Doomsday Sheriff_Day 2_A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Adventure

by Michael James Ploof

  But in the end, they all saw the truth.

  Some fell into a shell of darkness and depression, while others inspired you with their strength of spirit. Hell, Max had known amputees that were happier with their lot in life than half the people he knew.

  “Mother Laughing says that their spirits still cling to this plane. If they die as…like they are, their spirits will be taken by the demons,” said Oaks.

  Max looked into the man’s eyes, realizing that he believed what he said with every ounce of his being, and there would be no changing his perception.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Max. “But I can’t make any promises.”

  “You were sent here to do this, Sheriff Max. Mother Laughing dreamed of you on the night of the falling stars.”

  Max gulped, not liking the idea that he was a puppet to destiny. He had never liked the idea of fate. He wasn’t a religious man either, never had been. Max’s parents hadn’t been religious, hadn’t even spoken of God. When Max grew up and began making his own decisions, he took a look at all the different religions and what they had to offer, and though he admitted it to only a few, he found them all preposterous and riddled with contradictions.

  Oaks’s family was being kept in the back of a big rig trailer, which, thankfully, was made of thick metal. Muttered sounds could be heard inside the crate, and there where dents here and there in the walls. Max wondered if the howler could have possibly damaged the walls like that. It seemed impossible, but then again, anything seemed possible in a world overrun by space worm hybrid monsters.

  “Did the old lady really dream of the sheriff?” said John from the back of the truck.

  Max had forgotten he and Valentine were back there, and Oaks seemed to have as well. The Mohawk policeman didn’t bother answering as he got out of the truck.

  “You kids need to earn your keep,” said Max. “If someone’s getting this thing drunk, it sure as shit’s not going to be me.”

  “Pussy,” said Valentine as she got out of the truck.

  Max and John shared a surprised yet hopeful look.

  “So, you got any ideas on how we get the how—er, your family drunk?” said Max.

  Oaks shrugged. “You’re the medicine man.”

  “I’m a sheriff.”

  Another shrug, this one more pronounced. “Mother Laughing says you are.”

  “Since Mother Laughing is so awesome,” said Max, “let’s get her out here to lull your family to sleep while someone walks in there and pours booze down their throats.”

  “Three mouths,” said Oaks, turning to face Max, John, and Valentine. “Gonna take three people.”

  “And why us?” said John.

  Oaks raised empty hands and offered another infuriating shrug. “We don’t know you.”

  “Makes sense,” said Max, shaking his head and rubbing his temples.

  Fifteen minutes later, Max, John, and Valentine stood before the big metal door, each with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a funnel in the other. Behind them, Mother Laughing stood bent and murmuring to herself. Max glanced back, trying again to make eye contact with the woman, but her irises were obscured by fluttering eyelids.

  She suddenly lurched toward Oaks and whispered in his ear.

  “She’s ready,” he told Max.

  “She’s ready?” said John, his funnel shaking like an excited dildo. “Well, I’m glad she’s ready. Did you hear that, guys? She’s ready for us to face the alien space worm—”

  “That’s enough, soldier!” said Max with militant authority.

  John snapped alert and looked into Max’s eyes hauntingly before nodding and staring straight ahead. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Let’s get this shit over with,” said Valentine.

  Oaks gestured to his men, and the pin was pulled out of the trailer door. Max expected the three-headed monster to immediately charge the door and attack, but as the door swung outward and light shined into the trailer, he saw the howler standing motionless near the back wall.

  “Mother Laughing will keep them calm,” said Oaks. “But not forever.”

  Max glanced at John and Valentine, and together the three crept into the trailer. If the howler suddenly came alive, they were doomed. As he drew closer, Max saw that the mother’s head was in the center of the mass of misshapen limps and carapace-like shell that held the bodies together like a macabre sculpture. The son’s head was on the right, eyes closed and presumably sleeping, while the younger daughter’s eyes were wide opened and milky white.

  “Easy does it,” Max whispered, noticing how John’s funnel shook in his hand.

  John wiped the sweat from his brow and licked his lips, gingerly stepping closer to the monster. The electric tentacles hung like lazy cobras and glowed with power. A pop and fizz of electricity gave Max a start, but he reined in his emotions.

  The mother was staring at him—he thought. For it was hard to tell what the white eyes were focusing on. When he reached the howler, he brought the funnel up to the woman’s mouth while beside him, Valentine did the same with the daughter. Max glanced over at John, who looked hesitant.

  “Come on, John, we’re almost done,” said Max.

  John nodded, and shakily placed the tip of the funnel in the sleeping head’s mouth. Together the three began pouring liquor into their funnels, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 16

  The Sacrifice

  Mother Laughing let out a bloodcurdling howl, and Max nearly leapt out of his skin. The eyes of the three heads opened wide, and the howler joined the old Mohawk woman in her tortured scream. One of the howler’s six arms backhanded Max with the strength of a bull, sending him colliding with the side of the shipping crate. He hit the floor and bounced back to his feet as the howler grabbed John by the throat and lifted him off the floor. The entire disgusting mass began to shudder and shake as the alcohol went to work on the worms inside. Valentine had climbed up on the mass of limbs and tentacles and had abandoned the funnel to instead shove the bottle in the mouth of the girl.

  Max lunged forward and grabbed John, yanking him back with all his might as the tentacles came to life in electric glory, shooting out and hitting Max with enough power to send him sailing backwards out of the crate. He landed on the snowy ground in a fit of convulsions, his teeth chattering as the electricity coursed through him and finally dissipated. He groggily glanced over and saw John lying in the snow, face down.

  Valentine!

  Max lifted his head just in time to see Valentine being shot out of the crate, somersaulting through the air and landing in the snow behind him. He struggled to his feet as Oaks bellowed for the three-headed howler—his family—to stop. The brave man walked into the crate as the howler thrashed and convulsed, its tentacles causing violent sparks as they slapped against the sides of the metal crate.

  “Come on, buddy,” said Max, grabbing John under the arms and pulling him away from the shipping crate.

  An unintelligible groan issued from John, but that meant he was alive at least. Valentine sat up on her own, glancing around with confusion.

  “You alright?” Max asked.

  “No,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  The three backed up to a safe distance and watched as Oaks approached his fused-together family. Mother Laughing had stopped screaming and was now being supported by two other Mohawk women.

  “Did it work?” John asked.

  “I think so, look,” said Max.

  The howler’s six eyes were no longer white and milky, but rather brown and filled with tears. Oaks spoke softly to his family members, caressing his wife’s face, kissing his son’s and his daughter’s cheeks.

  “Now we can travel together to the spirit world,” said Oaks, and he put a pistol in each of his wife’s mangled hands.

  “What’s he doing?” said Valentine, though she knew; they all knew.

  Mother Laughing began speaking in Mohawk, and though Max didn’t understand the words, he knew that
she was praying. The women with her began to pray as well; some in English, beckoning God to take his poor children home, and others in their native tongue.

  Oaks put one gun to his wife’s head and the other to his own. She in turn placed a pistol against each of their children’s heads.

  Valentine turned away, and John held her tight, but Max had to watch. He had to bear witness to Oaks’s bravery, to his sacrifice. Now that he had his family back, he was bound and determined never to lose them again.

  Oaks kissed his wife, his son, and his daughter, before counting down from three…

  Two…

  One…

  Four shots rang out only heartbeats apart, and Oaks and his family fell to the floor dead, together at last.

  “Come on,” said Max, putting an arm around John and Valentine.

  They turned from the somber scene and came face to face with Rory and his militiamen, six of them to be exact.

  “Mother Laughing would like to speak with you…Sheriff.”

  “What about?”

  “When she asks to speak with you, you don’t ask why.”

  “Look, man. I did my part. Oaks said that if—”

  “Oaks is dead.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “This way,” said Rory, and hooked a thumb back to the police station.

  Max reluctantly followed, nodding to the other two to follow. “If she gives me another goddamned task, I’m going to start losing my sense of humor.”

  He followed Rory into the police station and found the stalls all empty. Smooshed space worms littered the cell floors, however, and Max guessed that they had been successful in curing everyone.

  “In here,” said Rory, leading them into an office.

  Mother Laughing sat crooked behind a big oak desk. Her thin white hair covered her wrinkled leathery face, and her eyes fluttered behind the veil. The only light came from the lamp in the corner, casting an orange glow on the dark wooden walls. Other militiamen filed into the room to see what the old woman might say, and Rory gestured to the seat opposite her.

  Max sat, feeling like at any minute she would bust out a Ouija board.

  “I dreamed of you, Sheriff Maelstrom,” she said with a thick accent. Her voice rattled in her throat, and a crooked finger pointed at the sky.

  Slowly she raised her arm, and like dogs watching a tennis ball, everyone in the room followed it instantly.

  “The queen speaks to her children.” Her finger shook and came back down to rest against her temple. “She speaks to them in dreams.”

  “I know,” said Max. He glanced around self-consciously. “I was bitten, and before I was cured I saw her. And I heard her in my mind. I saw the memories of the worms, their flight through the sky to Earth, their long, silent voyage through space…But, I was cured before a worm took hold,” he added, glancing back at the militiamen.

  “You have seen what I see. You know what I know…”

  “I’m sorry, Mother Laughing, I don’t know what you mean. I’m not in contact with them anymore.”

  Mother Laughing finally met his eyes, spreading the white hair hanging in her face with leathery hands to stare at him. She nodded to herself and let the white curtain close once more.

  “The queen tells them to make more queens. Soon the howlers will join as the screamers did. The first will awaken tonight. I have seen it. And you, Sheriff. You will kill it.”

  Chapter 17

  The House of a Thousand Guns

  “Why me?” said Max, though he knew it was a pointless question.

  Mother Laughing gave him no answer. Instead, her head lolled backward, and her eyes began to flutter.

  “At least tell me what I’m up against,” Max begged.

  “Mother Laughing has spoken,” said Rory. “Now she must rest.”

  Max pointed a finger at the man’s chest. “If you think I’m taking on this queen on my own, you’ve got another thing coming. What is this, Dances with Avatar? That white man saving the natives shit might work for Hollywood, but I’m not going out like that.”

  Rory stared, looking mildly amused. “You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”

  “Sticks and stones, man. Sticks and stones.”

  “Are you two lovebirds done flirting?” said Valentine. “Because we’ve got a queen coming, if Momma Chuckles here is to be believed.”

  Max cracked up. “Momma Chuckles, that’s pretty good.”

  Rory offered them both a white-hot glare before turning his back on them. “Come.”

  “Where?” said Max, tired of the Indian guide shtick.

  “To the armory. If we’re going to deal with this queen, then we’re going to need some firepower.”

  “I can get behind that,” said Max, nodding to John and Valentine.

  Ten minutes later, they were all standing before the largest stockpile of illegal guns and ammo that Max had ever seen.

  “It’s Christmas, kids,” said Max, picking up a rocket launcher and testing its weight.

  They had been taken to a million-dollar house that sat on the banks of the St. Lawrence River, which separated the States from Canada, creating a natural border. Max guessed that either a wealthy businessman owned the house, or else a local drug kingpin. Now, standing in the secret underground room below the garage, Max didn’t care who had owned the place; he was just glad they had liked guns.

  “What does one man need with all these weapons?” said John, testing out the sights of a machine gun.

  “Uh, the zombie apocalypse,” said Valentine.

  “Figures, eh?” said John. “All the nutjobs who created bomb shelters and stockpiled guns and ammo were right.”

  “Hey, Rory, did Mother Laughing say anything about seeing me with a rocket launcher in her dreams?” said Max.

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m taking this bad boy. I’m done fucking around with these goddamned space worms.”

  Max grabbed a couple grenades and a pair of Uzis, strapping them to his thighs with the provided holsters. He hefted the rocket launcher over his shoulder and glanced at Valentine and John, who were similarly armed to the teeth. “If I’ve got to battle an alien space worm queen from space, I’m glad I’ve got you two in my corner.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” said John.

  “You too,” said Valentine.

  When they emerged from the armory, they were greeted by a winter wonderland. Fat snowflakes slowly fell to earth, covering the world in a glistening carpet of white. The moon failed to penetrate the thick cloud cover, leaving the world shrouded in darkness.

  “So how are we supposed to find this queen?” Max asked Rory.

  “We follow the howlers,” said Rory. “Mother Laughing said they would all unite to create a queen.”

  “Great idea, but how do we find a howler?”

  Rory grinned. “Follow me.”

  They left the home of a thousand guns and returned to town. As Max had expected, Rory led them back to the police station, where dozens of militiamen had gathered in the parking lot with as many snowmobiles. Floodlights shone bright around the station, blinding them as they approached.

  “So, where’s this howler of yours?” said Max as he caught up to Rory.

  The silent warrior said nothing as he walked around the station and stopped before a shipping crate sitting beside the one wherein Oaks and his family had found their end.

  “In there,” said Rory.

  “So, we let it out and follow it? Good idea. And what if it decides to kill us all instead?”

  “Listen,” said Rory, raising a hand.

  Max and the others listened, and he made out a low moaning sound.

  “The howler has stopped thrashing and screaming,” said Rory. “Now it sounds...”

  “Sad,” said Valentine.

  “Like it wants to go home,” John added.

  Rory nodded. “The gathering has begun.”

  “Listen,” said Max. “If we do this, if we help you kill this que
en, do I have your word that you’ll let us leave?”

  Rory nodded. “I give you my word.”

  He turned to head back to the parking lot and the waiting snowmobiles, but Max grabbed his arm.

  “And what if you die? Will your men honor your promise?”

  Rory glanced down at the hand that held him, but Max held firm. The young warrior pulled his arm free and turned to address the others. “When the white boy kills the queen, him and his friends are free to leave, understand?”

  “Alright,” said Max. “Let’s kill this bitch.”

  Chapter 18

  The Queen of the Damned

  The howler was released, and just like Rory predicted, it ignored everyone and made a beeline for the field behind the police station. Max, John, Valentine, and the Mohawk Militia took off after it on their snowmobiles. The beast was in a hell of a hurry, and Max glanced down at the speedometer. They were going thirty miles an hour across the field and pacing the howler, and he doubted they would be able to keep up if it veered into the woods without the tracker that some brave soul had attached to it.

  Half a mile from the police station, the field gave way to a forest of pine, oak, and birch, and the howler bounded through without slowing. Max followed close behind Rory as he tore through the underbrush and blazed a trail through the heavy snow, kicking up a plume of sparkling white powder in his wake. Max had lost track of the howler, but he knew that Rory was following it with the old tracking device.

  They drove through the woods and finally emerged into frozen swampland. There was no sign of the howler, but Rory was still on it, leading them through thick underbrush at the edge of the swamp and continuing through the pines. The going was slow through the thick woods, but eventually they came out on the bank of the St. Lawrence river. A steep hill led down from their perch to the frozen river, and Rory raised a fist.

  Everyone stopped and shut off their snowmobiles, and Max stood on his, scanning the river with binoculars. He spotted something three hundred yards up the river, a mass that he couldn’t quite make out. But he didn’t have to see it clearly to know what it was.