by Alan Spencer
“I’m going to take a page from your playbook and give this lady mouth-to-mouth.”
Vic tilted her head back and pumped her chest. Breathed two breaths into her mouth. Pumped her chest. Breathed two breaths. Pumped her chest. Again and again, Vic tried to resuscitate her.
The woman was dead for good.
The elevator stopped. The doors suddenly opened. Bright sunshine filtered into the elevator. The rubble of New Jersey stretched on in every direction.
Vic fed her breaths and pumped her chest again. Vic and Jimmy gasped in shock when the woman stole a breath of air and returned to consciousness.
Penny looked up at Vic in confusion. “Did you save me?”
“Yeah…I guess I did.” Vic smiled at the pretty woman. The way her eyes stayed on his face, he could tell she liked what she was seeing. “I’m glad you’re okay. What’s your name?”
“Penny Baxter.”
“I’m Victor Greaves. This is my buddy Jimmy.”
Vic could tell the woman was either in shock or a little delirious when she asked Vic, “You’re handsome. You got big muscles.” She played her hands along his biceps. “But can I ask you something before I kiss you for saving me?”
Vic helped the woman to her feet. They all stepped out of the elevator and into the city. Vic held her in his arms. “Ask away.”
“This might sound funny, but were you employed before all of this happened?”
Vic wasn’t sure what to make of the question. “Yes. I worked two jobs. Sometimes three.”
Penny passionately kissed him.
Six Months Later
The world continued to recover from the war. Bodies were located, identified and respectfully buried. Every damaged city and town was slowly being rebuilt. The process was painstakingly onerous, due to the fact almost half the world’s population was slaughtered in the aftermath of the B-movie war. Theories of why the war happened were varied. Few knew the truth. Many refused to accept the truth. What actually ended the war was more suspect. Nobody had the real answer. The closet anybody guessed was that the energies of the dead had diminished when the good rose up to battle evil. Both sides, good and evil, wore each other out to depletion. No matter what the reasons for the ceasefire, being alive was sufficient for most of the survivors.
That’s what allowed people like Vic, Jimmy and Penny to keep on living. The three worked with others in the New Jersey community to clean up the streets, clear the roads and begin the process of rebuilding. Life was lived day-to-day, handling the disaster to the best of their abilities. The Red Cross did what they could do to shelter people and medically treat the wounded. Food trucks supplied meals for survivors. Construction businesses worked day in and day out to sort out the vestiges of the city into something more recognizable.
Jimmy had met a survivor named Lydia Gomez and was actively dating her. Vic and Penny struck up a romance, too, while toiling on the same construction crew. The events brought everybody closer together as people paved new roads, operated forklifts and shoveled debris out of the streets.
They were on a break one afternoon from construction duty. Everybody was eating lunch. Penny and Jimmy were talking about how they missed their families. Vic was reading a novel. Many parts of the city didn’t have working power, so there wasn’t radio, Internet, or TV, not that anybody wanted to watch movies anytime soon.
Penny noticed Vic reading the book. “You’re playing it safe, huh?”
Vic said it and meant it. “I’m never watching another movie ever again.”
Jimmy agreed. “As much of a fan I am of movies, I’ll never watch another movie again either.”
Vic turned the page of his book. “I’m playing it safe, like you said, Penny. Besides, what harm can reading a book do to anybody?”
Another year later, the world was still undergoing reconstruction. Things were slowly resembling life as it should be. Cities were functional. Hospitals were up and running. Some businesses were offering jobs to people who wanted to contribute something other than construction and rebuilding. No matter how good things seemed to be, Vic couldn’t shake what the dead told him when he was drowning in blood. The evil spirits were only resting and regaining their energy. They would return one day. It might be years. It could be centuries. It could be tomorrow.
Vic explained to Jimmy what happened to him when he almost drowned during the war. Then he told Penny too. Vic was happy to find out they supported him and his plan. Vic wasn’t a fan of horror movies, and still wasn’t. Never would be, he vowed. But he learned about horror movie logic, B-movie impossibility and the basic mentality of bad plots and insane situations. He also pondered what the spirits of good had to do to turn B-movies into a weapon against evil.
The problem Vic was facing, the vast majority of the reels used in the war were either damaged, destroyed, or missing. But after talking to Jimmy and Penny, Vic formed a new plan. It took months of searching to complete the task. Penny raided her late uncle’s house. Jimmy dug into his own collection, and the collections of the fast friends he made post-war, to procure what they needed to ensure the future of the human race.
If the movies ever came back to life, they would be prepared to fight.
That’s what brought Vic, Penny and Jimmy to the bunker located in an Arizona desert. Vic’s uncle owned the house. The man also happened to be a conspiracy theorist. He died during the B-movie war, but Vic maintained ownership of the property. It took months of paperwork, and the state catching up on their end of things, but Vic finally received the documentation. The bunker was in the backyard. They had visited this bunker many times before, prepping it for war. The entrance was incorporated into the floor of a shed. Vic punched in a combination, and the three of them entered by descending a step-ladder. Flipping on the lights, fancy bookshelves were illuminated that stocked thousands of VHS tapes. The range of titles was a mix of horror and action: Butcher from the Future, W.I.N.G.S., Slaughter Father, Bitch Fist 2, Dead Bitch Volleyball, Bathtub Massacre, Sister of Satan, Double Barrel Solution, Tank City, Ear Eaters 3, Cavern of the Venus Eaters, Brain Buffet, Archery Debauchery, Catheter Killer…the titles went on, and on, and on.
Stored in steel canisters were blood bags. The blood of those who died fighting the good fight. The blood of the pure. Vic thought on it after talking to Penny and Jimmy over the past few months. It didn’t matter what kind of a movie it was, as long as the blood that possessed the film, or movie, belonged to a good soul.
Jimmy and Penny had asked Vic about using VHS tapes as opposed to film reels. Vic told them he had another vision while drowning in that blood. He pictured zombies soaking VHS tapes in blood, and then shoving them into VHS players for the same effect as reel projectors. Then DVD’s, Blu-ray movies…
“This is never going to end, is it?” Penny asked, hugging Vic from the side. “We’ll always be on the verge of war with the dead.”
Jimmy held a VHS copy of Vampires Prefer Virgins with his head cocked sideways. “You’re right about that. But as long as there are people out there like us who know how to use kick ass movies to our advantage, humanity will always have a chance of surviving anything.”
“Damn straight,” Vic said. “Damn fucking straight.”
The three locked up the bunker, packed up into their truck and continued on in search of a new bunker to fill with more horror movies and blood.
The next war could happen any day.
About the Author
Alan Spencer spends an inordinate amount of time watching horror movies, writing film reviews for Cinesploitation, and creating new ways to kill people on the page. B-Movie War is his fifth novel published with Samhain Publishing.
The author loves e-mails, so tell him what’s on your mind at [email protected], or visit his blog at horroralan.blogspot.com.
Look for these titles by Alan Spencer
Now Available:
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B-Movie Reels
B-Movie Attack
Psycho Therapy
Protect All Monsters
Coming Soon:
The Doorway
Off of the screen and out for blood!
B-Movie Reels
© 2012 Alan Spencer
Andy Ryerson, a film school graduate, has been hired to write commentary on two dozen cheap, b-horror movies. It seems harmless enough, and he might even enjoy it. But the people in the town around him won’t enjoy it at all when one by one, the films he watches come to life. Andy chose the wrong projector to screen his movies. This one is out for blood. While Andy grumbles about low budgets and poor production values, a hungry butcher, a plague of rotting zombies, demonic vampires, a mallet-toting killer, flesh-eating locusts, and many other terrors descend on the unsuspecting innocent. By the time he realizes what he’s done, the town is teeming with evil, and it’s up to Andy and the few survivors left to stop the celluloid horror he’s unleashed.
Enjoy the following excerpt for B-Movie Reels:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Gideon, your guide to grand illusion! Tonight, you will be shocked and awed. I won’t patronize you with gags from kid’s books. This is a real stage. What you see is what it is. No tricks of light, no aversion tactics, I won’t pull rabbits out of hats, juggle fire, tear newspapers and reconstruct them, and I won’t saw anyone in half because that’s been done to death. But we do have a showgirl!”
Matthew Bard, a security guard at “The Comedy Tavern,” watched the show on amateur talent night with limited enthusiasm, as did the audience. He recognized Bunny Anderson on stage; she was the blonde adorned in a purple sequined outfit that revealed her long silky legs. She smiled and waved to the crowd of regulars, pretending to live up to a higher standard of showmanship. Gideon paid her thirty dollars to take the night off of her barmaid gig to be his helper. “Stand up there and look good,” he’d overheard Gideon instruct Bunny at rehearsal. “When I call the audience up to the stage, usher them right to where I point. Easiest thirty bucks you’ll ever earn, darling.”
Gideon was dressed the part. The magician wore a loose purple silk shirt and black leather pants. A ridiculous Abraham Lincoln top hat rested on his head. His cheeks were poked with acne scars, and around the eyes, dark saucers lent the performer a strung out sheen. The gray hair on his chin was shaved into an upside down triangle. The overall attempt was ill-realized but good enough for amateur night.
Playing up the crowd, Gideon waved his nine-inch wand, gesturing as he spoke, “This is real magic, ladies and gentlemen. I am an oracle.” He cupped his ear, acting like he hadn’t heard his own question. “What is an oracle, you might be asking? It’s what the Romans called those who could speak to the gods. But I am not an alchemist; I cannot cure diseases and save lives. I use the gods to entertain and delight. I have access between the living and dead worlds, you see, ladies and gentlemen. They’ve taught me magic beyond any illusionist’s ability. I am a medium between the spirits and living world.” Extending his arms as if to give the crowd a hug, he announced with startling vigor, “I am Gideon.”
“So do something, Gideon!”
“Yeah, it’s been five minutes—what the hell?”
“This is a magic show, right?”
Matthew smiled at the ribbing; the man was being heckled before he’d even started.
“I see you’re ready to be amazed!” He shuffled to the left side of Bunny and then pointed his finger in the direction of the crowd. “I’m going to call out twenty people from the audience to sit in these chairs behind me. Any brave volunteers?”
Matthew watched the chairs, curious as to their function. He’d helped place them hours ago for ten bucks. He recalled the cool touch of Gideon’s handshake through his silk gloves—like a piano man’s—and the soft treble in his voice, the purr of a male lion. “Ten bucks says you can help me set up my stage. What do you say, my good man?”
Gideon selected twenty volunteers from the audience, and Bunny escorted them to their places. It was three minutes later the audience participants were seated and ready for the trick to unfold.
The performer dragged two metal poles on stage, one from which a purple curtain was unrolled, and he clipped that curtain to the other pole by two hooks. He reappeared behind the veil, the audience members hidden by a layer of fabric. “I will make these twenty people disappear. They are not paid or have ever seen me before. We are all strangers under this roof. I will invite you to walk on stage and double-check my claims.” Hamming up his act, he boasted the promise, “I, Gideon, will make them vanish and then reappear!”
The crowd’s interest heated up. They begged to be entertained. Hands clapped, while those at the bar walked in closer for a better view. There were about one-hundred and thirty people in “The Comedy Tavern,” including the ones on stage, each with faces ready to be dazzled.
“I will count to three, and with the wave of my wand, I will make them vanish.”
The club’s floors shook with the stomping of feet. Whistles pierced the air. Drinks were refilled and cigarettes lit. Gideon absorbed the skeptical comments before continuing the show.
“I’d like to see the asshole pull it off.”
“This bar’s too small for disappearing acts.”
“Amateur hack is going to embarrass himself.”
“Dork sure looks like he believes in magic.”
The performer closed his eyes and extended his arms up to the ceiling, prepared to disprove their doubts. “I ask you to count to three, audience.”
The audience responded with a boisterous shout: “ONE!”
“I call upon you,” he whispered to himself, channeling a greater force. “I call upon the gods, make them disappear.”
“TWO!”
The shuffle of many chairs at once, Gideon peeled back the curtain the split-second he knew the gods had acquiesced upon his wishes.
“THREE!”
The stage revealed, the chairs were emptied as many of the legs rattled the floor and then momentarily settled. The audience clapped, but then abruptly stopped their accolades when they noticed certain members in the crowd had disappeared as well. The bartender went missing in a blink; the shot glass and bottle of scotch in his hands shattered against the floor, dropped. The audience was less than half of what they were before the show began. A mix of worry and concern sent nervous chatter throughout the club. Matthew wasn’t sure how to react himself, standing rigid and unconfident; his beefy size couldn’t fight tonight’s problem. He surveyed the people in their seats again, remembering those who’d been sitting one moment, and the next there was nothing, only the sharp scuffle of chairs.
Gideon addressed the audience, expecting the uproar. “Ah, the gods heed me. I will make them return. Let’s hear it. Clap for me! You’ll see my magic. It’s real. I promise you, all is well. All is well!”
Bunny stood still on the stage unnerved, squinting throughout the audience to check if this was really happening. She drew back the purple curtain at his request, though hesitantly, afraid helping the man would make matters worse.
The audience didn’t cheer this time, but Gideon understood why.
He too was concerned.
The magic had worked too well tonight.
Stumbling on his words, he spat out to the uneasy crowd, “I will count to three, and the gods shall place the audience members back into the living world. I am Gideon. Heed my magic.”
He waved the wand back and forth (the action meaning nothing, and Gideon knew it too) and closed his eyes. “I call upon the gods. Return our visitors from the world of the ghosts and spirits to the living.”
Gideon counted aloud since no one else joined in.
“One...two...THREE!”
The curtain was drawn back by Bunny. Instantly, the chair legs scuffed the stage’s floor.
Gasps rocked the club. Tables were knocked over and screams issued with alarming intensity. Patrons battled to escape the club, barreling into each other, shoving, and pushing, and fighting and cursing the horrible spectacles busying the bar and seating area.
Gideon buckled to his knees, taking in the horrors. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way!”
Matthew closed in on the stage, though he was hesitant to enter the morbid carnage.
His life was in danger too.
The audience members on stage did return, but they were altered. Eyes had switched sockets, the orbs bleeding from the exchange. Legs and feet were mismatched. One body was only a torso with an arm replacing the head. Fish-net legs jutted from a man’s big-bellied torso, the connection sealed by tangles of melded-together flesh and bone. A man’s head was attached to a women’s body, the pink dress sodden in crimson from the throat’s strange flesh graft stitching. The twenty people were blended together, not a single one owning their original parts. They writhed in horrid agony, twitching, and bleeding, and screaming and pealing out in terror, their inflictions unimaginable.
Those that weren’t dead upon returning were soon thereafter. The club was silent and near empty. Bunny retreated out the back exit, the final person to escape. The other security officer, Sam Wilks, was calling the police from the back room, his expression petrified and so pale.
Gideon wept on stage, curled in a fetal position and babbling. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. They promised they wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. They promised. They promised me they’d be nice.” Snarling as spittle flecked out his mouth, he shouted, “And look what they’ve done!”
Matthew avoided numerous puddles of blood, treading closer to the grief-stricken man. The stage was a macabre scene, and he did his best to avert his eyes from studying the victims. Raising his voice, he attempted to re-claim control over the chaos, “Come with me, Gideon. You’re under arrest. It’s over. Now come along quietly.”
