Demon Fallout_The Return

by Mark Tufo

  Jazmixer coughed up a ball of blood as he laughed. “No one gets out of here, you stupid twat. If you allow me to live I will show you how to survive. That is the best you can hope for.” He screamed as Eliza attacked his neck with such ferocity, half of her face was buried deep within his flesh.

  “I have something! I have something—do…do not kill me.” His voice was choked, his reserves were flagging.

  Eliza pulled back just enough to speak. “Be quick about it, and I may yet let you live.”

  Chapter 8

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 7

  I had a hard time getting the imagery of the gathering out of my mind. It was beyond boggling to think that these people now existed to just die. Sure, a lot of people on earth had that same mentality, but this was different. To be alive at the whim of evil, and not only to die, but to die violently and repeatedly, forever. Maybe I’d feel better if I found out what sin had caused those people to be down here in the first place, but maybe not. I think it would just be a compounding of horrors. That whole “two wrongs don’t make a fuck” and all that.

  “I’m hungry,” Linnick said. “I don’t know why. I realize that I’m supposed to be dead; but I have form. I exist in some fashion here, and I thought perhaps it was solely a consciousness thing, like my mind thinks that I should be hungry, I get that. But my stomachs are churning up their digestive juices looking for something to work on; that’s not my imagination.”

  “Stomachs? Forget it. What can I find you to eat? Forget it.” I now had something new to dwell on; it seems my short attention span had followed me into the underworld. “Great. Now I’m hungry too. How much blood you have in you, by the way?” I made sure I was looking directly at Linnick so she would know I was kidding.

  “I do not think it funny to make jokes concerning one’s demise.”

  “What else do we have to laugh about? This whole fucking thing is a joke, don’t you think?” I asked as I spread my arms.

  “You have a strange sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been accused of that before. So, what do we eat? I have a hard time believing we’re going to come across a cow that was so extremely evil in life it ended up down here. A cheeseburger would be fantastic. I can’t imagine seeing anything down here I would want to butcher and eat. I’m thinking there aren’t any 7-Elevens…not going to be able to get taquitos. Do you think folks of Hispanic heritage used to walk into one of those stores and just shake their heads when they saw what we try to pass off as Mexican food? Oh, speaking of trying to pass off as Mexican food, well as food at all, I guess…we had a place that supposedly served authentic Mexican food; I used to call it Taco Smell, make a run for the bathroom. Stuff used to tear my innards up like it was alive and wanted to escape out my anus in the fastest manner possible. But—holy fuck was it delicious. I could eat about nine of anything on their menu, minus the bean paste, though. That shit freaks me out. It’s brown and mushy and looks like it had already escaped through someone else’s digestive tract right before they slapped it on your food.”

  “There are many nutrients to be found in the offal of other animals,” Linnick said with some defiance.

  I wisely swallowed hard before I said anything stupid. I know, I know—shocker, right?! Looked like Linnick and I made a pair, not sure what kind of pair, but we made one. I talked shit and she ate it. The hunger I had been feeling so acutely, subsided rapidly. I realized that if I were to find a meal, eight or so hours later so would she, and, umm, that was just not going to work for me. I got quiet, I mean exceptionally so. I started thinking on whether I’d eaten a dish that contained corn at any point recently. For some reason, the thought of Linnick wrestling out a golden nugget was twisting my stomach up.

  “You have grown quiet, Tallboat. Do you need to purge your system?” she prodded.

  “I think I might just go ahead and reabsorb whatever I need to get rid of.”

  “You do realize that I am offering humor to you, yes?”

  “Wait, what? For the last hour, I’ve been grossed out near to my limits and you’re just having some fun?”

  “Humor is not relegated to humans. Are you mad that I was able to fool you?”

  “Mad? Hell no. The relief is too great. So, what would you like to eat here?”

  “Roots would be preferable; meat if necessary—as long as it is not of demon origin.”

  “I can’t imagine there are many potatoes down here. Kale, maybe. That shit could grow on the side of an active volcano. That is one hardy plant; tastes like leafy dirt, though.”

  “That does not sound very good.”

  “It wasn’t. My wife, Tracy, was implementing that into my diet right before the zombies came. I was getting a bit of a paunch and I guess she wanted to get me healthy, maybe make sure I didn’t check out early from a stroke or heart attack or something like that. That’s kind of funny when I think about it all these years later, in a sad sort of way.”

  “I do not believe crops grow down here. Meat is the preferred sustenance.”

  “Shit, vegetarians would have gone nuts if they’d known this place was here. Not because they would have wanted to visit but, man, they could so use it as an argument about how evil eating meat is, like, eat a burger, go to hell. Fuck, I mean, this entire place just plays into that perfectly for them.”

  “Are you considered strange for your kind, Tallboat?” Linnick asked.

  I was taken aback. When something that is not familiar with your species and has only known you for a few days questions your mental state you have to take a moment and think about that. “Yeah, I guess that’s safe to say,” I told her. “Don’t tell my wife that though; she doesn’t need to have any more reasons to leave me than she already has.”

  “We will be upon the gates soon. Have you thought about how you will get us in?”

  “I guess you really have just met me. You’ll understand soon enough that I don’t think on any one thing for an extended amount of time; it wrecks my spontaneity. And, in this case, it might actually be a good strategy. I have no idea what we’re dealing with or how I could possibly get around or through it; why worry ahead of time about something I don’t know?”

  “If my teachings are correct, there are seven-hundred and seventy-seven demons that watch that access point.”

  “That all? Pshh. Piece of cake. Strange number, though…unless there’s a casino down here, then it all makes perfect sense. There were churches that preached about the evils of slot machines and gambling; there’s got to be at least one card table around. Though…over seven hundred of anything might make getting through difficult. I don’t think I could take on that many of you.”

  “I would think not. I bit your ear and nearly took you down.”

  “Huh. That’s true, isn’t it. Son of a bitch.”

  I had all sorts of incredibly vivid and violent dreams that night. Linnick wisely chose to sleep a good distance from me as I, supposedly, lashed out and rolled around attempting to get away from the monsters that haunted my dreamscapes. I was startled half awake, shaken, on more than one occasion teetering on the brink of demise after demise. I’ve had my fair share of nightmares in the real world where I was about to die, but they had been spaced out over the years, not binge watched in one frenetic night of horror viewing—Dreamflix and kill.

  It got no better; in fact, it was a lot worse that next day. I use day, morning, night, etcetera as a way to express time that will keep me organized in my mind and in my journaling, as a relative landmark. However, in this world, there was no distinction from one moment to the next. No change in light or atmosphere, no sense of moments or hours. I’m convinced that even if I had a working watch, it would not function correctly down here. I believe some demons have the ability to manipulate time for their needs or amusement. It seems for some, tormenting a being for eternity is just not long enough; they like to drag out each second until it not only feels like its own eternity, but it actually is one. The converse is torture as well, t
o give some poor slob a glimpse at his family and then proceed to increase the speed that time passes. The lost soul must watch in horror as his family ages, withers, and dies right before his very eyes. They probably laughed at Einstein’s rudimentary grasp of time travel down in these parts.

  Oh yeah, I suppose I should get back to how my day started off pretty shitty, or more aptly, gooey. I was moaning about being chased by a zombie bear that was about to drag me down from behind when I was awakened by a large, green, phlegmy piece of muculent debris that fell, or dripped from the creature standing over me. For a millisecond, I thought it was the zombie bear coming through to finish me off. That thought was quickly pushed aside as I looked up at the green monster. I was back-pedaling on my ass as fast as I could.

  “It’s a Sludgenous!” Linnick screamed.

  The sludge-bag turned to look at her, then back at me. By this time, I’d put ten feet between us—and unfortunately my axe—which it was now standing on.

  “That bad?” was all I could think to ask. Superfluous question if there ever was one, like asking if a deep fat fried Twinkie was bad for you. The Sludgenous was every bit the size of a grizzly bear, though it did not have the intimidating shape of one. It was more blobby-looking, like maybe you dropped a green gummy bear onto hot pavement and came back a half hour later to look at it. Its skin, or whatever the outer layer of it was comprised of, looked melted, like it had been in a terrible accident or someone had dripped mountains of candle wax onto it. Lumps morphed and pulsed at various points on its body as if there were burrowing insects trapped inside, desperately seeking a way out.

  “Food?” it asked.

  Wasn’t expecting that question. My first inclination had been to try for my axe and attempt to cut that thing in half; instead I went all diplomatic on it. “We are not food.”

  “Tallboat, it took you almost a full minute to tell the creature that we were not something to eat.”

  “Shut up, Linnick. I don’t do well under pressure. I didn’t see you volunteering any information.”

  “It did not ask me.”

  “You look like food,” it stated.

  I stood, attempting to look tough and inedible. I don’t think that was the appropriate response, as sludge-boy quickly halved the distance between us. Something, I think was a tongue, only it was the size of an Alaskan salmon and as green as an avocado, stuck out from a rough approximation of where one might expect a mouth to be. Although all things being equal, it could have just as easily been a penis judging by how attractive it found me. Yeah, that would have got real weird because that appendage dragged up the front of my shirt and then the side of my face, leaving a gooey slime trail that was nearly a half inch thick. Heavy droplets of the mucusy, drool-like stuff began to fall to the ground. Yeah, drool…I’m definitely sticking with drool. I was already on the verge of going into shock in case it had been some other type of bodily fluid; in that case we were going to have a wee spot of trouble.

  “I think it likes you,” Linnick said.

  “Likes me? Likes me how? “Let’s be friends” like, or “squeal like a pig” like?”

  “Not food.” The thing seemed genuinely saddened that I did not climb into its belly.

  “I just got sampled and was found wanting.” It’s weird how my mind works. As I was frantically wiping away the residue from my new friend’s slimy appendage, I kept wondering: what is it about me that he doesn’t find appealing enough to eat? Not: Thank God, he doesn’t want to eat me! Who craves validation so extremely that even the rejection of, say, not worthy of being eaten, is enough to trigger feelings of dismay? “I really need a better therapist,” I said aloud.

  “Not food,” I reiterated, in case he had a change of mind. I kept looking to my axe; just because it didn’t want to eat me didn’t necessarily mean I was out of the woods. “I’m, uh, just going to, umm, get that shiny thingie over there.” I started side-stepping, hunched over with my hands up in a universal gesture of harmlessness or “hold on, buddy.” Its head moved to watch me, though that isn’t an accurate description as there was no true separation between head and body. It wasn’t a neck that swiveled, so much as the top third of its body twisted, the gooey folds wringing out some viscous fluid as it did so. Somewhat like an overactive hormonal male teenager’s sock might if twisted. Yeah, I’ll let that one sit there for a second.

  I’d no sooner placed my hand on the axe when the monster floored me.

  “You are Michael Talbot?”

  I jumped back as if that tongue were coming back out for round two. “How do you know who I am?”

  “Michael is not food.”

  “Right! What the hell?”

  “Someone has sent him to look for you,” Linnick said as I bent down to pick her up.

  “Yeah, but why? What’s your name and who sent you?”

  The thing made a throat rumbling like it had a lung cookie it wanted to share with the world. I don’t know if that was its name or the one who sent it.

  “Goober it is,” I said, taking the naming rights. I figured I earned it since it tasted me. “Okay, Goober. Who sent you and why?”

  “I doubt it is much more intelligent than a Ginses,” Linnick said, as if that explained everything.

  “Michael Not-Food must pass gate. You are sure you are not food?”

  Whatever orders it had, it didn’t seem too particularly attached to them. “You can help us?”

  I jumped back again when something akin to an arm separated from Goober’s side. I had not noticed limbs before; perhaps it created them when it needs to then just docks them back into its body. It pointed to its back side.

  “Tallboat, I do not think hiding behind the Sludgenous will fool all of the demons at the gate.”

  “How is it that Goober, who is apparently about as smart as a Ginses, can say my name correctly but you cannot?”

  “Perhaps it is a show of respect.”

  “Meaning he has some, or you have none?”

  “Yes,” she responded.

  “Wonderful.” Goober kept pointing to his backside and then it got disgusting as he, umm, shoved his arm into his backside. Not, I hoped, its rectum, though I wasn’t going to go and see exactly where he was putting his fist. I knew there were some people that walked the earth that thought this was cool, but I wasn’t one of them. Plus, can you imagine if it had hemorrhoids? Goober already had pulsing protrusions; that rear canal would be dancing around like those flappy inflated men that car dealerships used to put out front; for some reason thinking that would attract sales. I’m just not stable enough to deal with that kind of thing.

  I swallowed hard because otherwise there was a serious threat of bile going the other way. I’m not stupid. I knew what Goober wanted. We were to crawl up inside of him so we could pass through the gate as Goober’s cargo; he was a mule. I told Linnick as much.

  “Are you insane?”

  “Really? That phrase that gets passed back and forth from world to world? I like this one a lot better.” I flipped Goober and her off.

  “It means the same for Goober as it does for me,” she replied.

  “I didn’t mean it that way!” I was quick to fold my flipped bird over lest Goober got the wrong idea.

  Goober pulled his hand free with a wet pop! And, yeah, as one might expect it was dripping all sorts of unsavory fluids.

  “Tallboat, he has asked you on more than one occasion if you are food and now you are seriously thinking about entering his cavity?”

  “Well, I mean, it’s not his stomach.”

  “And how do you know where his stomach is or how he digests matter? Perhaps merely getting inside of him starts the process of strong acids melting away our flesh.”

  “I…I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course you hadn’t or you wouldn’t think this was a good idea.”

  “Oh, wait one…I never said I thought it was a good idea. I’m just not sure what else to do.”

  “Find another way! D
oes it not strike you as strange that this Sludgenous shows up right now knowing who you are? Every part of this smells of trap.”

  My first instinct was to say, “Why would he do that?” but there were a dozen reasons I could think of off the top of my head and another dozen that would never occur to me until the trap had been sprung.

  “How are you in combat?” I asked Linnick as I studied my axe.

  “I prefer to force diplomacy through coercion and blackmail,” she replied with not a hint of regret.

  “Can you maybe find out Goober’s intentions?”

  “You want me to see into its mind? I’m not even sure if it has one.”

  “If we are to have any hope in this quest we need to make it through that gate.”

  “That is your quest, Tallboat. Not mine.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. Could you maybe see what his plans are before we part ways?”

  “I owe you that, at least.”

  I didn’t push it, but she owed me a hell of a lot more than that. Maybe a new car with a mounted machine gun, some cold beers in the backseat and Widespread Panic’s entire library which I could play on the twelve-speaker set-up. That would be a start.

  “Goober.” He turned to me. Looking upon that melty shifting face was taking up all of my concentration. “My, err, friend, Linnick, here needs you to, umm, look into her eyes.”

  “Is she food?” he asked, and I swear his head may have tilted slightly to the side.

  “I am not food!” I could feel her tiny vibrations as she shook with rage. “Is this a trap?” Linnick asked after moderately calming herself. There was a long tense silence; I figured Linnick was learning every deep and dark secret that Goober held close, culminating in the fate of all creatures far and wide. This may come as a surprise, but I wasn’t even close. I looked down to watch Linnick sag.