Slag Attack

Home > Literature > Slag Attack > Page 12
Slag Attack Page 12

by Andersen Prunty

Shell’s eye glazes over in fear.

  “What do you think we should do?” Darren says.

  “You’re asking me? After I lead nearly twenty people to their deaths because I was too stupid to see the truth?”

  “Well, there aren’t really a lot of other people to ask. And I’m too tired to think. If it was up to me, I would go out and lie in the street and beg for something to come along and either eat me or trample me to death.”

  “Get this thing off me!” Shell shouts and starts flapping the slarm.

  Darren doesn’t have the can anymore. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to help him.

  “I don’t have any way to get it off,” Darren says.

  But Shell is already reaching down into his cargo pants. On the inside, not into a pocket. He brings out one of the largest knives Darren has ever seen. Then he starts hacking at the meat of his shoulder.

  “You don’t want to cut yourself,” Darren says. “It won’t bleed if you just cut the slag part.”

  Saying that doesn’t do a lot of good. Shell continues hacking. It’s like he went from crazy to bug fuck crazy in a matter of seconds.

  “We have to find her,” he spits, still hacking. “We have to find her and kill her. Take her out.”

  “You don’t have to look for me.”

  Darren turns toward the entrance of the alley.

  Pearl stands there in her summer dress. She’s holding a gun, aiming it with both hands, and Darren thinks the gun could very well be Gary the Glock. She tightens up and fires. The roar is huge.

  18.

  Shell’s head erupts, the slarm only half off.

  Darren quickly realizes he is in a whole lot of trouble. But, at this point, he feels like the proverbial tree in the forest. What if Pearl is one of them? What if he is the last human on earth? What then? Does he spend the rest of his days ejaculating into his own shit and trying to grow a homunculus? Does he just exist, fighting for survival every second? Our existence, he decides, is determined by those we coexist with. And he would try and find them. If he could make it through this, that’s what he would have faith in. If people wanted to believe in ridiculous gods and anything with a touch of magic, then so be it. He would believe in his search. His quest. He would believe in his fellow humans, thinking more than just one must have survived.

  Mainly, he wonders if Pearl has another shell in the gun.

  He can run toward her or he can run away.

  He runs away.

  19.

  He runs away for the other side of the alley. Maybe then he’ll have a second to think about what he can do because, at the moment, his options seem pretty damn limited.

  And Pearl is standing directly in front of him. Blocking that side of the alley.

  For a second, he thinks about turning around and going back to the other side of the alley but he sees this as a ridiculous game that could continue for hours. Unless she shoots him.

  But she doesn’t fire the gun. That might be a good sign.

  Darren backs up until he steps in some of Shell’s gore.

  Pearl raises the gun and walks toward him.

  He wishes he was attached to magical strings that could pull him up into the sky.

  This is probably the end, he thinks. He has nothing. Nothing to defend himself with. The only person who can answer any of his questions is Pearl and he doesn’t really think she’ll tell him the truth.

  She depresses the trigger and nothing happens.

  Darren feels something close around his ankle. He looks down and sees Shell’s head lift from the asphalt, leaving chunks behind. His one eye is vacant, zombified. He moves his head toward Darren’s ankle and bites down.

  From the other end of the alley, Pearl is laughing. She tosses the gun to the asphalt and begins walking toward him. Probably so she can feed on him. Darren kicks at Shell’s head, looses his teeth from his flesh. Actually, it’s more like his head just falls apart, the fractured skull unable to support it anymore.

  He whips back around and Pearl is nearly on top of him. This close to him, he can see she isn’t right. He doesn’t know how Shell ever fell for it. Her skin is clearly slag skin, covered with a ton of make-up.

  She lunges for him and he takes off running, nearly slipping in what’s left of Shell. He waits for her to pop down on the other side of the alley but she doesn’t. He turns to his left out on the sidewalk. He doesn’t have any idea where he’s going. He doesn’t have any idea where to go. He just keeps running for two or three blocks. He loses count. It’s impossible to keep track. And the blocks have been so destroyed and rearranged they do not give him any gauge of distance anyway.

  Monstrous slags are all around him. Fighting amongst themselves. The larger slags eating the smaller slags.

  Darren turns down another alley to his left. His lungs are burning and a vicious stitch has opened up in his side. What is he even running for?

  He comes out on the other side of the alley. This street used to be lined with trees but now it’s lined with charred stumps. He runs and expects to see Pearl at any moment. Now the street runs up hill and by the time he reaches the top his entire body is jelly.

  But he sees something.

  It looks like a dust storm. At the bottom of the hill. It’s a swirling mass of something. He can’t tell whether it’s mist or dust. He figures this is probably the fugue they came through.

  He stops at the top of the hill and looks down at it. Standing there, he can’t tell if his muscles are too tired or if it’s actually sucking at him, pulling him toward it.

  All the slags in the area seem to be heading away from it. But maybe they’re going slower than they were, also. He can’t really tell. He wonders if he can go into the fugue and if it will take him someplace else. He wonders if this is exactly what Pearl wants. What would he find in there?

  He knows what surrounds him and it is nothing but death and destruction. If there is any hope left it isn’t in Hollow City.

  He doesn’t know what is in the fugue.

  It could be life or death.

  Slowly, he walks down the hill to meet it.

  20.

  And he’s sitting in a sun-filled kitchen back in his home in Indiana.

  Lora, his wife, sits across the table from him.

  Birds chirp outside. He can hear the boys playing in their room.

  He feels a sense of doom.

  “What?” Lora says.

  “Hm?”

  “You just got the funniest look on your face.”

  “I was just... thinking.”

  A newspaper sits in front of him and he picks it up with his right hand but when he goes to pull it open, it doesn’t work. He looks at his missing left arm, his shirt all trussed up, and screams.

  Lora is up and coming around the table to put her arm around his shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” she says.

  “How did I lose my arm!?” Darren barks.

  “The war. You just... I can’t talk about this again. Not right now.”

  Darren feels a burning in his chest, tries to reach back into his head and remember something but the only thing he finds is the smell of burning flesh.

  Lora opens a cabinet door and says, “Here. Take one of these. It’ll make you feel better.”

  She hands Darren an oblong white pill.

  She turns her back to run a glass of water at the sink.

  She puts the glass on the table in front of Darren.

  “Go on,” she says. “Take it. If you don’t take it you’ll start screaming... And that scares the boys.”

  Darren throws the pill in his mouth and swallows the water, keeping the pill between his teeth and gums. He stands up and says, “I’m gonna go outside for a bit.”

  “There,” Lora says. “Better already.”

  He walks out the back door and spits the pill out into the grass. As soon as he put it in his mouth, his sense of doom increased. He doesn’t see how that could possibly make him feel any better.

&
nbsp; To swallow the pill would be to forget everything. To swallow the pill would mean staying right where he was and disintegrating along with it because, this place, it isn’t real.

  Darren goes out to the garage and rummages around until he finds his Glock. He checks to make sure the clip is full and shoves it back in the grip. It makes a satisfying click. He wonders how real it is.

  He walks out of the garage and toward the house. The house looks different. It looks rundown. There are holes in the walls, the siding. He can see right through it. He puts his hand on the door handle and pulls. It nearly falls off its hinges. It reminds him of paper. He walks through the house until he comes to the boys’ room. He pulls the door open. Lora is in there with them. They all look at him.

  He fires three shots.

  21.

  And watches his family disintegrate into three piles of slags that quickly wriggle together to form one vaguely human-like mass.

  Darren looks at his gun, slightly amazed it actually fired.

  He aims it at the slag mass and fires again.

  Nothing. Even though he knows the clip is full. But he knows the paper thinness of this world extends to everything, not just the walls of his house.

  The mass walks toward him. Darren fires the gun again to no avail. He throws the gun at the mass of slags in one last pitiful attempt to stave them off. He sinks to his knees and raises his arm, baring his throat and his heart. The mass sickeningly sloshes toward him. He hears a high-pitched buzzing to his right, drawing closer, louder. He turns his head to the right but whatever is making the buzzing sound is a blur. Something clamps onto his arm and yanks him to the left, nearly ripping the arm out of its socket.

  A voice yells, “Deus ex machina!”

  Now Darren is being dragged from his crumbling paper house and doesn’t come to rest until they reach the real world, the devastated world destroyed by slags.

  Finally, he is able to open his eyes and look at his rescuer. He sits atop an old dirt bike, holding out his hand.

  “I’m Kid Rider, fuck munch.”

  “Thanks,” he chokes out and takes the Kid’s hand. He stands up.

  “We ain’t done yet.” Kid Rider points back toward the fugue.

  Pearl is at the edge of the fugue. There’s an opening there. Darren thinks of a vagina. Pearl is sewing it up. Rather, it looks like she had begun sewing it up but now she is crossing the expanse between them, carrying a huge gleaming needle.

  “She was tryin to sew it up so we’d be stuck in there,” Kid Rider says. “Look out!”

  Darren ducks just as a massive slag chomps down behind him. The mouth opens again and Kid Rider throws something down its gullet. The slag lurches, vomits up something that smells really foul and collapses onto the ground.

  Darren takes the brief opportunity to scan his surroundings. The slags are devouring each other. They don’t seem to be the least bit interested in him and Kid Rider. Everything organic looks like it has already been eaten.

  Darren whips back around. Kid Rider pulls an extremely nefarious-looking machine gun from the side of his dirt bike.

  “Back off, Pearl.” He hoists the machine gun up until the butt rests against his shoulder. Before he can even squeeze off a round, Pearl throws the needle at the gun. It lodges in the barrel and Kid Rider manages to hold off squeezing the trigger. Darren doesn’t know what would have happened. Pearl lets out a scream and throws herself at Kid Rider, knocking him from the bike. The machine gun goes flying. Darren figures it’s useless so he throws himself on Pearl, wrapping an arm around her neck and trying to pull her from Kid Rider. She tosses him off easily and says, “This isn’t between me and you.”

  But Darren thinks it kind of is. Up until he had met Pearl, his life had seemed easy. Kid Rider manages to kick her off. Darren grabs the machine gun. He tries to pull the needle out but it won’t budge. Pearl fakes a charge at Kid Rider and then turns abruptly and runs for the dirt bike. Kid Rider is running after her.

  “Stop her! Stop her!” he shouts.

  Darren hoists the gun up with his one good arm. He’ll never be able to keep it steady. He wonders if the bullets will come out the stock end, severing his other arm. He doesn’t care.

  “Move!” Darren shouts at Kid Rider. Kid Rider drops to the ground and rolls to his right.

  Darren aims at the ground just behind the dirt bike and squeezes the trigger. A few shots blast out. Most of them sail high into the air. But one of them hits the dirt bike. It swerves crazily and dumps Pearl to the ground.

  “Finish it! Finish it!” Kid Rider shouts.

  “I can’t aim,” Darren says and throws the gun toward the Kid. He quickly grabs it up and charges toward the rising Pearl. She’s lightning quick, standing up and charging for the fugue. Kid Rider fires the machine gun, drilling Pearl in the back.

  But it doesn’t stop her from entering the fugue.

  Then the fugue collapses into itself like a balloon made of dust.

  Darren and Kid Rider stand staring at it.

  22.

  “Did you kill her?” Darren asks.

  “Don’t know. Them bullets was packed with slag repellant. It’d kill a normal slag but I don’t know about her.”

  “How will we know?”

  “If the other slags start dying, then I’d reckon she was dead.”

  “And if not?”

  “We’re probably fucked.”

  “I think we’re fucked anyway.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen any humans for quite a while and, seeing as we both have penises, this might be it.”

  Kid Rider looked down at the ground. “Speak for yourself,” he said. “I’ve got a big ol vagina and I probably got all the girl organs too.”

  Darren looks at him.

  “Yeah, I know I ain’t real attractive but you only got one arm. Like a slot machine. I’ll call you Slotty.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah, but you was thinkin it.”

  The Kid pulls up the dirt bike and hops on. He motions to the back and says, “Hop on. You get to be the bitch. We’re gonna do things right this time.”

  Darren, at a complete loss for words, hops on. The Kid fires up the dirt bike and they go buzzing down the road. The slags continue gnawing on one another and Kid Rider tells him he knows a real good place where they can hide. They pass through the flaming ruins of the city, ready to wait it out.

 

 

 


‹ Prev