“Well get on with it then!” the director shouted.
Skull Face shrugged. “It’s in the back, man. It’ll just be a minute.” And then he scurried off to numb himself so he could do the deed that needed being done.
“I’m so sorry about this, sir. Truly I am. He’s never usually like this, not ever.”
Fleet wiped the wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingertips. “Shit, can’t say I blame him. I never thought I’d get the chance to film a kid, either. But if lover boy isn’t back on set, and I mean quickly, I’m putting you in this fuckin’ film, you got me?” He squeezed the little girl’s shoulders. She stood statue-still, her face a multi-colored splattering of makeup, her dress red with white polka dots.
The director stuffed his hand into his pocket for another taste, but found it empty. Sweat bulleted down his face and he tried to clear his throat, but the ball of anxiety wouldn’t be swallowed.
He sat in his chair, stared at the monitor that showed nothing but an empty bed. The top of the fluffer’s head was still in the shot. “Get the fuck off my set!”
“He’s got about another second,” Fleet said. The old man turned toward his men. “And where the fuck is Ray? Anybody hear from him?”
The men all shook their heads, each of them looking at each other and shrugging.
“Well fucking call him, would you? Tell him I changed my mind. I want Calico’s little dead bitch in this film. It’s too fuckin’ perfect.”
The director stood back on his chair, scared to lock eyes with his boss again. “We’re ready to roll! Hurry the…”
A man came walking from backstage, kind of stumbling in a weird way. It appeared to be one of Fleet’s men, but it looked like he’d been tipping back the bottle or something.
“Will you get your ass off the fuckin’ set,” Fleet said. The bossman peered at his man, squinting against the harsh lighting around him. “What in the fuck…”
The director saw the gash along the man’s throat, saw the blank, lost look in his eye as he stumbled forward, as he groaned and grunted.
Something flew through the air, coming straight at the director like a foul ball. It twirled as it came, spewing a dark liquid. The director caught it and stared into the masked face of his porn star. Hot blood rushed from the bloody stump and soaked into the director’s pants. The left eye had been scooped out…and replaced with something metal. A red light blinked in a steady rhythm.
“Son of a bitch!” Fleet screamed. “Get dow—”
The head exploded, blasting hellfire into the director’s face, chest, and stomach. He only lived long enough to feel the heat engulf him, splash his sizzling innards out his backside, cook his flesh well-done down to the bone.
***
Calico rushed forward, drove his knife into the top of the first man’s head he came to. The man gasped, fell to his knees—half of his face was black from the explosion. Calico had to prop his foot against the man’s chest to pull the knife out again. The director was a black and red heap of burning flesh, letting off a barbeque smell.
At least four of Fleet’s men lay dead on the ground, their flesh cooked, clothes on fire. A few others moaned as they climbed to their feet, trying to collect themselves.
Ted Fleet, seemingly untouched by the blast, locked eyes with Calico and smiled as he backed up toward the exit, pulling the dead girl along. His checkered suit and cowboy hat were splattered with blood and chunks of pink meat. He shouted something, his cigar dropping from his mouth and soaking up blood when it hit the floor, but Calico didn’t understand it. Before Calico could make a dash for him, Fleet’s men rushed forward, blocked his way.
The first Ugh came at him with his pistol ready, but Calico ducked it just as it went off, felt the hot bullet pass over his left ear. His knife found soft belly flesh, and he yanked upward, spilling the Ugh’s viscera over his own shoes.
The Grunt that came with him fired a shot, but missed, took a chunk out of the floor.
Before the man could squeeze off another bullet, Calico spun, opened a ragged slash in the Grunt’s throat. His twitching and kicking body fell beside his partner’s, and Calico growled toward Fleet, but the old man was gone, the door just swinging closed.
All around him, the director’s crew scattered, some screaming as they searched for a way out. A few of them lay dead and smoldering on the floor. Calico wanted them all dead, but they weren’t important. If there was time, he’d come back for them.
“Run, meatheads, run!”
He started toward the door, reached out for it, but just as his fingers wrapped around the handle, the door blew in, tossed Calico backward and off his feet. He landed hard on his back, his knife slipping from his bloody grasp and clattering away.
The big Samoan stepped into the studio. His beady eyes landed on Calico and he pointed his weapon, a victorious smile pulling his face tight. Other Ughs and Grunts poured into the room.
“Where you think you goin’, motherfucker?”
Calico scrambled for his knife, but the other cronies blocked his path. He tried to jump to his feet, but the Samoan’s boot found the side of his face, knocked him back to the floor.
“I’m so glad all you boys could make it,” Calico said as he spat a wad of blood on the floor. “You don’t want to miss what happens next.”
The men laughed amongst themselves, all eyes on Calico. This was just like before, when the sons of bitches nearly killed him. But Calico could do nothing but smile up at them, even as the flurry of blows began.
A fist from his left hit his cheekbone, then one from the right, then a knee under the chin. Every time he attempted to take a breath, it was knocked free by a blow to the chest or stomach.
“Ungh…anungh.” Beauty stood not five feet away, teeth clicking, weapon raised.
Get them, baby girl.
There were three quick shots, and the horde of Fleet’s men dispersed. Calico rolled onto his belly, saw Beauty standing there, gun raised just like he’d taught her. Only one of her bullets found its mark, but it hit the man in the neck, and he lay on the floor, clutching at it, gasping, choking on hot lead and blood.
Calico swung his leg in a sweep kick, took two of the men off their feet. They landed right beside him, didn’t have time to scream before Calico crushed each of their larynxes with his bare hands.
Another shot, then another and another.
A bullet struck Beauty in the arm, a gray powder burst into the air, but she only stumbled slightly, grunted and fired her weapon again. From just behind her, Paco stood from his hiding spot behind a metal crate, fired off two shots before ducking again.
A few of the kids’ bullets found their targets, inducing gurgling cries from some while others fell over dead, but most of the shots went wide.
But it was all Calico needed.
He yanked the pistols from the two dead men below him—they were awake again, muttering as they tried to sit up. Calico found his feet, a gun in each hand.
“Paco…stay down! Get Beauty and hide!”
He thought he heard some kind of response from the kid, but a bullet tunneled through Calico’s left shoulder, spun him on his feet. The searing agony was beautiful, but there was no time to revel in the pain.
Calico rolled forward, was on one knee as he buried two bullets into his attacker’s chest. Then it was almost a blur as his fingers pulled on the triggers and bodies hit the floor all around him. He was in a trance, possessed by something hungry for death. And he let it take control, just like he always did, allowed the demon inside of him to use him like a puppet. Bullets flew, blood spilled, screams filled the air. Hot lead found his flesh a few more times, but he was only minutely aware of them.
The guns clicked empty.
He tossed them away, saw his knife gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. He dove for it, clutched it, was back on his feet all in one movement. A deep growl emitted from his throat as he circled in place and searched for his next victim.
“Don’t m
ove, motherfucker!”
The Ughs and Grunts were either dead or disabled, moaning in pain on the floor and nursing their wounds. A good amount had already died and were stumbling around the studio aimlessly, some of them charred and on fire.
Standing just in front of him, a dangling kid in each hand, stood the Samoan. A growing red circle stained the man’s shirt over his belly, and he winced as he displayed the children to Calico.
“I’ll crush their f-fucking skulls, man.”
One of the wounded men beside Calico tried to stand, whimpering as he rose. Calico slammed his knife into the back of the man’s neck, drove it straight through his spine and out the front of his throat. The man choked as blood splashed in red sheets, then he went limp, but was still held there by Calico’s grip on the knife.
“I said don’t…don’t m-move!” The Samoan slammed the kids’ faces against each other, knocking Paco out cold and leaving a black smear across his face. Beauty only grunted and swung her legs, reached out for her daddy.
“Let them go and I won’t kill you,” Calico said as he pressed his boot against the Ugh’s head and yanked his knife free. “I’ll let you walk right out of here. I don’t want you. I only want Fleet.”
The Samoan shook his head, winced again. “Fuck you, man,” he said, then tried to swallow, but only grimaced. “I take the kids with me. Then I know you don’t pull no shit.”
As Calico glared at the man, it was then he really felt his wounds. His body screamed with tenderness and raw nerves. Without looking, he knew he had two gunshots on his left shoulder, one in the right thigh, and one that grazed his left love handle. The blood flowed down his legs and into his shoes.
“You stay right th-there…one move and I break their fucking necks, you g-got me?”
“Oh, I got you, big boy.” Calico’s chest heaved as he watched the man back away, now with both kids in a fireman’s carry.
Then he turned his back to Calico, just for a second, to run for it. Make it backstage and to the exit.
Calico’s knife was out of his hand and slicing through the air before the man could take a step. It stuck into his back, and he yelped, fell to his knees. He dropped the kids and reached around, his fingertips just barely able to reach, tickling the blade but unable to pull it free.
Beauty was already on her feet and stumbling toward Calico. Paco lay on his side, breathing heavily but not moving.
“F-fuck…you! Nggghhhhh…” The Samoan stayed on his knees, swung both arms behind him to dislodge the knife.
Calico wrapped one arm around the man’s neck, pulled his knife out with a whimpering grunt from his victim. “Nobody puts their hands on my daughter…nobody touches my Beauty.”
As he plunged the knife into the man’s neck, sawed his way around, he felt Beauty hug him from behind, nuzzle her face into his side. Only the man’s spine connected his head to the rest of him, and Calico yanked the head back, snapped the bone before he let the body fall forward.
He stood, spun in place for a moment awaiting another wave of men to kill at any moment. He knew Fleet had more, but they were either on jobs or probably helping the old bastard escape right at that moment.
The girl!
In all the excitement, he had nearly forgotten about her. The dead men stumbled around him, ran into each other and grunted. The studio burned, flames climbing the walls, licking the ceiling. Smoke filled the room. The burning dead men only helped in spreading the fire as they shambled around. A handful of men still lived, but from their slow movement and the amount of blood, he knew they would join the walking dead soon enough. Or burn alive before they had the chance.
“Burn, motherfuckers.” Calico scooped up the kids, slung Paco over his uninjured shoulder, and headed for the door. The pain was pleasurable yet intense, nearly brought him to his knees, but he had to push forward. Had to save the girl.
It was time to meet Fleet at his home, end this thing once and for all.
- Chapter 28 -
Paco dreamt he was dangling from the big man’s hand, his gun laying uselessly on the floor, his legs kicking and his hands doing their best to loosen the man’s grip. But when the man turned to look at Paco, his flesh sloughed off his bones, hit the floor with a wet slap. The man opened his mouth to say something, and his innards spilled out in a black and purple waterfall.
Paco pulled himself up, the man’s fingers snapping and releasing him, and bit into the moist, rotting flesh of the man’s arm. The pudding-like meat filled his mouth and he swallowed it, then went for more, chewing on the man’s liquefied face now.
“Wake up!”
Paco flinched awake, knocked his head against something hard, fell back and moaned. Beauty stared down at him, baring her teeth. It was her face he had collided with, and his memory came screaming back. The big man had smashed their faces together, and that was the last thing he remembered. It had happened so fast, he didn’t even feel it…until now.
“W-what happened?” he said as he rubbed the lump on his forehead.
“He got away…took your sister with him. We’re on our way to his house right now.” Calico was covered with blood and his eyelids looked heavy, as if he could pass out at any moment.
Paco sat up, hissed, but bit back the scream that begged to explode. “Sophia…is she okay? Did he hurt her?”
Calico never looked at him, kept his eyes on the road as they rocketed down the concrete. “I don’t know. But if he did…if he did, he’ll wish for death before I’m done with him. He’ll beg the devil to take him.”
Paco shook his head, ignored the thrumming in his brain. “No, no, that’s not good enough. We have to stop him!”
Calico flashed him a look, and the ruthlessness in his eyes made Paco back away, avert his gaze. “I know…you’re right. And we will…we’ll stop him. She’ll be fine.”
Though the surrounding landscape was a multicolored blur as they tore through the street, Paco didn’t feel they were moving fast enough. A deep sadness tried to fill him then, tried to melt away the bravery he’d been working so hard to sustain, but he wouldn’t let it. His fist slammed against the glove compartment, so fast and hard he didn’t even realize it had happened.
Then all he could do was stare out of the window and pray to whatever god was listening that his sister was okay.
***
Calico could feel the danger floating in the air like fog. Fleet’s place looked too deserted, everything was too quiet. The old man had to know Calico was coming for him, and the motherfucker was too chickenshit to just sit there and wait on him.
The gate was shut and their SUV idled just outside it, the only other sound beside the humming motor and the beating of his heart was the moans of the dead men in the back. Beauty stayed silent, looking up at her daddy.
“Get ready,” Calico said. “Something’s not right here.”
“What are you waiting for?” Paco said with another fist slam to the dash. “Let’s get in there, let’s get my sister!”
“Where’s your weapon?”
“I…I don’t have it. I dropped it.”
Shit.
Calico threw the vehicle into Park, crawled over the middle console and into the back seats. The dead men writhed over each other in the trunk space. Calico had already taken Bunny Rabbit’s gun, but he didn’t know what happened to that one either. Bunny Rabbit made clicking sounds with his throat as Calico climbed over him. The boy’s rifle still lay on the seat, but Calico didn’t think it was good enough, didn’t want the boy to have to keep reloading as they went. He didn’t know what was coming.
The other dead man still clutched his pistol, and Calico had to pry the rigid fingers free. He clambered back to the front seat, tossed the gun to Paco. “Get ready to use that.”
The boy sneered, rested the pistol against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying a silent prayer.
“All right, kid. Here we go.”
Calico threw the SUV into Drive, mashed the gas pedal down.
It roared forward, smashed into the gate and tossed it aside. And then out of the darkness, like exploding fireflies, came the gunshots.
With each shot, the Ughs’ and Grunts’ faces lit up, and Calico ground his teeth as he aimed the speeding car at them. The windshield was peppered with bullets, frosting the glass with cracks.
“Oh god!” Paco screamed, but the boy let his window down, leaned out of it, and fired his gun.
One man screamed as he was mangled under the tires, and the car hopped like it was ramping a speedbump.
A stray bullet dug a meaty trench in Calico’s left arm as it grazed him. Another hit Beauty in the chest, throwing her backward and crashing into the rear seats.
“Beauty!” Calico roared as he swung the car back around, nearly rolling it over. “You motherfuckers!”
“Ahhh!” Paco flinched, pulled his hands into the car. Blood covered them, and Calico could see the hole on the top of one hand pumping blood. “My…m-my hand!” As he frantically clutched his wound, his pistol went off, blew a hole in the dashboard and brought the airbags exploding out. It hit them both in the face, knocked the boy out again. His seatbelt held him up, but his head hung from his neck. Calico frantically beat at his airbag to deflate it as he steered the SUV through the grass.
Calico couldn’t see shit through the shattered windshield, but he could still make out the gunshots, so he fishtailed through the lawn toward the men. He missed a tall black man by a few inches, saw the man’s grimacing face as he narrowly escaped being crushed, but Calico swung the SUV around again, felt the back end smack something hard.
Beauty poked her head back over the middle console, made a whining sound and locked eyes momentarily with Calico.
Calico smiled at her, and when he looked back up, barely visible through the shattered windshield, he saw the tree. There was no time to dodge it, no time to swing around it. One moment there was only darkness, the next moment there was the thick pillar of wood and bark, and when the SUV slammed into it, the last thing Calico saw was Beauty flying forward, spearing straight through the glass, and disappearing into the darkness.
Addicted to the Dead Page 18