“But I won’t have you . . .”
“You don’t need me. With me around you’ll have sex too much, causing your transformation into giant wolf to happen too soon. You still have a long life to live as a human. Make the most of that.”
Sam’s eyes began to roll. Apple tried to snap him out of it. “Don’t you dare die! I promised myself to you. I plan to never have sex with anyone, unless it’s with you!”
“Okay,” Sam said. “One more time before I die.”
“What?”
“Have sex with me right now,” he said. “Quickly, before I die. It’ll be the last time.”
“Really?” Apple asked.
“Hurry,” he moaned, trying to pull his intestines back into his body.
“Okay,” she said.
Talon and Hyena looked at each other with confused faces as Apple removed her clothes, then Sam’s clothes.
“Where’s your penis?” Apple asked.
Sam pointed up at the metal legs still standing on the beach nearby. Apple opened the crotch compartment on the metal legs and pulled his penis out. Then she ripped it out of its stitches.
She held his penis in the palm of her hand. “How do I reattach it?”
Talon and Hyena shook their heads and walked away, toward their motorcycles. Bunny crossed her arms with a big smile on her face, curious to see what they were going to do. She looked to her right to giggle with Skunky, but then she noticed Skunky wasn’t there with her. She lowered her head and turned away.
Apple examined the penis in her hand, discovering that the inside was part machine. She caressed the side of it and was surprised when the severed penis became erect. She smiled wide at the penis and looked down at Sam. He smiled back.
Sam opened his mouth and Apple put the bottom of his dick inside. He bit down on it, to hold it tightly in place. Apple slid the penis into her mouth to moisten the shaft, bringing it all the way down until her lips pressed against his in a strange hybrid of a kiss and a blowjob. Then she used his face as a saddle and inserted him into her vagina.
As she fucked his head into the sand, Apple thought about how much she loved him. Even though their relationship pretty much revolved around sex, it was the little things that made her love him. It was the way he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, the way he thought of himself as the luckiest man in the world just to be holding her hand, the way he held his own severed penis in his mouth so that she could have a way to fuck him one more time before he died. Those were the important things about being in love.
And as she orgasmed against his dead face, Apple realized she would never be able to find another lover quite as perfect as Sam.
The Hamburglar unsheathed his samurai swords as the rabid bear attacked. He slashed it through the chest, but the beast did not even slow down, long silver snakes curling out of its mouth as it went for his neck.
Leaping into the air, the permanent smile on the Hamburglar’s face widened with glee as he cut through the animal’s jaw. Its nose and muzzle were torn in half, but the thing didn’t back down. It didn’t even cry out.
Captain Richards charged through the trees to come to the Hambuglar’s aid. With his four arms, he drew four repeaters from holsters on his gray uniform and fired sloppily at the bear. The Hamburglar had to backflip away from the creature to dodge the gunfire.
“Robble robble!” cried the Hamburglar at the Captain, his googly eyes curling with anger.
The Captain lowered his pistols. Two more soldiers came in from the woods, but Richards ordered them to stay out of the fight.
The beast roared with its mutilated jawbone—blood spraying from its split tongue—and then swiped its claw at its opponent. The Hamburglar cut the paw off of the beast with his short sword, and then with his long blade he pierced the beast through the neck and out the top of its head. Before the creature’s lifeless body could hit the ground, the Hamburglar whipped his blades into the air, cleaning off the blood against the bear’s fur in one quick swipe, and then sheathing the weapons in the scabbards on his waist.
Captain Richards holstered his guns and approached the Hamburglar. “What the hell was wrong with that thing?”
The Hamburglar looked at him with his sinister grin, but he did not answer.
“Rabies?” asked one of the soldiers as he stepped forward. His name was Horatio, a young man with a perfectly manicured beard and a third leg growing out of his back like a long lizard tail.
The Captain looked closer. “No. Something else.”
Greggy, the second soldier, kept his distance. He took a step back and a step sideways and then a step back, rubbing the barrel of his submachine gun with his sweaty palms. His eyes locked on the metal worms. They were still squirming through the animal’s brown fur, squealing and glaring at them with red glowing eyes.
“What are they?” Horatio asked, going in for a closer look.
As the young soldier leaned in, the metal creatures leapt out of the fur at him. The Hamburglar unsheathed his swords, and with three lightning-fast slices he decapitated all five of the worms in midair. Horatio watched as ten red glowing eyes faded out and fell to his feet.
“Robble robble,” said the Hamburglar to the young soldier as he returned the blades to their scabbards.
Then he walked away from the carcass, back to the road. His men followed suit.
They met up with the other five soldiers at the bus. The others did not stand to attention as their superiors arrived. They were drinking beers and shooting at squirrels in the trees. Captain Richards was in charge of the mission, even though the Hamburglar was his superior. His two lieutenants were Horatio, who climbed the ranks due to his skills as a sharp-shooter, and Tomahawk, who climbed the ranks due to his ferocious bloodlust in battle. Unfortunately, Tomahawk was the most unruly soldier in the Outlander army. He disrespected authority, unless he felt the respect was earned.
“Who said you could bring this on the mission?” Captain Richards asked Tomahawk, holding a mason jar half full of beer at the soldier.
Tomahawk looked back at him with smiling beefy cheeks. His tall platinum blond afro shined in the sunlight. “What?”
“Alcohol usage is barred from missions,” said the Captain, pouring out the beer on the side of the road.
“What the fuck?” Tomahawk said, flexing his third arm, which happened to be six times as muscled as his two natural arms.
The other four men gathered behind the Lieutenant. Even though Captain Richards was the ranking officer, the troops were far more loyal to Tomahawk. Only Horatio and that coward Greggy recognized the Captain’s authority.
Richards stood his ground. A soldier with a red beret gave him a gnarled look. Another, who had four yellow horns growing from his head instead of hair, took a long swig of beer from his mason jar.
“We need to get to the Outpost before sundown,” Richards told them. “We don’t have time for your shit.”
Then Richards turned and walked toward the bus. On the way, he confiscated the rest of the mason jars of beer.
Tomahawk took a few steps at him, raising his assault rifle as if to hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, but he stopped as he saw the Hamburglar looking down at him from the roof of the bus. Tomahawk nodded with respect, gathered the rest of his men and entered the vehicle. He shoved Greggy with his shoulder as he passed him down the aisle of the bus. Although Tomahawk never respected authority, he knew better than to fuck with Hamburglar.
The vehicle was an old city bus from McDonaldland that they reinforced with steel plating and razor wire. It had been painted with green camouflage, so that it could be hidden in the forest if necessary. A section of the bus had been converted into a kitchenette, another had been converted into barracks. The vehicle was designed for long distance missions into the badlands. This would be their home for at least a week.
There were two gunner stations on the roof. Greggy and Horatio were stationed up there. Because he was their s
niper, Horatio was always stationed on the roof. Greggy was up there because it was his turn in one of the gunner turrets, but he decided not to take his post at the back of the bus. That’s where the Hamburglar liked to sit, dangling his black and white striped legs off the side, and glaring at the woods with his creepy cartoon smile. Greggy was very frightened of the Hamburglar. He was very frightened of everything.
The two of them were not friends, but Greggy seemed to have latched onto Horatio since the mission began. Horatio didn’t want to make friends with him. He knew Greggy wasn’t going to be around for very long. He knew Greggy was only sent on this mission because he was disposable. Still, he felt sorry for the guy. Even though he was a few years older than Horatio, he reminded the Lieutenant of his younger brother who was killed by the Bitches during a raid earlier in the year. His brother always had the same look of helplessness on his face, that lost doe-eyed look.
But Horatio had to admit, he was nervous around the Hamburglar as well. The man was a monster, both physically and psychologically. Besides the Mayor, he was the one man he would never cross.
The two soldiers stayed at the front of the bus, by the other turret station. The gunner at this station was nicknamed Sandwich. Horatio didn’t know why. Sandwich had been in the Outlanders for fifteen years, ever since he was a teenager. Besides the Hamburglar and Tomahawk, he had been an Outlander longer than anyone on the mission. Sandwich was a big guy. He had a shaved head, large brown mutton chops, wore a muddy black wife-beater shirt exposing tattooed arms, and his glasses were cracked, held together with a rubber strap.
Sandwich sipped on a beer that he had hidden under his extra limbs, leaning back with his feet up on the barrel of the gun. He didn’t bother to conceal the beer as Horatio approached, even though he was a superior officer who had the right to take it away.
“What’s up?” Sandwich said, stroking his sideburns with his fifth arm.
“I was just curious.” Horatio motioned to the Hamburglar. “What’s up with him?”
“Who? Hamburglar?”
“Yeah. What’s his story? Why doesn’t he ever speak?”
“He’s not much of a talker,” he said. “Not even before they mutated his flesh to look like the Hamburglar.”
“What was he like before he was the Hamburglar?”
“Just a normal psychopath.”
He was originally named Willem Van Jaarsveld, before he became the Hamburglar. As a child, he was a small, thin boy, with neat black hair and a burgundy-colored suit. He never said a word to anybody. He didn’t think anybody was worthy of his words. Young Willem believed himself to be a genius and a poet. The greatest poet in human history. He decided that not a single citizen of McDonaldland could possibly understand his greatness, so he did not allow them the privilege of hearing him speak his genius words.
Instead, Willem expressed his genius through music. He was trained as a pianist by his upper class parents, and by the age of seven he had already learned the instrument to mechanical perfection. His parents gave him everything he could possibly want and encouraged his creative arts, even though the arts were not exactly legal in the walled city. But no matter how much his parents gave to him, Willem showed them nothing but revulsion. He hated his parents. He did not believe they deserved such a brilliant son. He hated their greasy fingers and rolls of pasty fat dangling from the bottom of their shirts. He hated that they were not the most wealthy and powerful people in McDonaldland, even though they were one of the top twenty richest families at the time.
He especially hated his mother who had become part animal after conceiving him. He hated the hair she left on the furniture. He refused to eat at the same table as she, and didn’t even want to look at her. He didn’t even give her the slightest glance when she hung herself in the doorway of their McMansion, right beside him. He just played his piano louder so that her choking sounds did not interfere with his flawless music.
The other kids at school didn’t like Willem. They thought he was weird and picked on him mercilessly, pushing him to the ground and kicking him in his scrawny stomach. Willem believed they picked on him because they were jealous of his genius, but it was really because Willem was a vegetarian, perhaps the only vegetarian in McDonaldland at the time. He did not like the way meat would make his fingers greasy when he ate it. He did not like the smell or the texture of it in his mouth. So he only ate salads or meatless burgers. This made him quite weak and scrawny compared to his hefty classmates, who ate nothing but cheeseburgers and french fries all day.
In order to defend himself against the bullies, Willem decided to teach himself how to fight. Without much strength, he knew that his fighting techniques would have to rely on speed. He researched books in the private library that only the upper class citizens could access, searching for fighting methods of the ancient world. That is when he discovered the ways of the samurai. He immediately fell in love with these aristocratic warriors of the past. They focused on speed and efficiency. They had a code of honor and would continuously strive for perfection. These were the first people Willem could relate to. From that day on, Willem considered himself the embodiment of the samurai.
For days, Willem labored continuously to create his first sword. It had to be technically perfect in structure, as well as a beautiful work of art. He studied books on how to craft the weapon and examined photographs for hours at a time. His father’s servants gave him all the assistance he required. Eventually, he had a short katana of his own, that he wore in a leather scabbard around his waist beneath his burgundy suit coat.
The next time he was hassled by a bully on the way home from school, he unsheathed his sword and cut the boy’s throat open. Pretending to be a noble samurai, he did not even look at his victim as he slaughtered him in the street. He heard blood fountaining out of the boy’s neck, and a gurgling whimper as he died. But when Willem went to re-sheath his sword, he realized that the blade was missing. He turned around. It was still in the bully’s throat.
This upset Willem greatly. He couldn’t believe that his weapon was flawed. It was not a true blade of the samurai. He ran home and cried in his yellow bed, scolding himself for not living up to the greatness he knew was within him, clawing the skin on his wrists, combing his hair until his scalp began to bleed.
Once his tears ran dry, he decided not to give up on his dream. He would master the art of sword construction, even if it took him years to perfect. Then he would master the art of fighting with a sword. He knew there was no way he could fail in this task. He knew that nothing was impossible for a boy with such unparalleled genius.
“He really killed that kid?” Horatio asked Sandwich.
“Cut his throat and left him there for his parents to find him,” Sandwich said. “The broken blade still sticking out of his neck.”
“And nothing ever happened?” Horatio asked. “They never knew it was him?”
“A few years later, once the kid was carrying swords around with him everywhere he went, people figured it out. But by then there was nothing anybody could do about it. You can’t accuse the social elite of murder unless you’ve got absolute proof.”
Horatio looked at the Hamburglar on the other side of the bus. He was glaring into space with a psychopath’s smile and perfect posture. His fingers were tapping on his knees as if playing the piano in his head.
A few hours later, they saw the Outpost on the horizon. The Outpost was the midpoint for doing trade with the community down in Texas, which was the only other civilization they knew of outside of McDonaldland. The Outlanders would bring goods to this facility, drop off beer, wine, meat, and produce, and pick up gasoline, citrus, and other commodities they could not produce for themselves. The Texans would do the same. This station was run by the Outlanders, but a few ambassadors from Texas stayed there to represent their people’s interests.
It had been two weeks since the Outlanders had heard anything from the army stationed at the Outpost. There were supposed to be two deliveri
es since then, and not one of them showed up. The Mayor had assumed they were having transportation problems so he sent a couple trucks their way, but the truck drivers were never heard from again. Even though the Mayor needed as many men as possible to take out the Bitches, he decided to send the Hamburglar and eight soldiers to investigate the problem.
Captain Richards had been trying to convince the men that it was surely all just a misunderstanding and their mission was just to assist the soldiers at the Outpost with whatever setbacks they’d been having, but not a single one of the men believed everything was okay out there.
The Outpost was a large gray concrete fortress in the middle of a ruined highway town. It was the only structure still standing, as if decades of tornados had slowly torn down all of the buildings around it. There were several dead trees and mountains surrounding them, but it was mostly hills of rubble and scrap metal like a junkyard stretching across three square miles. The air out here was hot and dry. The land was mostly covered in dead yellow weeds.
Horatio looked through the scope on his hunting rifle, but couldn’t see any signs of life. There were vehicles surrounding the property, but no people.
“Could they all be inside?” Greggy asked.
Horatio took his eye from the scope. “I don’t know.”
There was a buzzing noise in the air. Sandwich and Greggy looked around, wondering where the noise was coming from. Horatio peeked into his scope and it looked as if some kind of bug was flying across the rubble hills at them. The bug grew bigger and bigger as it came.
Once it was large enough to see with his naked eye, Horatio lowered the scope from his face. He squinted his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but the thing flying at them looked kind of like a boomerang, with chainsaw blades attached to it.
“Down!” Horatio screamed, pulling Greggy flat against the roof of the bus.
Barbarian Beast Bitches of the Badlands Page 6
