by Cervo, RD
M O A B
By
RD Cervo
“MOAB” is published in the US and A by MorbidbookS and the Grace of God. Copyright: RD Cervo for words and music, 2017. Cover Designed, poorly edited, and stage directed by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage, 2017. The moral right, such as it is, of this author and his various disjointed proclivities have been asserted. All Rights Reserved. No part of this dark, erotic and viscerally violent novel may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic, alien or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, drawing stick figures, seventeenth century printing press, chain mail, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of The Reverend, RD Cervo, The Great and Powerful Oz and the Hand that turns the Big Wheel, except where permitted by law or whatever the hell you think you can get away with. But if you do, please be advised that you will incur the righteous disdain of The Reverend. And that is no Bueno, primo. The characters in this vicious tome are fictitious. Duh. Obviously. Any resemblance to real persons, be they living or dead, demons, succubae, demi-gods or the ‘formerly living’ (zombies) is purely coincidental.
Death will always follow the Transformation.
MOAB IS:
The son of Lot. A deviant sexual act as per the Urban Dictionary. The Mother Of All Bombs, and Extreme Apocalyptic Horror.
CHAPTER 1
Jordan Rift Valley
12:00 Noon
IT IS A SCORCHING 105 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT. On the shore, a German tourist at a health resort lights up a cigarette. A Bedouin’s old cranky camel lets out a loud sour fart. The oil fields are ablaze again in nearby Iraq. Thousands of miles away, Chinese coal-powered factories spew hot gases into the atmosphere. In Syria, another captured Jordanian pilot screams, stomps his feet and waves his arms in a crazy dance of agony as he burnt to death. As if synchronized, all these simultaneous events cause a spike in temperature and the water level of the Dead Sea evaporates by one picolitre.
For centuries, the weight of the water has acted as a pressure lock. Deep down at the bottom of the Dead Sea, a prisoner begins to escape. It sneaks out through crevices in the ancient stones and natural asphalt. The scant microbes and bacteria that exist in the hyper-saline murk are recruited and used as building blocks to create a host organism. In a frenzy, there is mutant cell replication. The prisoner never cared about the natural laws of this world. Its very essence is based on defiance and breaking rules. In the blackness, a large ball of opaque slime continues to grow and shape-shift at the bottom of the seabed. A coiled vertebral column begins to appear inside the blob. Then there are fins, and scales. And a mouth. The hyper-accelerated growth occurs in less than a minute in earth time.
12:01 PM
THE THING IS NOW ALMOST SEVEN METERS LONG.
12:02 PM
UP ON THE SURFACE OF THE DEAD SEA, not far from shore, Dr. Morey Peck floats on his back away from the others. He is wearing a bright pink Speedo. The salt content of the Dead Sea is almost 10 times greater than most oceans on earth. Dr. Peck is amazed by the strange buoyancy that allows him to effortlessly drift about on the water. He was never an athlete and hates swimming. Being 50 years-old, squat and with a large belly, this is his comfort level for physical exertion.
Thick black mud coats the front of his body and covers up the blotchy red psoriasis on his man boobs. It appears he is just another tourist visiting one of the many Dead Sea health spas for a dermatological mineral mud treatment. The real reason he is here is to hide out. He knows he is on Interpol’s watch list and does not want to return to the United States too soon. For the last month, he has been traumatizing children in Cambodia. He hopes that a brief stop-over in Jordan will get the authorities off his trail. Plus, he will have a nice alibi to tell his co-workers back at the pediatric department. When asked about his vacation, he plans to bore them with stories about the Rose City and ancient biblical archeology.
Dr. Peck has learned that the shores around the Dead Sea are the lowest geological land masses in the world. As he continues to float under the blazing sun, he mumbles and chuckles to himself, “Gives new meaning to being on the down-low.”
12:03 PM
ON THE SHORE OF THE ZAHRA RESORT & SPA, 19-year-old Ahmad Salah feels his erection in his trousers as he applies globs of black mud from a bucket to the tanned legs of a young female Australian tourist. Being the cabana boy, he usually must endure lathering up old obese Russian and British hotel guests. She is in her twenties, tall, thin, with tattoos and wearing a thong. Ahmad Salah wonders if her pubic hair is as blonde as her long braids.
“The mud is very good for the skin,” he says with a nervous smile. “You like?”
With bitchy indifference, she ignores the Jordanian cabana boy and continues to stand and look out at the simmering still water.
“You-you are very b-beautiful,” Ahmad Salah says, stuttering.
She snaps at him, “Don’t talk to me! Just finish up doing my legs.”
“Yes, madam,” Ahmad Salah replies.
She starts to take a video with her iPhone. Up and down the beach there are dozens of European tourists baking in their lounge chairs. She chooses the panorama mode on her digital camera and scans the water.
12:04 PM
FAR IN THE DISTANCE, a large black shark-like fin breaks the surface of the Dead Sea.
12:05 PM
AHMAD SALAH, WITH TREMBLING HANDS, smears the mineral mud up the back of the girl’s thighs. He pauses for moment, but continues higher up to cup and fondle her exposed ass-cheeks. In haste, he even tries to slip a thumb under her thong to touch her anus.
“HEY!!!” she shouts. Quickly she turns, slaps down at his head and squirms away.
Still on his knees, Ahmad is wide-eyed with a look of mock innocence.
She yells, “Fucking bugger! I am going to report you!”
Suddenly a very powerful voice in Ahmad Salah’s mind tells him to stop and look out toward the sea. He stands up and does what he is told.
12:06 PM
DR. PECK IS UNAWARE THAT HE HAS DRIFTED FARTHER OUT. A strange current is bringing him away from the shore. Finally, he has a realization that he is being dragged and starts to panic. He goes to yell but is paralyzed and cannot speak.
His mind races. How come I can’t move? Did I have a stroke?
The hot sun beats down on his fat floating body. His heart is pounding. He is in a cadaver-like pose on the surface of the sea. He can’t move his arms or legs. To his left, the large black shark-like fin comes into view.
Dr. Peck screams in his mind. The only sound that comes out is a choking moan through clenched teeth.
The fin cuts by and starts to submerge. The doctor is sprayed with the hyper-saline water and instantly discovers that he cannot blink. With eyelids, frozen open, the salt burns his eyeballs. A high-pitch shrill of terror and blinding pain manages to escape from his locked-up throat. There is a moment of utter stillness. Peck can feel the swell of something big moving below him.
12:07 PM
THE THING COMES UPWARD, opening its giant mouth with its detachable jaw. The doctor is swallowed whole.
12:08 PM
THE SURFACE OF THE DEAD SEA IS CALM AGAIN. Standing on the shore like a rigid statue with a hypnotized stare, Ahmad Salah saw what happened. A few of the tourists on the beach also got a glimpse of a brief splash in the distance but are unsure of what just occurred. The voice returns in Ahmad Salah’s head. In an ancient language, which Ahmad can suddenly understand, it whispers, go do what your black heart says. Go do. Go do….
Robotically, Ahmad abruptly turns away from the angry blonde girl and marches towards the cabana hut where there are refreshments for the resort guests. Behind the counter is a cutting board with sliced lemons and limes and a five-inch ki
tchen knife. Ahmad calmly reaches down and retrieves the knife and starts back towards the girl.
Go do. Go do. Go do …
His erection is bulging in his trousers. His eyes are unblinking and glazed. In stunned disbelief, the other tourists watch as Ahmad charges the girl and starts slashing. She screams and puts up her arms and gets cut across both palms and right wrist. Her left pinky goes flying off. Moving backward, she trips and falls. Ahmad is on top of her, stabbing in a crazed fury. The knife slips many times in his grasp and cuts his own fingers but he feels nothing. Multiple knife wounds appear on her neck, breasts and forearms. Blood is flowing and everything is getting slippery and red.
“HELP ME!” she pleads, but nobody comes to her rescue.
The knife tip breaks off and gets embedded in her forehead. Next the chipped blade bounces off her sternum but manages to pierce between her ribs. For a moment, the knife gets stuck in her chest. Ahmad yanks on the hilt but it won’t budge. She valiantly tries to fight back and claw at his eyes, but he pushes her arms away and starts punching her in the face. Her two front teeth snap off at the gum line and the cartilage in her nose splinters. Mercifully, by that time she is knocked out. Ahmad pulls up hard on the knife handle and works the blade free. Instantly her left lung collapses. The other tourists are screaming and shouting but are too petrified to intervene. Ahmad starts sawing away at her neck. Bright scarlet gore spurts out across the sand from a severed carotid artery. Next, there is a high-pitched wheezing sound, as air escapes from her transected trachea. Ahmad shows a bit of frustration as the blade keeps getting hung-up on sinew and cervical vertebra. He continues to saw and hack through the meat and bone. The smell of shit is strong as a jet of soft brown diarrhea lets loose between her legs. Ahmad has a flashback of his uncle teaching him how to slaughter a goat.
“Saytan Akbar!” Ahmad proclaims as the head finally separates from her body. Standing up, he holds his trophy by blood-soaked blonde braids. He then starts swinging the head around by its hair like a ball on a tether. In Arabic, Ahmad shouts, “I offer this to you, Saytan!” He lets the head fly and it splashes into the surf. Ahmad tears off his blood-soaked shirt and starts pulling down his trousers.
12:17 PM
MAMOON IS A MIDDLE AGED, out-of-shape security guard. He huffs and gasps as he hurries down from the main resort area to the beach. Dark sweat stains show through the armpits of his old brown suit jacket. Hotel guests are screaming and fleeing in the opposite direction. He expects a dreaded terrorist attack but is about to encounter something a million times viler. Reaching the sand, lawn chairs and beach blankets are strewn about. Some of the tourists are still frozen in shock and continue to watch the horror. Mamoon cannot believe what he sees.
Ahmad has stripped naked and inserted his long uncircumcised cock into the transected trachea of the decapitated corpse. There are liquid-squishy sounds as he thrusts away like a piston. Both bodies are smeared with blood and feces and partially coated with sand.
“In the name of Allah, No!” Mamoon shouts as he fumbles with shaky hands for his pistol. He pulls out his old Berretta 92 from his crumbled suit jacket and instantly starts firing with wildly terrible aim. Nearby, a rotund Russian woman who is unable to rise from her lounge chair in time, catches a 9mm in her leg. For a split second her huge fat thigh quivers like jelly. Other bullets kick up sand and skip out across the water. Ahmad is oblivious to the sounds of gunfire and the rounds whizzing near his head. He continues to fuck. Suddenly, sounding like the cry of a hyena, he ejaculates into the dead girl’s neck. Simultaneously, one of Mamoon’s bullets hits its mark and Ahmad jerks a bit as the round enters and exits through his upper chest. Pulling his bloody dripping cock from the corpse’s windpipe, Ahmad stands up and trance like, starts walking toward the water.
The slide to Mamoon’s Berretta is locked back to the rear. All fifteen rounds have been fired. Empty tarnished brass shell casings litter the ground. With jittering hands, Mamoon tries to re-load but drops his extra magazine in the sand. There is now the sound of sirens. Some the bystanders continue to scream and cry. A military jeep pulls into the resort. Two young soldiers out on patrol are quickly alerted to the attack and start running down to the shore.
Ahmad enters the water up to his knees and stares out to the sea. He says aloud in Arabic, “Saytan, my father. Have you forsaken me? Are you leaving me here on the shore? Please, swallow me too! I beg you, send the great fish to swallow me whole!”
The Jordanian soldiers are now on the beach.
Mamoon yells, “Quick, shoot the terrorist in the water! Shoot him!”
12:25 PM
THERE IS THE LOUD CRACKLE OF AUTOMATIC GUN FIRE. One of soldiers has a T91 assault rifle. Rapid three round bursts cut through the air. Sprays of water pop up around Ahmad. A tight group of 5.56 rounds drill into his lower back. Another bullet shatters his left elbow and kicks up his arm at a weird angle. Another three rounds blow off part of his head in a pink mist. A piece of cranium spins off like a Frisbee. Ahmad lurches forward but then turns and drops backward into the water. The hyper-saline sea keeps his body afloat on his back. He is dead but his bloody eleven-inch penis is still erect, rigid and pointing toward heaven. The girl’s severed head also bobs along on the surface, unable to sink. Her blonde gore-soaked braids are floating and uncoiling like tentacles.
12:31 PM
FAR IN THE DISTANCE, on the simmering boiling horizon, the giant fish explodes out of the sea like a humpback whale. It comes back down with a splash and disappears.
Those on the shore, continue to stare in shock and awe.
CHAPTER 2
Neve Zohar, Israel
24 Hours Later
CIA AGENT JOHN DOVER IS IN THE BACK OF A MILITARY CHOPPER AND IS ABOUT TO TOUCH DOWN. The images captured on the Australian girl’s iPhone keeps ruminating in his mind. He had scrutinized the grainy quick snippet of the shark-like fin coming toward a floating figure in the Dead Sea. The CIA agent continues to be perplexed. He does his best to ignore the sudden sensation of burning gastric pain.
The helicopter lands and Dover feels a blast of desert heat as he exits the aircraft. Israeli soldiers escort the American to a commandeered storage facility. The large metal corrugated doors slide apart and the men enter the building. The doors are quickly pushed back shut.
Israeli field agent Ori Litwin shakes Dover’s hand and says, “We thought it was a hoax but wait until you see this.”
Dover removes his shades and stares across the expansive storage area to the newly-erected quarantine unit. Figures in hazmat suits scurry about. The two agents approach. Through walls of see-through thick plastic, there a is military transport truck. On the flatbed of the vehicle is draped the monstrous fish. It is dead. It had grown to eight meters. Its huge disc eyes are lifeless and coated with an opaque film. The dorsal fin appears misshapen and discolored. Segments of skeletal bone poke out from the black scaly skin. A gaping hole in its lower ventral belly leaks custardy goo. Fumes of petroleum and rancid flesh continue to build up in the enclosure.
“I was taught to believe that nothing lives in the Dead Sea,” Dover says coldly.
Litwin nervously responds, “We have our best biologists in there taking samples right now. They say they have never seen anything like it. Quarantine precautions are in effect. We do not know what kind of fucking bacteria or viruses that thing may have. It appears to be decaying very rapidly. It washed ashore during the night in Ein Bokek. It was first spotted near the Jordanian resort where the girl was decapitated.”
Dover questions, “Any word on the whereabouts of Peck?”
“Come with me,” says Litwin. The Israeli is now visibly sweating. “We have your U.S. citizen.”
1330 hours
IN THE BACK OF THE FACILITY, a mobile field hospital is up and running. Dover is led into an army tent and seated at a table. There is an inner cell consisting of see-though plastic sheeting and a single plastic stool. He is joined by another Israeli secret service ag
ent, Ariel Friedman. Ariel is burly, in his fifties and tough as nails.
Dover asks, “Where did you locate our man?”
Friedman pauses for a moment and responds gruffly, “After that fish was found, police witnessed something kicking from the inside of the beast.” He hands the CIA agent a small video tablet.
A bead of sweat appears on Dover’s temple as he peers at the monitor and sees a night-time scene with blinding search lights from emergency vehicles. The frantic camera footage cuts to a giant black hulking shape. It is the beached fish. Something is moving from inside the creature’s abdomen. Suddenly stark white human legs appear, kicking wildly, as the gut bursts. The video clip abruptly ends.
Dover swallows hard and asks, “Is Peck still alive?”
Friedman replies, “Our medics detect no heartbeat.”
Dover says, “I want to see the body.”
Pausing for a moment, Friedman then says with a blend of sarcasm and dread, “You can talk to him right now.”
Icy chill travels up Dover’s spine.
Through a side partition, figures in bio-hazard suits wheel a gurney into the quarantine chamber. Dr. Peck is in a blue johnnie coat. He robotically sits up from the stretcher bed and stands. The medics quickly retreat and disappear through a flap in the chamber.
The CIA agent and two Israelis sit at the table and stare through the plastic barrier. Microphones and recording devices have been set up for the interrogation. Four armed soldiers stand at alert in the periphery of the tent.
