B-Movie Attack

by Alan Spencer

  “Why did you have to go and say that?” Georgia released Dennis’s mouth, which dropped back open in a natural expression of shock. “You miss filmmaking, don’t you? You have plenty of new ideas. And so do me and the girls. Ideas that could last forever. Movies fade in time, and in this market, it’s one fix after the next, today’s new release becomes yesterday’s news. Your movies won’t be like that, Mr. Sheckler. Not while we’re around.”

  Every time she said “Mr. Sheckler,” it drew gooseflesh. He’d been spared this long to hear this bargain. Their new plan.

  I have to play along.

  He eyed the projector in the corner. The lights were on in the room, and the screen was whitewashed. Two more projectors rattled from the living room.

  Unplug them. Stomp them into pieces. Do something.

  Ted couldn’t move. He couldn’t destroy all three without facing Georgia, and that was a confrontation he’d lose.

  Then it occurred to him: Why isn’t she dead? She ate the poisoned meat.

  Georgia’s tone was a creak, “Ahhhhhh, yes, now you’re thinking. Why am I alive? You’re forgetting one important detail about the poison. It isn’t the right brand. The brand that killed me in the movie was Sherman’s, not TruLawn. Can’t you remember your own movies?”

  “That was over thirty years ago!”

  “Our working relationship would never work, you see,” Georgia said. “I can’t trust you, and well,” she dabbed the splotch of blood from each corner of her mouth and tasted it, “you probably can’t trust me.”

  The flying Draco façade vanished in two seconds. She was nubile again, breasts bared to touch, skin unblemished by blood, bush perfectly trimmed and primped, her lips ruby red and natural, and blue eye shadow. Everything about her was seductive: his very definition of sexy. Thirty years ago he could’ve laughed at the self-gratifying concepts he injected in his films, but now, there wasn’t a shred of humor to contrive.

  He leapt at the projector nearest him and unplugged it. He punched and broke the lens, but it wouldn’t be enough. Two more projectors worked in the opposite room. And Georgia sneered, the vampire in her returning. She shredded his chest with her talons and picked him up. “THEN I’LL SEE YOU IN HELL WHEN I FINALLY RETURN THERE!”

  He was flung through the window and suffered the four-floor plummet down.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The harbor was wave after wave of crashing fury, each torrent a new attempt at sucking Billy down into the suffocating depths. Hands clutched at his ankles to force him down. Fists pumped to smash his face in, each source a different monster hell bent on seeing him drown and die in agony.

  Great idea, Andy, send me to a place where they can simply drown me.

  The Beta jumped up and then crashed back down into the water, diving headfirst. He had seconds to swim out ahead of the crowd and reach land. Water obscured his vision, each attempt at seeing clearly a new sting to his eyes. The steamroller followed alongside land taking random shotgun shots at Billy—and each new round closer to accuracy. Coils of intestines sprang up from the water and tangled with his arm, but he bit at the mess and pierced the rubbery outer covering and caused a visceral retreat. Schoolgirls slashed the water with blades, their grating words mottled yet disheartening in large numbers. The pregnant women with red globes for eyes bobbed closer to him, their hands outstretched to grapple him.

  Andy, this was a fucked-up plan! Where are the dead now, huh? Who can save me?

  His back ankle was sliced with a butterfly knife, the girls cheering in high-pitched glee—a high school pep squad on a sugar high—as blood colored the water’s surface. He unleashed a water-choked howl. He batted harder, faster, his skin tingling and aching and turning numb from the effort. He was six yards out from land. Out of breath, out of arm strength, losing blood, losing vision, his body kicked itself into overdrive to survive.

  A flytrap head swam out beside him. The brain between the teeth cackled, the noise alien as it was a challenge. Billy acted on impulse and jabbed his finger between the spokes of teeth and stubbed out the eyes in the brain. He yanked his hand back in time for the flytrap to snap closed and for the body to falter and sink into the harbor. Pounding his arms faster, he once again dodged pink viscera that attempted to tie itself around his neck. He dove under, using his legs to surge ahead. Below, fiery eyes met his descent. Vampires, demons and pregnant women, they bit for his arms and legs, but he lunged back up to avoid them. Three yards from reaching land, he could pull himself up and run—and that’s if he had any juice left to survive a block’s distance of running.

  Ba-Bam! The next shotgun blast took out two of the three schoolgirls about to plunge a sword into his back. Thanks, idiot! His shoulder blade was lacerated by the other girl, a straight razor her weapon of choice. He was punched on top of the head, a pregnant woman sending him under again. He was dazed, every angle spinning out of control: distorted demon eyes, foaming water, the undercurrent packed with new power to force him below. Billy couldn’t struggle any longer.

  And then a familiar voice shouted after him, “Grab this, man! You’re so close.”

  Billy’s memory failed to pinpoint the owner of the voice. He was too busy trying to twist free from the mixture of enemies to fully think.

  “Catch this, Billy! I’ll pull you in.”

  A lifesaver struck the surface. Something to reach for, Billy thought. He grabbed a hold of it, though three hands seized his neck and shoulders to anchor him down into blacker depths. Fingers attempted to gouge out his eyes. A hand shoved itself into his mouth, and though he clamped down to bite it, the owner wouldn’t release it. Talons clung into his legs like fishhooks. The screams came in unison. “Shaleeeeeeeeeh!”

  He kept hold of the lifesaver.

  If you’re going to save my ass, whoever you are, you better do it now.

  Billy was suddenly ripped from underwater by a powerful force. He was flung several feet into the air, those holding onto him along for the ride. Water sprayed in each direction of him. He was hurled from the water and onto a dock with a crash that recreated the same impact as when he broke his ribs the first time. Now, he was stunned, overtaken by the vision-stealing agony. He closed his eyes and released caterwaul after caterwaul.

  “I’ve got you covered, Billy!”

  He opened his eyes in time to catch Nelson race toward him carrying what looked to be a grenade launcher, but it was a single cartoonishly big cannon with a cartridge holder that belonged on a Tommy-gun.

  PHOOOP!

  The edge of the dock near them imploded, the planks chomped in half, the explosion turning schoolgirl faces, blazing pregnant eyes, clacking flytrap heads, and the guts closing in on them into a mass of blood. The blood and bodies flew so high, Nelson had to carry him towards the Boxer to take cover.

  “We need an umbrella,” Nelson joked. “Here, get in here quick—they’re everywhere!”

  Billy crawled into the Boxer first, landing awkwardly inside. Nelson shut the entrance top once he was inside. Billy was alarmed at the corpse on the ground; it was Dr. Aorta. The doctor eyed Billy like he was alive. The corpse was boiling at the skin, his words gurgling, “I told your friend the address, now destroy the reels and the projector. There’s nobody else left. You’re the only ones alive!”

  “Will do, Andy,” Billy said, gasping and wheezing, grateful but guilty at being alive since Jessica was dead and inside a horrible creature’s belly. “Will you rest in peace when this is over?”

  Dr. Aorta’s body slowly turned into liquid, the current a pudding consistency running out of his sleeves and pants. “You worry about destroying those reels and the projector, and I’ll worry about eternal slumber.”

  The body collapsed; the vile liquid kicked up a wretched stink. Billy covered his nose. “Christ, this has been one shock after another tonight.”

  Nelson didn’t waste time. He drove the Boxer from the dock, crunching over corpses and failed blockades on the way until he was back ont
o the main road. Chicago was unrecognizable. Rubble and fallen buildings left devastation in place of the familiar.

  Ba-boom!

  The steamroller was right behind them, the corpse driver determined to halt them.

  “My machine guns are dry,” Nelson said. “The only thing I can do is out-drive him.”

  Nelson clutched the steering wheel. It wouldn’t be enough, Billy thought. There were many monsters in the city ready to tangle with them.

  STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

  Billy watched the console. The five hundred-foot hooker was dashing toward them. Half her skull was pulp and her torso was hollowed of insides.

  “That bitch is determined to kill us!”

  “I know,” Nelson growled. “She won’t stay dead!”

  Billy shook his head. They couldn’t catch a break. Yes, he was still alive, but for how long? Nelson voiced the same sentiment. “I can’t out-drive these things. I can barely drive this hulking vehicle. We’re screwed. I’m sorry, Billy. I tried to save the city.”

  “We all did,” Billy sighed. “Jessica’s dead, man. That creature in the harbor ate her. Just like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nelson said, though his attempt at consoling was a bumbling one. They both suffered tragedies tonight. “I thought I could beat them.”

  STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

  Ba-bam! Ba-bam!

  “I DON’T WANT TO DIE LIKE THIS!” Billy was about to crawl up topside to fight to the death when he caught Dr. Aorta’s phalange point at the wall. He turned his head in confusion. The wall was blank of buttons, but there was a dip in the aluminum. He touched it with his hands. Beep. A hermetic pop. A wall came down and a shelf of weapons were revealed.

  Billy cheered. “You’ve found the mother load. Good fucking job!”

  “You keep driving,” Billy challenged. “I’ll deal with them outside.”

  He chose a sniper rifle with a scope. There was an odd device on the side of it, a black box that ticked as if the machine gun had a pulse.

  “Careful, Dr. Aorta’s weapons are full of surprises.”

  “No problem—I hope.”

  Billy went topside. Nelson slowed the vehicle. The giant woman was a block’s distance. He aimed the scope. When he fired, it didn’t blast like he thought it would. Instead, it fizzled and sparked, emitting a red lightning bolt. The lightning bolt turned into a full-out net and wrapped around the hooker. Her skin melted immediately, and seconds later, without a chance to react, she dissolved into blood. The flood was upon them. Jets of blood cascaded down, floods of blood. Shutting the top hatch of the Boxer, Billy hunkered in with Nelson. Moments later, they were lifted up by the wave of blood. The front was smashed by the force of the tide, the vehicle rendered into half its normal size. They were lifted up high, and then dropped back down when the blood wave had passed.

  Nelson and Billy forced open the hatch. Nelson came out with hands stocked with goodies, including the gun Billy left behind. “We can’t go to the prom without condoms.”

  “What?”

  Nelson was taking the role of Dr. Aorta, Billy thought. Let him use contrived tag lines as long as he’s covering my ass.

  Billy laughed when Nelson gave him his old weapon. “Then let’s go to the prom with extra-lubed Trojans.”

  “I didn’t know you were into men.”

  “Fuck you. Let's get on with this.”

  Billy's gun had physically changed. The black box was the same, but now it was an M-16. He didn’t question it, and like everything else tonight, he had to trust his eyes over common sense. Nelson clutched a six-shooter in each hand with blue steel trim, a banana clip sticking out of each side, the nozzles tipped with knives that looked to have been soldered on.

  “Can we run a mile?” Nelson asked. “That’s how far this place is. Martindale Street. Look for an apartment building.”

  Billy laughed. “My fat ass has run all night.”

  “Mine hasn’t,” Nelson said. “I wish you luck. One of us has to destroy those reels. If I die, don’t let it hold you up.”

  “That goes for you too.”

  Nelson offered one last idea. “It’s been fun watching cheesy movies and eating junk food all these years.”

  “I’ll never watch a horror movie again.”

  “Well,” Nelson groaned, “I can’t say that for myself.”

  “You’re a damn fool!”

  Ba-boom!

  The steamroller smashed through a series of cars. The corpse was set on flattening them. Billy aimed the machine gun. A single burst of rapid fire exploded out of the barrels. Small spiked buckshot struck the steamroller with numerous tings.

  A red dot flashed on each spike.

  The concussion came first. Then static electricity. Then the jounce that sent them onto the ground, reeling from the force of the explosion. WHOOOOOOOSH!

  The steamroller was enveloped in electrical currents. The hairs on their arms and head stood on end. Crackles of brilliant blue tore the vehicle in half, causing the engine to erupt. The corpse himself was torn into shreds by each pop of insane lightning until he was nothing more than dust floating on the air. The street was blackened, and singed, and kicking up white smoke.

  Billy stared at his gun. It had changed again. This time it was a bazooka.

  “You have to save me!” A man charged out of an apartment building, the top half of the building having been removed by a giant swipe of an arm. He didn’t recognize the person shouting for them. Many more men and women flopped out of hiding places, crying in hysteria. “They’re inside me. So many of them. I can feel it crawling inside of me. Taking over. We went swimming in old man Harper’s lake. Sure, there was leeches, but these are different. They're mutated. Harper’s been up to no good. He’s crop dusted with the cheap stuff. I know because my father did the job. It’s no better than agent orange.”

  From the man’s eyes, large black leeches slithered and forced the eyes of his sockets. “They’re skinpreys!”

  “Skinpreys?” Billy gasped. “RUN LIKE HELL!”

  Each of the victims shed the leech creatures from each orifice: one victim kept excreting them from the ears, another vomited a pile of them up, and most of them were boiling under the skin, the creatures eating their way out with their lance-filled mouths and beady blue marble eyes. Hundreds of victims revealed themselves. The sound of thousands of squirming, squishing, enclosing skinpreys sent Billy and Nelson up the street. Martindale Street eventually came into view, and when it did, so did the monsters at their backs.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It’s so simple.

  Why didn’t I think of it before?

  Impossible. I’m a walking pile of broken bones.

  One last thing to do.

  So do it!

  Ted had broken his right leg, shattered his arm when he'd landed on the street, and he was certain his hips and pelvis weren’t in good shape either. He’d deflected off a garbage dumpster on the way down. Ted was lucky to be alive, in any shape. He had enough life left in him for one last try. He crawled because he couldn’t walk, through the side door that led into the basement of the apartment building.

  One last thing to do.

  So simple…

  A great wall of enemies charged in at them from all angles. They were surrounded and entrenched in B-movie warfare. Nelson was thrown across the street, tangled in the mean clutches of the schoolgirls. Pitchforks were shoved at Billy. He shot his bazooka in their direction. It made an odd sound, like spackle shot out of a giant tube at impossible speeds. SPLAT! A wad of white steaming goop like melted marshmallow cream landed on the farmers. They sizzled, melted and began crumbling into boiling piles. The substance was sticky, the corpses unable to move once they collapsed onto the street.

  “My pies are always the best! ALWAYS FRESH!”

  The back of his neck was sliced with a pizza cutter. “Ah Jesus!”

  Billy’s weapon changed into a long pole with a fan blade on the end. It buzzed as if it
had a motor from within. The blade was spinning, slicing, a gas smell accompanying each chug of the motor.

  “GIVE THEM HELL!” Nelson cried. “AHHHHHHHHH!”

  Billy saw six axes bear down upon Nelson, each slicing him. The schoolgirls bathed in his blood, rubbing their faces in it, soaking their clothes in the red, and relishing another man’s death.

  “NELSON!” He used the spinning blade to his advantage, picturing Jessica and Nelson as they were before death, healthy and happy. “DAMN YOU ALL TO PIECES!”

  Billy caught the baker across the face, his charred skeleton splitting in half leaving the lower mandible and a tongue extending like the feelers on a cricket’s head. A flying vampire swooped down: “SHALEEEEEEEEEH!” He dodged the reaching talons and delved the blades into her left leg until it snapped from the body. She screamed, spinning in misdirection, and careened into the street. A wad of intestines wrapped around the blades, the pink coils turning into mist and spray. Then a burning skeletal hand clutched the weapon. Fluids trickled down the pole, and instantly, Billy’s prized weapon was engulfed in flames.

  The corpse said, “The dead don’t need their organs after they die… I’ll consider that the moment you perish, Billy.”

  Billy stumbled over his own feet. The fleet they had aimed to destroy stood above him, dominating his last moments of life. Skinpreys slithered over his arms and legs, coating them in an inch of slime. Schoolgirls regarded him as filth, sizing him up, swiping and swatting the air with their deadly blades covered in Nelson’s fresh blood. Farmers rolled a bale of human bodies closer to him, Nelson’s tangled in the mix, his eyes and mouth jammed with hay. The baker was half-headed, but managed to stuff peach filling into a corpse’s torso beneath the traffic light. Three winged vampires, even the one-legged vampire, devoured and licked up Nelson’s puddle of blood from the street, the group playfully splashing each other, dragging their blood-colored tongues against each other in ecstasy. More of the awful monsters paraded in the background, so many he couldn’t take them in.

  He clutched a trash can lid and shielded himself from the guarantee of a brutal death.