by Tristan Vick
Blades came slashing down upon the straw-man from all directions. Taking defensive action, Scarecrow leapt up onto the bar and kicked the leader in the head, which sent him crashing back down to the hard wood floor. He continued on, sharp blades slashing viciously at his Achilles heels.
Scarecrow reached the end of the countertop and leapt off. Grabbing ahold of the room’s full-scale replica crystal chandelier, he swung over the card tables, narrowly avoiding the cold bite of steel that nipped at his heels. Breaking away just in the nick of time, Scarecrow swung away to safety.
Landing on the other side of the tables, Scarecrow turned to see that he was blockaded by a wall of menacing masked marauders. Since going back the way he’d come was out of the question, he looked around for an escape. But it was no use. There were no more visible exits.
“Ah-ha!” the bandit leader said, rising up again. “You’re just like General Custer, trapped between a rock and imminent death!”
Scarecrow’s face tensed up into a frown as he didn’t much like the analogy. “It seems you may be right,” Scarecrow admitted. With nowhere to go, Scarecrow looked up and spied the walkways that led to the lighting fixtures. He followed the catwalk along until it met the wall where there was a ladder at the back of the soundstage. Relief swept over him as he darted toward the ladder and started climbing. An angry mob of bloodthirsty bandit assassins trailed after him, hot on his tail, as he made his way to the roof.
Walking down the central street of an olden times frontier town, Julie Kingston turned the corner by the post office at the edge of the boarded-up ghost town and ran straight into an Egyptian desert scene, complete with fully-detailed one-fourth scale model replicas of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramids. It was a bit surreal to see an American frontier village overlooking the Great Pyramids of the Egyptian empire, and she couldn’t help but wonder what in the hell kind of movie Beck was making.
Julie raised her hand and squinted against the brilliant sunlight that bounced off the white sand dunes of imported Tunisian sand. A flock of black crows flew overhead, cutting across the blue sky.
From behind the Sphinx, the silhouette of a busty cowgirl stepped out and casually lit a cigarette. “If you’re wondering what time it is…” the figure said. “It’s about half past.”
Julie redirected her gaze toward the mysterious voice, but couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of the woman’s face. The woman finished lighting her cigarette, took a long drag, then puffed out a haze of smoke. A long shadow cast by the Sphinx splashed across the mysterious woman’s face, concealing her true identity.
“Do you reckon?” Julie asked with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Ah’ do reckon,” the shady figure replied in a sultry southern accent that seemed to come and go as it pleased.
Julie paused, not quite knowing whether she faced off against a genuine threat or something else. Deciding it best to be cautious, Julie pulled her jacket open and flashed her badge, which was perched just above her hip, and enquired, “Is there anything I can assist you with?”
“Ah was gonna’ ask you the same thing, darlin’.”
Kateland Rameses Beckensale emerged from the Sphinx’s shadow dressed in slattern cowgirl garb. Julie gasped, “You?!”
7
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Kateland Rameses Beckensale stepped into the light, silken strips of her smooth bare legs peeking through her leather chaps. She was dressed like a mix between a cowgirl and a prostitute. A long, tan, tattered duster completed her ensemble, and her coat-tails flapped in the breeze, revealing black bikini bottoms under her leather chaps.
“That outfit is not the least bit historically accurate,” Julie observed. Beck just stared back at her with a blank look on her face. Julie continued, “I mean, the tight cut of the leather vest seems designed only to maximize your cleavage, and the way that it reveals your fleshy midriff doesn’t seem to fulfill any useful purpose either. In all honesty, it looks like a second-rate cosplay outfit.”
Nudging the brim of her cowboy hat back, Beck coolly took the cigarette out of her mouth, blew a couple smoke rings, and flicked it away. “Oh ye of little faith, this outfit serves a very useful purpose.”
“Oh, really? And what on Earth could that possibly be?” Julie asked.
“To annoy you. Obviously. Besides, you’re one to talk, Kingston.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always dress so inappropriately.”
“Inappropriately?” Julie looked down at her leather jacket and tattered blue jeans, with tears across her thighs just to add a touch of sex appeal. “What are you talking about? This is a perfectly fine outfit for a plainclothes cop to wear.”
“Yeah, a cop from Chicago maybe. And you’re wearing a freakin’ leather jacket in the middle of summer. It’s L.A. for God’s sake!”
“Well Miss Priss, why don’t you take me shopping next time you go and you can pick my outfit for me!”
“Fine. I will!”
“Fine!”
“It’s a date then.’”
“Fine!”
Beck and Julie shot each other irritated looks, but both women were secretly excited to have unintentionally made an impromptu shopping date with one another.
“So what are we doing here, Beck? You have some explaining to do.”
Out of self-conscious habit, Beck readjusted her cowgirl’s hat again. “I have something important to tell you.”
“What would that be, exactly?” Julie asked impatiently.
“My epiphany I told you about earlier. I had another one!”
“You did, did you?”
“It’s time to cleanse the world of all the weak sheep, Ju. Survival of the fittest and all that. The day of reckoning is upon us.”
“What in bloody hell are you on about, Beck? You sound like a goddamned tele-evangelical infomercial for religious crackpots.”
“I’m talking about the Judgment Day, Ju. The day the sheep will be separated from the goats. The day we learn the truth about who is worthy and who isn’t.”
“If you mean the Rapture, then I pray you’re right, and I sincerely hope you float the fuck off. I’ll even throw in a heartfelt amen after you’re gone.”
“Mock me if you will, but the time for you to make a choice is at hand!”
“A choice?”
“In my vision, the zombie guy spoke to me.”
“Zombie guy? You mean Jesus?”
“Yes. Zombie Jesus spoke to me.”
Julie sighed and buried her face in her palm. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what did Zombie Jesus say to you?”
“He said: Let not Kingston suffer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno. It was a pretty wild vision. Also, I was a bit high at the time, so, well, you know … it’s still all a little hazy.” Beck giggled, then added, “In fact, I think I might still be a little bit high.”
“You think?” Julie quipped.
“But I know this much,” Beck continued. “Zombie Jesus said he wants us to be together. He doesn’t want you to suffer alone.”
“That’s very considerate of him,” Julie remarked with her usual amount of snark.
“Join me,” Beck said, holding her gloved hand toward Julie. “Join me, and I can help you put an end to your suffering.”
Julie just squinted at Beck as if she was contemplating whether she was just Hollywood crazy or totally bat-shit insane. Although, she thought, the difference probably didn’t matter all that much.
“Just look at yourself for a moment. You’re high as a kite, dressed like a cowgirl prostitute, and your breasts are practically falling out of your vest. It’s ridiculous.”
Beck looked down and groped her own breasts, squishing them together and letting them playfully bounce back.
“Are you kidding me?” Beck asked conceitedly. “I look fucking fantastic! I’ve got tiger blood, babe.”
Julie merely rolled her eyes.
Just another typical day in L.A., Julie reminded herself. All you can do is learn to live with the crazy.
“I sense great confusion and anger in you. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to darkness. Wash the darkness from your soul, Ju! Confess your sins to me and be absolved.” Beckensale quickly drew a pistol from the holster on her thigh and steadily aimed it at Julie. With a wild look in her eye, jaw clenched, she added, “Or perish!”
“FYI, I don’t like being threatened by a maniac with a gun, so why don’t you do me a favor and take this middle finger I’m giving you and shove it up your …”
BANG! A bullet whisked by Julie’s ear.
“For fuck’s sake! That was a real bullet that just whizzed by my head!” Julie’s voice grew direly serious as she reached for her piece.
“Wow! What a rush!” Beck laughed giddily. “I think I’m beginning to understand your preoccupation with the long arm of the law.” Holding the smoking barrel up to her lips, she blew, just like in the movies.
“You crazy bitch!” Julie screamed. “You could have f*@#king killed me!”
“You’re not listening to me!” Beck yelled with the ferocious rage of a woman ignored, and she fired another couple of badly aimed shots.
BANG!
BANG!
Julie ducked, tucked, and rolled. The bullets missed their mark by a wide margin. Out of imminent danger, Julie rose up on one knee and aimed her gun squarely at Beck. “Drop it!” Julie ordered, authoritatively. “Or I pop those precious tits of yours.”
Clutching her chest as if she were protecting a precious baby, Beck stared back fearfully. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Beck assessed the situation, thinking for a moment. She looked down at her beautiful breasts, then back up at Julie, and without any further hesitation threw her revolver away and made a break for it.
“Oh no you don’t, you crazy zealot bitch!” Julie yelled, springing up to grab the coattails of Beck’s duster jacket. To her chagrin, Beck easily slipped out of it and continued her escape, making a beeline toward the pyramids.
Dashing along the rooftop of the soundstage, dry gravel crunched under Scarecrow’s feet. Approaching the edge of the rooftop, Scarecrow dug in his heels and skidded to a halt. Straw poked out of the jagged edges from where the blades had sliced him. Pieces of straw fell to the ground. He was still keeping it together, but just barely.
Off in the distance, the sound of a steam locomotive could be heard drawing nearer and nearer as the horde of angry bandits closed in on him. Scarecrow spun around, pulling out his revolver. Cautioning them, he warned, “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll open fire!”
Winding back his arm, the lead bandit stepped out in front of the pack and launched his katana like a javelin. Everyone paused as they watched it sail through the air. Even John stopped to watch the hurled projectile slowly arc through the sky, holding his revolver at the ready. Scarecrow raised his gun as if he was thinking about shooting the sword out of the sky.
Slowly, as if caught on high-speed celluloid, the sword slid through the barrel of John’s gun, splitting it in two, and then just as easily lodged itself into John’s chest. Looking down at his impaled torso, John threw down his split sidearm and examined the craftsmanship of the samurai sword. “Must be Japanese,” he said to himself.
John spun back around and made his way over to the edge of the soundstage rooftop with the sword hilt still protruding from his sternum. Looking slightly unsettled, Scarecrow crept up to the brink and looked over. The building seemed a lot higher up than he had initially imagined.
The bandit assassins pressed toward him until they had pinned Scarecrow against the edge of the rooftop. Slowly, they extended their swords and aimed their blades directly at the man of straw.
With a resounding “Whoo-woo!” the locomotive’s whistle blared. The sound was so loud that it seemed the train was upon them. John looked at his assailants and gave them a laid-back two-finger salute, then, without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped over the ledge.
Running up to the rim of the rooftop, the bandits looked down over the ledge only to see John grinning back up at them as he rode away atop one of the passenger cars of the speeding locomotive.
Following after him, the first bandit overshot the train completely and howled before disappearing out of sight. The rest of the pursuers fared better and landed securely on the top of the moving train. Securing their footing, the bandits drew their weapons and ran along the top of the cars, making their way toward Scarecrow.
John struggled to his knees and grabbed the handle of the sword that protruded from his body. Like a hardened warrior, unshaken from years of battles, he tore the sword out from his chest and slowly rose up.
Swinging the blade out to his side, Scarecrow cut the air with the sharp, menacing sound of steel hardened for battle. Looking at the men shambling along the top of the train, Scarecrow let out a warrior’s cry. The two forces charged toward one another.
Julie chased Beck up the replica of the pyramid. The two looked like giants tromping over the Great Pyramids of Giza. Upon reaching the top, Beck slipped and tumbled down the backside, screaming obnoxiously the whole way down.
Julie paused at the summit and watched Beck slide to a halt, landing at the bottom of the pyramids near the edge of some railroad tracks. Suddenly, a train whistle blew. Julie turned to see a billow of steam rising from the approaching locomotive. She looked down the length of the train just in time to see her partner engaged in an epic sword fight with a group of cowboy bandits.
Julie contemplated what to do. Her partner could be made into mulch by those swords. While Julie thought, Beck used the distraction to her advantage. Leaping up, she grabbed the ladder on the end car just in time to hitch a ride.
Julie rolled her eyes, then slid down the fake pyramid and took after her. Rocks, dust, and styrofoam chunks broke off and rolled down with her.
Beckensale pulled herself up to the narrow side steps of the train car and then swung around to look back. With the smile of a suave escape artist, Beck waved goodbye to Julie Kingston, who was falling behind. The train went around a bend and, disappeared into a tunnel dressed as an abandoned coal mine.
The track was about a quarter mile loop, Julie gauged. Pausing, Julie put her hands on her hips and looked down the tracks and then back toward the tunnel again, pondering the best course of action to take. Making up her mind, she went in the opposite direction, away from the tunnel. She would cut them off at the pass.
8
THE HOLLYWOOD EXPRESS
As the train came out of the dark mouth of the tunnel, all four remaining sword combatants stood at ease, pausing long enough to let their eyes grow accustomed to the sudden change of light. Upon regaining their vision, the clanging and clashing of tempered steel resumed.
The three remaining bandits brought their swords down onto Scarecrow with a resounding CHA-CHINK!
Even though he successfully blocked the blow, John was forced to drop to his knee to absorb the brunt of the assault, barely holding his attackers at bay.
Snarling rabidly, the leader pressed down with all of his weight and growled, “It’s the end of the line for you, funny face!”
“But …,” grunted Scarecrow. “We’re … on … an elliptical track.”
“Whatever!” the leader snapped back. The three remaining bandit assassins briefly let up and repositioned themselves. Once again, they encircled Scarecrow. As they closed in on their prey, the splintered, cracked, and dented tips of their swords gleamed like the jagged teeth of a bloodthirsty shark.
As they drew near, Scarecrow raised his lone shimmering sword high above his head. Sensing a final strike was imminent, Scarecrow readjusted his stance to better deflect their final advance.
Giving it all they could muster, the bandit assassins leapt forward and yelled, “Ki-Yahhh!”
Each of their swords pierced Scarecrow, who did little to resist them. The sharp blades of his attackers
passed easily through him and subsequently made their way into the outlaws on either side. Slowly, the realization sunk into their faces that they had all skewered one another. Simultaneously, the villains collapsed.
Scarecrow remained stagnant, his arms resting limply at his sides, as he stood atop the train car of the speeding locomotive. With three samurai swords lodged in his torso, he looked like a ragdoll pricked by the pins of a mad Voodoo priest. As the train chugged along the tracks, Scarecrow’s suit gently flapped in the breeze, giving him a rather stoic appeal.
“Oh my God!” a woman’s voice cried out, horrified by the ugly sight of swords protruding from Scarecrow’s torso.
Scarecrow strained his neck to see a sexy cowgirl climbing up onto the top of the train car with him. It was his idol, Kateland Rameses Beckensale.
“Does it hurt bad?” Beck asked, her voice suddenly taking on a seductively sympathetic tone.
“Actually, it looks worse than it really is,” Scarecrow assured her. He continued on to add, “I can’t really feel physical pain. Emotional pain, however, is a different story.”
Beck bit her lip and continued her act of seduction. “You poor, sensitive thing. Is there anything I can do to help make you feel better?”
“Ah, well, you’re just saying that because you’re a little confused right now,” Scarecrow replied as politely as possible.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what makes you think I’m confused?”
“Mostly the way you dress,” Scarecrow informed. “You’re obviously working for the other team.”
“Maybe you’re right. But every story needs its villain,” she retorted.
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“The villain?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Smart choice. Is there anything else I should know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m part Jewish,” Beck said.
