World War Forever (Highway To Armageddon Book 2)

by Harold Bloemer

  One of the male soldiers marches over with a machine gun and leers down at me. I scowl at the sight of the massive protuberance bulging out of the crotch of his pants. I apparently have the uncanny ability to attract perverts like honey attracts bees and bears.

  “If you don’t mind, Sergeant, can I take the red head into the back and have a little fun with her?” the perv says while licking his lips. “I’d like to show her a good time before I toss her carcass into the ocean.”

  “If you touch me, I will rip your throat out,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “She’s serious too, asshole!” Lance says, thrashing around in his cuffs in a feeble attempt to break free.

  “Yeah, whatever chump,” the pervert says to Lance before bending down and grabbing me by my hair.

  I kick and scream as I’m dragged through the cabin toward a room in the back. Lance and Klaxton scream, too, but their protests fall on deaf ears.

  “Quit struggling, babe,” the pervert says, yanking so hard on my hair that he pulls a few strands from their roots. “I promise to make it quick and painless. Well, your death, that is. The sex, well, that’s going to last a loooong time. Daddy’s very horny.”

  I yank my head forward, causing a giant clump of hair to rip out of my head.

  The pervert reaches down to grab me again. And that’s the only opening I need. I lean forward, open my mouth wide, and clamp down on the bastard’s exposed throat, just like I did with that asshole Ramirez.

  The pervert screams in excruciating agony, dropping his gun and struggling to push my face away. But I don’t let go. Instead, I clamp down even harder. A familiar torrent of blood gushes into my mouth, but I don’t give a damn. After you’ve ripped someone’s throat out with your bare teeth, it gets surprisingly easier and less disgusting each time you do it. It’s like riding a bike. Well, sort of.

  The blonde sergeant grabs me by the hair and yanks me off of her buddy. Fatal mistake. I end up tearing the douchebag’s entire throat out as I fall backwards. The cabin is filled with screams of horror as the pervert falls backwards and flails around, blood gushing out of the gaping hole in his neck.

  The blonde sergeant kicks me in the face, busting my nose. She then stands over me and points her machine gun directly at my forehead.

  Trembling with fury, the sergeant roars, “You fucking vampire! I hope you burn in hell, you goddamn---”

  SKKKRREEEENNCCCHHHH!!!

  The sergeant looks up and gasps as the hatch door to the space-plane is inexplicably torn from its hinges and plummets out of sight. A gust of frigid cold air whooshes into the cabin, nearly knocking all the soldiers off their feet. I watch in astonishment as Grenade lunges inside the plane, dripping wet and covered in blood.

  “Happy to see me, assholes?” Grenade cackles as he grabs the nearest soldier and snaps his neck with one rigid twist.

  Four other soldiers whip up their guns and start firing at Grenade. Grenade holds up his bionic arm, which blocks most of the bullets. The rest bounce off of his body armor. Grenade slowly advances toward the trigger-happy soldiers and socks one of them right in the jaw with his metallic fist. The soldier drops to the floor like a marionette with severed strings.

  The sergeant foolishly turns her attention toward Grenade. She is standing overtop me, firing her machine gun at the seemingly immortal cyborg. I take advantage of the sergeant’s severe lapse in judgment and sweep my legs underneath her, sending her tumbling backwards. I quickly scramble to my feet and, with my hands still bound behind my back, proceed to stomp the bitch in the face. The sergeant cries out as I obliterate her nose and dislocate her jaw with my savage, merciless clomping. Her face rapidly becomes a bloodied, disfigured mess. After my tenth stomp she finally stops moving. I leap into the air and land on the sergeant’s neck with both of my feet. A sickening yet satisfying cracking noise rings out, implying that I succeeded in breaking the bitch’s neck.

  I turn around just in time to see Lance lunging toward a soldier and head-butting him in the face. The soldier falls to his knees, granting Lance the opening he needs to deliver a vicious roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The soldier goes down for the count. Not to be outdone, I lunge toward another soldier (who’s too busy firing at Grenade to notice me) and deliver my own ferocious roundhouse kick, cracking the guy’s skull in half. (At least, I think I split it in half, judging by the cracking sound it made.)

  Klaxton hurries over and kicks the last soldier in the balls. The soldier collapses to his knees, moaning in agony. Grenade lumbers over to the whimpering little bitch, grabs him by his Kevlar vest, and tosses his screaming carcass right out the open hatch door.

  Without missing a beat, Grenade barks, “Stay here, I’m going to clear the cockpit.”

  Grenade storms into the cockpit and snaps the pilot’s neck. He then checks the control panel to ensure the autopilot function is activated before stomping back into the cabin. He only takes a few steps before he falls to his knees and starts hacking up copious amounts of blood.

  I kneel down beside him and say, “Grenade, I… you’re…”

  I trail off, not knowing what else to say. My emotions run the gamut, from anger, to sadness, to thanks. So I say the thing that will mean the most to a dying man.

  “Thank you.”

  Grenade nods and coughs out, “You’re welcome, kid. Now… turn around…. Let me remove your cuffs….”

  I do precisely that, allowing Grenade easy access to the shackles wrapped around my wrists. Grenade clamps his bionic index finger and thumb against the chain linking my handcuffs together and applies a little bit of pressure. The chain instantly breaks apart. Grenade then presses down on the actual cuffs clamped down on my wrists, snapping those off as well. An overwhelming sense of relief courses throughout my hands and arms as I pull them in front of me, massaging my swollen wrists.

  Lance and Klaxton make their way over to Grenade so he can free them as well. Lance helps me drag Krystal’s limp, slumbering body over so her cuffs can also be removed. Much to my relief, Krystal coughs up some water and starts moaning. She’s still out of it, but she’s very much alive. I’m afraid the same can’t be said for Grenade. His short, shallow gasps heavily imply the Reaper is not only near, but perhaps in this very plane, with his scythe held high above his head, ready to harvest yet another soul.

  Klaxton points out the front windshield and says, “We need to take care of the other two planes before they realize something is amiss.”

  Klaxton plops down in the pilot’s seat and waves her hand over the flashing control panel, drawing up a bunch of holographic computer screens.

  Lance walks up behind her and says, “You know how to work one of these things?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Klaxton replies with her usual air of arrogance. “I flew in these planes quite a bit as president.”

  Klaxton waves her right hand again, pulling up the holographic control pad for the plane’s missile launchers. She then punches in some sort of complex code. Once she’s done, two missiles burst out of the front of our plane and fly right into the asses of the two in front of us. The missiles explode on impact, engulfing the space-planes in blinding, scorching fireballs. The planes plummet back down to Earth, leaving a trail of billowing black smoke in their wake. Klaxton waves her hand over another control panel. A loud whirring sound causes me to glance over at the open hatch door. A sliding metallic plate pops out of the left side of the doorway and connects to the other side. The cabin is once again closed and secured.

  Klaxton makes her way back into the cabin and says, “These planes were built with back-up doors in case there was ever a breach in the hull. When I become president again, I need to remember to give the plane engineers a nice raise for their ingenuity.”

  Grenade continues coughing up blood, some of which splatters on my legs.

  “Grenade, lie down,” I say quietly, grabbing his heaving shoulders and slowly lowering him onto his side. I don’t dare lay him on his back
, for fear he might drown in his own blood.

  Grenade’s breathing becomes more shallow with each passing second. He looks up at me with his lone bionic eye and says in a barely audible whisper, “Boom Boom, I… I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. You too, Lance. I… I…”

  Grenade starts hacking again. He doesn’t stop for over a minute. When his coughing fit finally subsides, he finishes what he was trying to say. “I love you guys. I truly do. You were the kids I never had. And it was the highlight of my life to fight alongside you. All I ask for is your forgiveness. If you refuse to give it, I… I understand. But I thought I’d ask all the same.”

  Lance kneels down beside me, futilely attempting to blink away the steady stream of tears trickling out of his eyes. I feel my own hot tears spilling down my cheeks.

  “We forgive you, Grenade,” Lance says, gingerly touching Grenade’s mutilated right cheek. “Now why don’t you take it easy and get some rest? We’ll be in Alaska in no time. I’m sure Montgomery will find some doctors to help you…”

  Grenade’s lips curl into a pained smile as Lance trails off. “I’m not going to make it, kid. Don’t worry about me, I’ve lived a good, long life. Better than I could have ever hoped and dreamed.”

  I reach out to touch his face as well and say, “Grenade, please don’t leave us. We’re not mad at you anymore. We understand why you did what you did. But you can’t leave us. We need you. You’re all we have. Everyone else is… they’re gone.”

  Grenade’s false smile fades away as he starts coughing again. This fit doesn’t last nearly as long as the other.

  “You’re not alone, Boom Boom. You have Lance and Krystal. As long as you three have each other, you will never be alone. I am so proud of you guys. You have done such magnificent things. America needs you three to help her get through this dark and trying time. That’s why I did what I did… because you’re the only ones who can pull this off.”

  Grenade coughs a couple more times before croaking out, “Could you please do me a favor?”

  Still caressing his cheek, I whisper, “Anything.”

  “Tell Audrey… tell her that I love her… with all my heart and soul. She saved me. If it wasn’t for her, I would have died a long time ago, most likely from my own hand. When my Rebecca and Joey died, I was lost… alone…suicidal. But Audrey gave me a reason to live again. I owe her everything. Please tell her how much she meant to me. Please be there for her in the coming months. She’s going to have a hard time with… without me. And please tell her that one day soon we will be reunited.”

  I choke back a sob and say with a sad smile, “I didn’t think you were the religious type, Grenade. You’ve never talked about God before.”

  Grenade chuckles softly. “When you reach the end of your life, you start to hope there’s something else. You start to hope that this isn’t truly the end… that maybe this is just the beginning of something grand and wondrous. So that’s what I’m doing… I’m hoping… hoping that there is a reward waiting for us after our bones decay to dust. That our torturous lives are merely an audition for an eternal afterlife of peace, comfort, and love. There’s just got to be more to life than this, right? I mean… there’s just got to be. I miss Rebecca and Joey so, so much. All I want is to hold them in my arms again. And the only way that’ll ever happen is if there is an afterlife. So I hope there is one. I just… I miss my wife… and my little boy. I just… I want to hold them… one more time.”

  Grenade’s words absolutely break my heart. I’ve never been a firm believer in God, or Heaven, but I’m with Grenade 100%. There’s got to be something more to all of this shit. Because if there isn’t, then life is cruel, and meaningless, and a complete waste of time.

  Grenade holds his trembling right hand out to us and whispers, “Create as many happy memories with your loved ones as you possibly can. Squeeze as much joy out of life as you can. Because when the dark days come… and trust me, they will continue to come, fast and furious, like the sea rises and falls with the tide… those dark days may be capable of transforming your present into a nightmarish hellscape… they may even destroy your future… but the dark days cannot touch the happiness you finagled out of the past. And those memories will live on with you until your dying days. Evil can destroy your present and your future, but it can not erase the love and happiness you wangled out of the past. As long as you have your mental acuity, those precious memories will be safe, a beacon of light to help you navigate the darkness.”

  Grenade’s right hand lowers back to the ground. His bionic eyeball flickers off and on until it fizzles out completely. He takes a few more shallow, labored breaths… then his body grows eerily calm… unmoving…. Blood trickles out of the corners of his mouth.

  “Grenade?” I whisper, still touching his face. “Grenade, can you hear me? Can you…”

  Lance wraps his arms around me and quietly says, “He’s gone, Boom Boom. He’s gone.”

  I try to choke back my sobs, but it’s a losing effort. Regardless of Grenade’s last dying words, I can’t help but feel all alone now. He was the last ‘parental’ figure any of us had. Dagger’s gone… Krystal’s grandmother is gone… Ms. Madison is gone…. Hell, even Machete was something of a ‘mother’ figure to us, back when we were on speaking terms. How many times did she save us from being gunned down by mobsters and gangbangers? But now, with Grenade’s passing, we are truly on our own. There’s no one out there to look out for us… to offer us guidance… to come to our rescue.

  In an obvious attempt at extending an olive branch of sorts, Klaxton clumsily says, “Your friend Grenade was a… a good man. Secretary Montgomery always spoke very highly of him. I’m sorry for your loss. Truly, I am.”

  Klaxton lifts her right hand, almost as if she’s contemplating patting me on the back. But she instead clears her throat and abruptly lowers her hand back to her side.

  “I, er, will be in the cockpit if you need me. Why don’t you all get some rest? We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Klaxton disappears into the cockpit. Lance and I drag the bodies of all the dead soldiers into a room in the rear of the plane and close the door, a feeble attempt at masking the overpowering stench of death and decay. We then heed Klaxton’s advice and, after draping Grenade’s body with a blanket we found in a closet, collapse into some chairs in the back. I pull up an arm rest and sprawl out across two chairs, laying my head on Lance’s lap. As he caresses my bruised left cheek, I slowly drift off to sleep. For the first time in many nights, I don’t have any nightmares. My mind is far too exhausted and broken to create them.

  Chapter Twelve: Lance

  When Krystal finally regains consciousness, she is horrified to hear of Grenade’s passing. She doesn’t cry like Boom Boom and I did, but you can tell she takes his death pretty hard. Krystal just sort of sits there in the middle of the cabin, staring out the window in stunned silence. And it’s easy to understand why. Grenade seemed indestructible from the day we first met him. He’s gone to war on almost every continent, overcome countless insurmountable odds throughout his lifetime, slaughtered countless thousands of foes. For someone like that to die right in front of you, as a bloodied, broken man, it really fucks with your mind. I mean, if a ‘superhero’ like Grenade can die, it makes you start to fear your own mortality. (Although to be fair, I’ve been pretty cognizant of my own mortality ever since Dagger was killed by that son of a bitch Caesar Dominguez. One of the most satisfying moments of my life was when we were able to exact vengeance against that bastard. But I digress.)

  The one good thing about all the horrific atrocities we bore witness to is the fact that I’m no longer suffering from the debilitating effects of extreme withdrawal. My mind and body are far too numb from shock to feel any more pain. This is a good thing, as I need to be at my absolute best if we’re to have any hope of deposing a sitting president. Nothing sobers a person up quite like the perpetual bombardment of death, destruction, and soul-crushing misery.

/>   With the assistance of our confiscated space-plane’s hypersonic engines, we reach Alaska by the early afternoon. Normally such a journey would have taken until nightfall. I gaze out the window as we fly over Alaska’s lush, green forests and sparkling blue lakes. In a world decimated by runaway global warming, Alaska is one of the last few wildlife sanctuaries still standing.

  We eventually reach a small, nondescript military base way out in the middle of nowhere, the so-called Abyss Zone 7. Krystal lands the plane on a small airstrip next to the compound.

  I walk over to the hatch door and wave my hand in front of it, prompting it to slide open. A small ramp descends to the ground. I’m just about to exit the plane when Klaxton rushes over and yanks me back.

  “Don’t get too complacent,” Klaxton says, handing me a gun. “We could be walking straight into a trap.”

  I grab the gun and say, “Grenade wouldn’t lead us into a trap.”

  “Not knowingly,” Klaxton says, peering out of the hatch door. “But LeBeau may have found out about out plot to overthrow her. We need to proceed carefully.”