hope there. Was there any chance of the reluctant recruit being able to talk his three companions out of what they were discussing and planning to do?
“What the hell kind of cops are you?” Heather suddenly wailed. “You can’t do what you’re talking about! We aren’t zombies, we aren’t going to turn into zombies! You can’t kill us and you can’t rape us…”
Considering Mark was facing that way, he was directly in line to see Brenner appear and swing astride Heather, dropping his weight down on her from behind, sitting on her rump. He slid his gun muzzle up the side of her body, tracing it up to the side of her jaw, tangling it in her long light locks.
“Listen, zombie bitch,” he said. “You’re in no position to say anything about anything. You can all piss and moan all you want, but God knows, and we know, that the fucking lot of you are monsters waiting to happen. As soon as you get a chance you will be off tearing out some old ladies guts or eating some kid’s face off. So, pipe down and take what is coming to you. Everything that’s coming to you.”
He ground his body down on her for a long period of time, then eventually straightened back up, the gun in his hand going away from her face.
“Yeah, that’s a plan, Boss.” This new voice must be the one addressed as Harris, the other of the subordinate cops who hadn’t yet spoken. “I’m in full agreement with that. These whores can’t be wasted until they are made use of properly. And I know which one I want.”
“Well, I know which one I want too,” Brenner growled. “I ain’t a brunette man, and almost all these dames are brunette. Lucky for me, there’s a feisty blonde in the bunch and that’s miss mouthy over there. Already got my pecker stiff sitting there on her butt, so I’m taking her. I’m going to stick my baton up her ass.”
“Baton?” Harris snorted derisively. “Sure you aren’t overselling yourself there Brenner?”
“I’m talking about my actual baton, asswipe! Fucking funny guy, huh?”
“Enough chatter, times a-wasting. I don’t want one of these broads turning full zombie while I got my dick up inside of her,” Boss grunted, slapping his gunless hand against a meaty thigh.
“I’m hearing that,” Harris spoke up enthusiastically. “I’ll take the dyke bitch right over there.”
“How do you know she’s a dyke?” Haines wondered. “You some sort of expert on dykes?”
“My goddamn ex-wife turned into a fucking carpet muncher. I reckon I know a dyke when I see one.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, isn’t it just?” Harris said with more than a hint of bitterness evident in his tone.
“No, I didn’t mean your dyke-spotting abilities. I mean the fact that somebody actually married you in the first place.”
“Fuck you, Haines.”
“Clam up, you assholes,” Brenner cut into the exchange between the two underlings. “Got your big boy pants on now, Haines? On-board? Picked yourself a pussy yet? There’s one apiece here and one left over. Whoever that poor lass is who misses out on a go, we’ll all run a train on her afterwards.”
“Yeah, I guess…” Haines didn’t sound completely sure of himself, and Mark continued hanging onto that miniscule shred of hope that the reluctant Haines could somehow steer this away from the dangerous territory it was going into. Though it might speed up the apparently inevitable bullets in all their brains…
“Who is your pick then? Boss wants the stunner, I’m plugging the blonde, Harris thinks he’s got a dyke…”
“She is a fucking rugmuncher,” Harris reiterated. “And I’m gonna give her one hell of a real dicking. Let her know that synthetic strap on dildo shit ain’t shit compared to a real man’s bratwurst.”
“You mean undersized baby knockwurst?”
“Fuck you, Haines!”
“Haines, stop fucking around!” Brenner snarled. “You want to screw this up and have these bitches turn zombie on you before anyone gets any pussy?”
“Ah, just don’t stick your dick in anyone’s mouth,” Harris suggested. “Keep plugging along otherwise, even if they do turn. Shit, I ain’t never fucked any zombie slut before, that shit might be wild.”
“I’ll take…the girl next to the blonde,” Haines eventually said and a cold flood of chills washed over Mark, prickling him with terrible icy spikes. The girl next to the blonde Heather was Miranda.
“No! No, you won’t!” Miranda cried almost simultaneous, with Mark unable to stop himself from trying to launch up into an all fours position. “Nobody is taking me!”
“Stay put, asshole!” Boss snarled and thumped his foot down on Mark’s spine, grinding him back into the concrete. He followed through with a swinging baton, hammering it across Mark’s shoulders, shooting a blast of agony through him from neck to waist.
Harris stepped to Miranda and caught a big handful of her hair, twisting it into knots around his meaty knuckles. He brought his face close to hers, where her eyes were screwed up in pain, her mouth shaking.
“You ain’t got any say in this, you undead whore. You should be thanking your lucky stars you get one more ride on the stairway to heaven before a bullet takes out a lease on your brain.”
“Leave her alone,” Mark choked desperately, though he knew it was going to earn him more agony, and certainly her too. Instead, he was ignored as Boss wandered down towards the female he’d selected as his choice. Scarlett.
“So, how’s this work?” Haines queried, his voice still filled with hesitation. “We all just get into it at once or what?”
“Christ, you’re dense,” Harris snorted. “How the fuck do you think we’re going to manage that? With all these freaks rea
dy to go full zombie any tick of the clock? We take turns obviously. Right, Boss?”
“Fuckin’ A. And guess who has the longest straw?” Boss said gleefully.
“If that’s a dick joke, it ain’t Harris,” Haines chimed in.
“No, it ain’t a fuckin’ dick joke, assface! It means I’m getting my end wet first!” Boss snorted at Haines. “Get her up.”
“Can’t you do that yourself? Or get one of these whores to get it up for you?”
“I’m talking about the goddam fe-male you dumb piece of shit!” Boss shouted. “Get her up and into the back of that truck over there.”
“Not doing it right here?”
“No, dickbrain. Get her up and in the truck.”
“Okay.”
Haines and Harris stooped, one on either side of Scarlett and hoisted, the hands not full of their guns used to grasp her forearms and yank her brutally right up onto her feet.
From his reclining position, his head turned that way, Mark could witness this, trying to avoid staring helplessly at Heather’s tear streaked visage next to him.
Scarlett presented no opposition at all to this, whether it would have mattered had she chosen to do so was probably of no consequence; the two underling officers had her seized in a tight and unremitting hold. Unusually, she wore absolutely no expression on her countenance, it was utterly devoid of anything. Unlike the horrified, panicked looks of sheer fear and desperation plastered across the visages of Heather and Miranda, and probably the other two women as well, for all Mark knew, there was nothing at all reflected in the impassive stare of Scarlett, as if she simply wasn’t even there behind that gorgeous face.
Maybe she knew, or was privy to something else Mark himself wasn’t, some mysterious escape plan or unbelievable stunt that was about to be pulled off by Black, but really, Mark didn’t see that happening. He saw no sign or indication this situation was about to be reversed any time soon. Perhaps Subversion and the women were somehow accustomed to violent and rapey scenarios like this, though that was possibly one of the most illogical notions Mark’s feverish brain could stumble upon.
Nope, cut down to the bare bones of the matter, it was simply a case of their luck finally running out, the end of the line was here and his original assertion that they were all fucked was spot on the money. In fact, so spot on that it meant some of them were going to be fucked quite literally very soon.
With Scarlett trapped between them, wearing that face so devoid of emotion it looked like she’d donned a mask eerily akin to her own features, Haines and Harris frogmarched her toward the Tundra.
Boss stood with his gun in hand, his paunch jutting out as though he’d swallowed a watermelon whole, and Brenner, whilst keeping a wary eye on the row of lined up prisoners, ducked down alongside Heather.
“Hope you’re starting to get wet for me, Blondie. I love me a smooth entry and if I have to ram and shove ‘cause you’re all dried up, let me tell you that shit’s going to hurt you more than me.”
His free hand thrust up under her skirt, feeling around with beefy fingers that looked like hairy sausages. She tried in vain to clap her thighs together.
“Brenner,” Boss interrupted his digital molestations. “You best be keeping both eyes on these zombie fuckers.”
“Well, you better hurry up and get yourself a piece then, Boss, the rest of us are itching to get us some too, and I don’t fancy Blondie turning into a walking corpse. Necrophilia ain’t my thing as far as I know. Besides, it’s against the law, isn’t it?”
The pair of them traded hearty guffaws, deep resounding belly laughs that were full of malicious glee.
So is rape, you fucking sick degenerate poor excuses for police, Mark seethed inwardly, picturing how fast he would get a gun stuffed up his ass if he chose to voice that aloud.
Haines and Harris forced Scarlett up into the back of the Tundra, pushing her backwards into the tray so she sprawled out onto her back, each one of them holding her legs now.
Boss unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers and, with a little difficulty, dropped them right where he stood, pushing down an off-white pair of briefs with them, stepping out of them all entirely, regardless of his brown wingtips. For a moment his erect penis was visible, a short stubby hard shaft that jutted out at a forty five degree from a nest of wiry black bristles closely resembling the caterpillars above his eyes and under his nose, before the long tails of his uniform shirt dropped down to cover the sight.
His bare ass was a hairy white wobbling mass as he shambled across the lane towards the truck.
“Okay, peawits, get your asses back over here and make sure none of these fucks tries to get smart. If anybody turns zombie, I don’t need to tell you to blow their faces in.”
Haines and Harris did so, albeit with some reluctance on the part of Harris. Clearly the cop with the lesbian ex-wife was somehow hoping to catch a few glimpses of the wondrous Scarlett being violated, or at least in a state of undress prior to that. It would sure beat the unwelcome sight of a bare ass Boss hulking his considerable bulk over there to do the violating, his stump of a penis prodding out through his hanging shirt.
Boss clambered up into the Tundra with huffing breath and a bit of difficulty, his gun still clasped in one meaty paw. His face glistened with a sheen of eager perspiration and he licked his lips, his tongue sliding along the bushy pelt of his moustache.
“How about you get your fat fucking ass the hell down out of that truck before you get your pig face blown the fuck in?” A harsh voice cut through the desperation and vile lust of the situation.
Seth Tanner walked around the corner of the service station, aiming a 12 gauge Remington 870 shotgun.
“Get the fuck away from her, fatboy!” Seth warned, his glare steelier than Mark had ever witnessed, resolute, piercing, and somehow malevolently chilling.
Harris and Boss both snapped their guns up. Seth already had the buttstock of the weapon locked into his shoulder, the nose of the gun zeroing in on Boss.
As the chief of the rapist police raised his head and brought his gun hand swinging around Seth pulled the trigger and the Remington roared a deadly blast. Fragments of skull and a bloody red mist puffed off the head of Boss as it was blown apart.
The front door of the service station crashed open and Tempest came out in a whirlwind of violent activity, also triggering a shotgun, twin to the one Seth fired right now, the Subversion drummer’s blast only a second or two behind Seth’s.
Harris ate a whole face full of shotgun shell, the lead shot destroying his visage entirely, ripping into him with a gory spray that decorated the ground behind him in blood and brain matter. He went down like the classic marionette puppet separated from its strings, with his legs doing a spastic dance and his own unfired weapon dropping with a clatter onto the concrete.
Seth lined up the face of Brenner, still crouching, frozen beside Heather and Tempest, drew a bead on Haines. Haines pissed himself, the inner leg of his trousers becoming dark with a stain of liquid.
Black vaulted to his feet as if he were spring-loaded, and Blizzard, Roxana, and Lizette weren’t far behind.
Haines dropped his pistol to the ground and punched both hands skywards, grapping two big fistfuls of air, his stunned face captured in Tempest’s sights.
Mark launched himself off the concrete in a beeline for Brenner, smashing into him with a forceful tackle that drove him out of his crouching position and into a sprawl across the ground, spilling his gun as well. His actions were only split seconds before Blizzard scooped up one of the downed mass of bladed instruments with designs on laying the knife along Brenner’s throat.
The other women moved to Miranda and Heather, righting their clothing, assisting to pull them up to their feet as well, consoling words murmured as the duo with shotguns kept the wannabe rapists in check, the sudden barrage of violence sinking in.
The loose gun which came away from the grip of Brenner ended up in the extremely dangerous place that was Bla
ck’s hand. The one formerly clutched in the mitts of Haines became the property of somebody else who could easily have been considered lethal brandishing it. Seeing the weapon come free and clatter away onto the concrete, Dax wasted no time in scrambling across the ground to seize it.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO-FUCKED WITH A KNIFE
Seth could see the two remaining rapists and would-be killers masquerading as police officers were no longer in any position to present any threat at all to his companions. With their fallen police issue weapons in the hands of two treacherous and possibly unhinged individuals in Black and Dax, those cops who were still alive weren’t about to cause any issues that couldn’t be contained by those two, Tempest, or any of the others, currently regathering their confiscated bladed weapons.
He lowered his Remington, the weapon he’d discovered stashed handily underneath the counter right inside the service station along with the same one Tempest now hefted and kept zeroed in on the piss-soaked cop still standing.
Seth cast a cursory glance around the scene here, where Blizzard held a gleaming blade to the throat of the muscular cop and Mark disentangled himself from the situation to hasten and check on Miranda, where Black held the obtained pistol nonchalantly in a manner belying how lethal it could be in his big fist. Dax wore an expression of supreme smugness blended with malevolence on his visage as he too wielded one of the fallen firearms.
Roxana, sweeping over to snap up the gun that toppled from the nerveless fingers of Harris, Lizette with a comforting arm around the shoulders of the sobbing Heather. The firebrand, Tempest, keeping his shotgun as steady as a rock, now aimed at Haines.
They had the situation well in hand here, so Seth departed the immediate area and strode across the shaded concrete to the Tundra where the bloodied corpse of Boss slumped, half in the tray, his naked lower portion with hairy pale buttocks protruding obscenely, the ruins of his head not immediately visible.