Doomino's_Apocalyptic Pizza Delivery_A Bizarro Grindhouse Tale
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Doom grinned. “Now today, we stand on the verge of a social revolution. Today, we’ll see a hardened convict rehabilitated, her converted death sentence served and done with her on the verge of becoming a well-adjusted, contributing member of society. Never have we seen this before.” His bright blue eyes met the cameras. “Today is a new chapter in the Apocalyptic Pizza Delivery franchise, the American dream coming true right here and now, right before your eyes.” He glanced over at the hearse, meeting Spike’s gaze and winked at her. “But enough about me. You came here to see our star. And here she is!” Doom stepped around the podium and pointed at Spike, the crowd erupting with hoots and howls, horns blowing and people screaming.
Spike tapped the accelerator, letting the Chevy growl, and stuck her arm through the window, waving at the crowd as the cameras crowded closer, a media centipede threatening to shove their lenses up her ass. They’d regret it, she thought, feeling a bit gassy after the breadstick last night. She grinned, thinking about letting one rip, but the cameras eased back just in time.
“Here we go!” someone shouted randomly from there crowd, some hype man embedded to keep the frenzy contained.
Spike turned her eyes to the rearview and spied one of the cooks racing the pizza toward the hearse, the commemorative delivery box crafted in gold, shining under the lights. Eyes fixed on it, she watched the box slide into the webbing, the cook hooking up all the straps to keep the pizza stable. He gave her a thumbs up once he was done. “Kick some ass, boss!” he said and slammed the door shut.
30:00. 30:00. 30:00. Thirty minutes and you’re free!
She smiled at the display.
“It’s showtime, Chica!” Javi called out, the gates easing open ahead of her, the crowd moving away, the media vans starting their engines, inching forward, ready to follow her final run.
“Yes, it is,” she answered, glancing into her mirror again to see Wells still standing there, his desperation to see her fail obvious in the lines etched across his face, and she wondered what he’d done to waylay her, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.
He shook his head, catching her eyes as she stared at him, his seared face tomato-red with his anger.
Just one more.
29:59. 29:58. 29:57.
Spike jammed the car in gear and mashed the accelerator to the floor. The car roared to life like a feral cheetah.
“Might want to duck, Vato,” Spike called out, reaching back to smack Javi’s leg.
“What are you—?” he started to ask, then curled into a ball once he realized what she’d done, tearing the bondage webbing from the roof as he dropped inside the hearse, thumping off the floor. “Oh…fuck!”
“Wooooooo!” Spike howled, smiling at wide-eyed expression on everyone’s face as the Chevy’s tires bit into the asphalt, black smoke billowing as the car shot backwards.
She stared at Wells, a deer in buttfucking headlights, frozen in place. She bared her teeth as the car thumped over the curb and crashed into the storefront, rear end bouncing. Windows shattered and aluminum frames crumpled and were run down, sale signage flying. Well’s shocked face slammed into the rear window of the hearse, pinned there by momentum. Spike ground her foot against the accelerator harder, and Wells screamed, his head popping like a volcanic zit when it hit the steel of the oven, squished between a hearse and a hot place. Blood and brains splattered across the window, bits of scalp and skull caught in the cracks of broken glass, dangling. Spike chuckled and admired the view.
MURDER!
Penelope Bambi Perriwinkle, in accordance with the laws of the State of Texas, for the murder of your store manager, you are hereby automatically sentenced to an additional 10,000 deliveries, effective immediately.
{10,001}
Spike grinned and shifted into first. Just one more, plus a few thousand more.
27:12. 27:11. 27:10.
The Chevy shot forward, breaking free of the wreckage, and Spike angled toward the fence. She leaned her head out the window as she passed Doom, who stared at her wide-eyed from behind the podium, his security swarming all around, unsure what to do.
“Got a delivery to make,” she shouted. “Be right back.”
Spike gunned the hearse, Javi sliding around inside the back, scrambling to get into position as the car bounced out of the lot and hurtled down the road. The media vans shot after her, and she hit the power button on the stereo.
DRI’s “I Don’t Need Society” played them out.
Twelve
Spike sat in a pool of sweat and piss and shit and blood and groaned as the guards peeled her out of the hole, her ten-day stretch having finally come to an end. Mr. Doom, clearly not as opposed to the hole as she’d believed, stood outside shaking his head as she emerged into daylight, covering his nose at the stench. The guards held Spike up by her arms and lifted her so Doom could look her in the eyes, a rancid puddle forming at her bare feet.
{10,000}
He sighed, setting his hands on his hips. “You were on the verge of superstardom, freedom, a life you could be proud of, and you chose to throw it all away by murdering Jackson on your very last delivery. Why would you do this, condemn yourself to another long stretch behind the wheel, facing death every delivery you make?”
Spike swallowed hard and cleared her throat, straightening against the guards’ grips so she stood on her own, shaking them off and lifting her chin. Finally, she shrugged.
“Honestly, I just like running people over.”
About the Authors
Lucas Pederson is the author of short stories and novels. His debut military horror novel, OBSIDIOUS, is out now through Severed Press. His most recent short story will appear in the Horror Library Vol. 6 anthology in April 2017 and his novel FALL TO RISE is available through Dark Recesses Press and Amazon. He lives in a small Minnesota with his family, and let's not ask him what he keeps in his basement…
Tim Marquitz is the author of the Demon Squad series, the Blood War Trilogy, co-author of the Dead West series, as well as several standalone books, and numerous anthology appearances alongside the biggest names in fantasy and horror. Tim also collaborated on Memoirs of a MACHINE, the story of MMA pioneer John Machine Lober. www.tmarquitz.com