Thin jet-streams that trailed four tomahawk missiles broke through the rose plumes above, and J.C. threw his arms up in the air and laughed as they overshot their targets by several blocks. They exploded behind him, in the heart of Beverly Hills, to either side, and ahead, in the neighboring communities surrounding the graveyard. Even their most sophisticated technology wasn’t much of a threat against the spell cast by his queen’s blood-sorcery. The electrical interference from the scarlet lightning dancing through the storm inhibited any efforts to get the upper hand byway of satellite surveillance or computer-targeting.
Another barrage of missiles followed the first, but this time fell on its mark. They probably had to shut off the guidance systems on board and fire by line-of-sight – God only knows how they were able to hit their projected range being blinded by the clouds. The American cowboys were apparently more skilled than J.C. would’ve given them credit for… But their skills were for naught.
The bombs exploded over the cemetery before they reached the citadel as though colliding with an invisible roof in the sky. The shockwave and fire from the explosion dispersed throughout the air and spread over the top of the graveyard like water spilling on an invisible dome. Not only were their computers ineffective, but it would appear their missiles or any other electronically operated munitions would be of little use as well. If the government planned on bombing the Demon Fortress, they’d very likely have to deliver, and detonate the package by hand.
Jean-Claude was still laughing like a giddy child in a ball-pit as the fire in the sky simmered into the faint smell of smoke and failure. The roar of the jet engines became more distant by the second, and the horde of nearby demon soldiers briefly joined in J.C.’s enthusiasm as they all howled and barked at the sounds of the government’s first retreat. But they would be back – of this he was sure. And next time, they may even be desperate, or stupid enough to send in ground forces as a last effort to mount an offense.
This wouldn’t be a war… It would be a mutilation.
Just the thought of it made his mouth water in anticipation of America’s defeat. Unless they could conjure up a sorceress of their own, the whole country would end up belonging to the dead within the week – the entire world would fall within the month. His only regret, beyond ever letting Marty walk away from his grave, was that the weather in the New Hell wouldn’t be particularly ideal for his winter games.
Still Warm Leftovers
Terry kept his eyes peeled like onions in a paranoid stew.
The streets were empty, buzzing eerily with an electric hum. Every light in the city reflected off the crimson clouds to illuminate the blocks with a deep, rustic aura, and the deafening quiet that suffocated the neighborhood amplified the hiss of the city’s manmade power. Tara climbed into the backseat to grab three bottles of water as Terry pulled to the curb, giving Jimmy a supportive pat on the back when she passed. He’d scooted to the backdoor’s edge when they parked – half in, half out – heaving throat-loads of chunky vomit onto the asphalt.
“I…… I………bllaaauuughaarrrrrgggguhh…”
“That’s it, sweetie. Get it all out.”
Tara set a water bottle next to him before crawling back into the front seat. When she settled in, she handed the other bottle to Terry, having to bump him on his arm with it for him to notice. He was intent on keeping a sharp eye patrolling the blocks. Knowing he was so focused made Tara feel marginally more comfortable. Jimmy on the other hand, figured the horrendous sounds coming from his larynx would be enough to kill the appetite of even the hungriest of man-eating zombie Lemurs.
“I… I…just…reuuahh…blluuuaaaghhh…ulllaghhh…*cough*…”
“Say again, Jimbo?” Terry grabbed the bottle from Tara’s hands and cracked it open. He almost took a sip but then thought twice as he looked back at his buddy who was, quite possibly, up-chucking the last bit of civilized meal he’d ever have the pleasure of regurgitating. “… Didn’t quite catch that last part.”
“I said…*cough*…uughaakk *cough*……uuhhhggg…” He took a breath between yacks and wiped his mouth. “I said…I just…*cough*… I just…realized something terrible…”
“That it’s the end of the world?” Tara was just taking a shot in the dark.
“That you got the alcohol-tolerance of a fourteen-year-old girl?” Terry figured he might as well take a stab at it too.
Jimmy hacked again and gazed down at the vomit-street-pie that made a surprisingly symmetrical circle off to the side of the truck. He shook his head and sighed.
“…I may never have another deep-dish, sausage and artichoke pizza at Sal’s Italian Subs & Stuff again…”
Terry almost laughed but thought better of it, thinking that, knowing Jimmy, he was probably genuinely depressed over it. So he shrugged and tried to cheer him up instead. “That’s not so bad…”
Jimmy shook his head. “That’s not the worst of it.” He still had more on his mind.
“Then, what is?” …Because it couldn’t possibly get any worse than never having Sal’s deep-dish sausage pizza again, Tara thought.
Jimmy opened up the bottled water next to him, swished out his mouth and spit before he answered.
“The fact that I’ll miss the pizza more than I’ll miss my parents.” He took in another mouthful, rinsed and spewed.
Terry shook his head. “Come on, man… Don’t be so grim.” He looked back at his friend gargling the lukewarm water. “They live in Utah, right? They’ll be fine. This whole, red-eyed zombie-thing won’t get past L.A. The ex-Governator will show up any minute now with a minigun and a squad of ass-kicking US troops to blast the piss outta the filthy bastards.”
“Yeah? Well where the hell are they? This shit’s been goin’ on for at least four hours now. How long’s it take for our great, sovereign state to dispatch a little help out here? Those things are killing the shit out of people and turnin’ their leftovers into man-sandwiches… You’d think Schwarzenegger would’ve had all sorts of contingency plans set in place for this type of shit… He was a goddamn action hero, for fuck’s sake.”
“No one has a contingency plan for this type of shit.” Tara was surprised he’d even think someone could expect something like this to happen. “…Who the hell prepares for a zombie apocalypse?”
Jimmy and Terry both answered at the same time:
“The Coach.”
She looked over at Terry who still had a sharp eye roving outside. “You’re not serious…”
He didn’t answer so Jimmy spoke up.
“Hell yeah, we’re serious. …Well, not about the ‘zombie’ part… But he’s always goin’ on about the end of the world. Said he’s got food and weapons stashed. Gas masks, shortwave radios. He’s probably got bulletproof vests and grenades an’ shit too.”
“Which brings up a good point.” Terry thought of something significant enough to let his concentration sway. “We’re definitely gonna need some stronger weaponry than that cute little 9mm you got,” he assured her with a nod toward her waistline. “And we’re gonna need it soon. If we keep heading into the city, we’re all gonna have to be armed.”
“You think guns can hurt those things?” She had her doubts.
“I don’t know… But I’m pretty sure they’ll do more damage than Jimmy’s pink rabbit’s foot…”
“You never know… Maybe if I swing it real fast by one of their faces, it might make ’em sneeze…”
“It’s my rabbit’s foot.” Tara wanted to make that clear. She peeked back at Jimmy who was just now climbing back inside the truck. “I’m gonna want that back at some point.”
He settled in and closed the door behind him. “Just keepin’ it safe for you.”
She sighed. “So, what’d you have in mind?” She figured Terry had a plan to arm them and she had a pretty good idea of what it might entail.
He met her s
tare and the look in his eyes confirmed what she had already figured. There’d likely be Breaking & Entering in their near future, burglary, unlicensed weaponry, and possibly chips and a diet beverage.
Three blocks west of them was an All-Mart. God bless the money-grubbing, corporate snake who thought to put together one superstore that had everything a trio of apocalyptic revolutionaries could possibly need for their first day on the job. But who among them knew the best way to break into a secured building? The front entrances would be barricaded with metal doors behind glass, and the garage doors at the receiving docks would likely be electronically operated. It wouldn’t be as simple as shooting the locks off and just strolling in…
Or would it?
When they got there, the glass doors at the front of the building had already been broken into, probably by vagrants looking to score a meal in the midst of all the chaos. But just as she’d thought, hefty metal security doors covered the entrances from top to bottom. They’d been beaten at and rammed into by shopping carts and broken-down street signs, but apparently never budged. The poor souls trying to catch some grub probably ended up as grub themselves when stirring up the racket it caused to try to break in. Blood sprayed like street-art over the face of the building, but no leftover bodies littered the ground.
The entire neighborhood was in similar shape: all the signs of violence and murder without as much as a single victim or human limb to show for it. The whole scene was surreal and unsettling, especially since it all happened so recently. It almost smelled of fate the way the boys ended up heading out to Tara’s place in the middle of all this, then back again when the chaos was stampeding the opposite way. It was either fate, or just plain dumb luck – possibly the result of the power behind some sort of superstitious charm having the dyed severed foot of a small, furry mammal attached to a metal ring for safe keeping…
But why they were still alive wasn’t what was important. Staying that way, however, was. And the best strategy for remaining amongst the living would be to arm themselves to the teeth. And to do that, they’d have to get inside.
The idea of driving the truck straight through the entrance had crossed their minds, but their vehicle was too valuable. They’d need her in good working order if they were to get around the city safely. It wouldn’t be worth using the truck to break into the place if it’d cause them to have to leave on foot afterward.
They scouted the perimeter until they found a door in the back next to the loading docks. It only had one locking mechanism and shouldn’t take more than two shots to render it “open for business”. They discussed the noise of the gunfire, but decided its echo would probably make pinpointing their location unlikely. Once they’d shot the locks off, they’d only need a few seconds to get in the store and out of sight. It seemed to them a risk worthy of the prize.
Tara looked to her two companions for their go-ahead and they both nodded to give her a “let’s do this shit” gesture of approval. She aimed her gun from ten feet away, both hands securely around her weapon, and fired. The first shot veered to the right of the lock to blast through the deadbolt, and the second hit lower, where the handle controlled the latch before it was run-through by a speeding, 9mm bullet. They scurried to pull open the door and had to put some force into it to break away the busted pieces, but got it open within a few seconds. Jimmy kept an eye out behind them until they snuck safely inside. So far, things appeared to be moving along as well as they could’ve hoped.
When inside, they decided only a small amount of food and drink was important. For all they knew, they wouldn’t live to see tomorrow, and Alex probably had enough food at her house to cover them for the night. If not, they could always raid the neighbor’s apartments for dinner if it came down to it…if they even made it that far…
But what was important now was attaining the means of finding their friends, and to do that, they’d need to be able to protect themselves. Jimmy grabbed a shopping cart and Tara had the bright idea of picking up some first aid supplies on their way to the sporting goods section. Terry suggested that “gauze and aspirin wouldn’t be much help against creatures that could rip our spines out from our throats” but Tara insisted. They also picked up a few empty gas cans, figuring they might need to fill them at some point; large flashlights and batteries, since Jimmy was afraid of the dark; rope, because you never know when you need to tie something; Funyuns, roasted peanuts, beef jerky, and a twelve-pack of diet Mountain Dew.
“Alright; I know we only have six hands between us, but I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t grab as many guns as we have fingers.” He glanced over at Jimmy who looked to be doing the math in his head. “…That’s thirty.”
“Twenty-four.” Jimmy gave him a smartassed glare. “Thumbs aren’t fingers.”
Terry figured he’d let the little guy have that one. “All I’m sayin’ is, the more the merrier. I say we grab at least six shotguns, a couple rifles with scopes, and the biggest goddamn handguns they carry. Tara, you know more about guns than we do, so you’ll be in charge of getting us the right ammo. Shit loads of it. Big-ass bullets that’ll blow zombie heads to bloody pieces.”
“All-Mart doesn’t exactly carry warmongering weaponry… Most this stuff’s for hunting quail…” Terry’s face told her that that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “…But I’m sure there’re a few guns in these cases that’d take out something with a little more girth.” She sighed, looking around.
“How ’bout this one?” Jimmy picked up a sleek looking air-pressured rifle and Tara lifted a brow.
“It’d be perfect if you were planning on decorating their uniforms with splotches of pink and yellow. That’s a paint gun. Not gonna be as much use to us as this will.” She hoisted a 12-gauge Mossberg with an oak stock and a black scope. “It won’t blow their heads to pieces, but it’ll give them a new hole to breathe out of.”
“Nice.” Terry liked. “How many of them are there?”
“This one’s a display, but they probably have at least three or four more in stock. We just have to find them.”
“We probably shouldn’t spend too much time here… Maybe we should just grab the ones on display and load up on ammo—”
“H-hello…?”
A young woman’s voice came from around the corner of an aisle behind them and they all stopped and snapped their heads around with looks like they just got caught dipping their cookies in someone else’s wife’s milk. When they saw the delicate expression of a young Chinese girl in an All-Mart shirt and kakis, they were able to breathe easy.
Terry looked back to Tara with a judgmental glare. “Yeah, okay, see, this is something we need to work on.” Confusion hung over her eyes, so he explained. “When you hear someone sneak up behind us and peek their head around a corner, you pull the gun and aim it at their face… You don’t just stand there looking like a deer caught in a strobe light…”
She dropped her jaw in exaggerated shock of him assigning blame.
“Sorrrrry! God… It’s not like I’m a fricking commando or something…” He caught her a little off guard…on two fronts, apparently. “I’ve never done this whole ‘it’s the end of the world, shoot first, ask questions later’ thing, okay? …And it’s headlights, not ‘strobe-light’…” She sighed. “…You still want me to point the gun at her?”
Terry lowered his head and shook it dismissively.
“Uh… Hi…” Jimmy was enthralled to see another person alive besides them. Never mind that that person just happened to be a cute, helpless Asian girl who was right around his age. “Are…are you okay?”
“I… I think so… I’m not sure…” Her big, round eyes were glazed over with fear and confusion. She seemed distant and was probably in shock.
“Is there anyone else here?” Terry was all business and more concerned with the wellbeing of his friends than that of the girl’s.
“I…no…no…just…just
me…”
“What’re you still doing here?”
“Dude… What’s with the cop-talk, Lieutenant Insensitive? Quit interrogating the poor girl. Can’t you see she’s scared?” Jimmy wasn’t too happy with his friend’s tone. She looked so innocent and frightened, and her bangs were adorable. Her jet-black hair complimented her pale skin and dark eyes. After a full, thirty seconds of looking her over, Jimmy was certain they could have a beautiful and bright future together in the midst of all this horror and darkness. Things suddenly seemed to be looking up.
She too was shaken by his tone, but answered as best she could. Her memory was clouded and spotty from the constant flow of adrenaline pumping through her veins. After being stuck alone with all hell breaking loose around her, she was running on pure instinct.
“I… I’m…waiting…f-for my dad. He…he said he was coming to get me after work…” They all fell silent. Everyone knew her father wasn’t coming, but she seemed to still be holding on to the hope. “We…we closed at ten… Jake… Jake said he’d wait with me… The s-security guard… He…he said he’d wait …”
“Where is he now?” Jimmy didn’t want to ask, but the suspense was killing him.
“He…he left… He ran away…” Puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips: a very potent mixture that’d get nearly anyone to lower their guard. “I was… I was going with him…” She was going over what happened in her mind, retracing their steps, but wasn’t able to put it all together. “We were leaving together…I think…but…”
She suddenly flinched at a flash of violent memory – a piece of the puzzle that still wasn’t completely clear. Her pupils dilated and her heart jumped when she looked down and her hands were covered in blood. She saw the body of her friend Jake, the security guard, mauled at her feet, her shirt and kakis splattered with red. The look of fear in her eyes startled them all, but when the blood disappeared from her clothes and hands, she calmed down and just looked lost again. She didn’t know what it was she was seeing. If they were her memories, why weren’t her clothes still stained with them?
Blood Magik- A Cold Day In Hell Page 29
