APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead (10 page)

Her mother lowered her head when she saw Bobby balancing his tray in front of him and walking back to their table.

“One double latte, extra cream, extra sugar with two double fudge cookies and one tea with sugar…” He said, placing the large, two-handled cups in front of them. He ripped a piece of paper from his pad and slid it in front of the mother. Mackenzie shot a sharp look at Bobby.

“You better not have drooled in my cup,
Bob,”
she said then turned her head to look at her mom and cackled, “Did you hear that? I said ‘drool’ because he’s retarded.”

“Merry Christmas,” Bobby stated, his tone disappointed, and with drooping shoulders he walked back to the counter, nearly in tears.

Mackenzie sipped her latte and grimaced. “God, this is disgusting!” she exclaimed and began to wave her arms dramatically, “Hey you!”

“Mackenzie…” her mother whispered when she noticed that everyone seated around them was beginning to stare, even the limping Santa had stopped and was slowly turning.

“No way, mother! Just because he’s an idiot doesn’t excuse bad service!” Mackenzie was livid now and her beady eyes gleamed with malign delight, like a rat’s eyes peering from the shadows. Light glinted and danced perversely in their dull blue depths. “Hey!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Several of the surrounding patrons rose from their seats. Some shook their head in disbelief while others muttered comments and some cast appalled glances at the mother and daughter, but none would say anything to her directly. Malcolm couldn’t believe it, and he stood behind the counter shaking his head which sent his long black dreads whipping from side to side. As her scream hit its crescendo it was met and matched by another scream, but this one was full of real anger and not just a kid trying to be the center of attention. Her mom raised her head again and looked at the red suited St. Nick limping toward them. His red cap was askew and covered one eye. The other eye was glazed with white, but there was no mistake who it was that held his attention. She immediately began to explain and apologize as a matter of routine. She had made plenty of excuses for the inexcusable.

The Santa banged his thigh against the table next to theirs, toppling it on its side with a crash as half empty coffee mugs shattered against the marble tile floor of the court.

“Watch out Special Ed!” the girl spat.

Santa swung his black gloved hand and snatched her by the hair with such force that her mother could hear her daughter’s hair ripping from its roots. As Santa did this, her mother’s eyes widened in horror as she realized that some of the red on the Santa suit had caked on it. It was dried blood that had run over the white fur edge of his coat. Mackenzie clutched at the man’s hands with both of hers, but she was weak and he easily yanked her from her chair with such violence that Mackenzie’s feet kicked out at the table like she was riding an invisible bicycle. Her mother sat in stunned silence and shock as the girl cursed and screamed with tears streaming from her eyes.

Malcolm tried to stop Bobby, but he rushed past him and darted toward the skirmish, flinging a steaming hot cup of coffee in Santa’s face. Even as the beverage scalded Santa’s face the jolly old elf drew the girl closer and closer to his ever-widening mouth and the girl smelled the infection from deep within him and vomited, covering Santa and her two hundred dollar Puma’s with various, partially-digested, unhealthy snacks that propelled her through the day.

With his free hand, Santa backhanded Bobby across the face, sending him skidding across the wet tiles.

“Ralph!” yelled Malcolm as the food court rapidly evacuated in a throng of screams of panic. Malcolm didn’t wait for Ralph as he ran toward the man in the Santa suit and spear-tackled him. There was a sickening hollow thud as Mackenzie’s head hit the floor. Blood poured from a hidden laceration in her scalp and Malcolm slipped repeatedly on Mackenzie’s blood as he tried to scramble to his feet. As he did Malcolm felt Santa grab him by the ankle, tripping him. Ralph arrived and immediately joined the fray holding a chair over his head. He swung the back of the chair forward and down onto Santa’s head. Malcolm regained his footing.

“Get the girl!” Malcolm screamed frantically and Ralph looked at him like he was crazy then reluctantly pulled the unconscious girl’s limp body over to where her mother still sat.

“Here,” he said, slapping the girl’s hand into her mother’s lap and turned back to see Malcolm pounding Santa in the face with both fists. He had never seen Malcolm in such a state and would not have believed he would ever see a sight such as this. Malcolm was one of the strongest guys Ralph had ever played football with, but even though he could hear bones breaking, skin splitting and teeth cracking, there was no blood coming from Santa; even more disturbing than those facts was, the damage did not seem to hurt him. Santa grabbed one of Malcolm’s fists and pulled it toward his mouth. Malcolm tried to pull away and although he pulled the man back with him he could not stop his hand from nearing Santa’s mouth. Ralph looked around, searching frantically for something to use as a weapon. Just then Bobby stumbled forward and slammed his ink pen into the man’s eye. Ralph rushed back in and began kicking Santa Claus in the head, but the man in the ruined red suit still began to climb to his feet, mindless of the brutal assault.

From elsewhere in the mall they heard another chorus of those spine-chillingly tormented wails echoing through the massive structure. “What the hell is going on here?” Ralph shouted frantically. It was the same sound as the one Santa had uttered before attacking the girl.

“We need to get outa here!” yelled Malcolm, and Ralph nodded enthusiastically. Malcolm wrapped an arm around Bobby’s shoulders and began to herd him toward the store so they could go out the back service door.

“My pen, Malcolm…” Bobby said, looking up at his friend appealing to him.

Malcolm shook his head. “We’ll get you a new one.” Bobby was limping heavily and because he was slightly overweight he needed Ralph to help him. Ralph was already on it when he noticed the trouble Malcolm was having. He grabbed Bobby by the belt and threw his arm over his shoulder and they helped their friend to the counter of the store.

There was another scream and the three turned and looked over their shoulders and instantly wished they hadn’t. Santa had made his list and checked it twice. He hadn’t given Mackenzie a lump of coal, but had given her teeth; lots of teeth. Santa shook his head in violent jerks as he bit and bit and bit. Blood sprayed in juddering arcs and splattered in heavy droplets on the tile floor.

“Is he eating her?” Bobby asked fearfully.

“No, Bob… he’s telling her a secret. That’s all,” Malcolm assured him as they ducked behind the counter. He knew by Bobby’s expression that he wasn’t buying it, but it was the only thing he could think of at the time.

There was one more scream that trailed off to a whisper in the empty food court. Mackenzie’s mother sat in her chair, still holding her daughter’s hand. The girls’ arm had been ripped from her shoulder and the amount of blood that poured from the girl had formed a six foot pool around her.

Ralph grabbed a molasses cookie from one of the plates and gave it to Bobby. They were his favorite. “Merry Christmas, buddy,” he said, and silently hoped that maybe the soothing holiday sounds of Mariah Carey would calm the deranged Santa Clause down.

  
Chapter 5- The Rise of Napoleon Bonaparte

Our Lady of
Mercy Hospital

Charleston
, West Virginia 

             
Regeliel woke the next morning to the sounds of shoes tacking across the tile floor and of people screaming. Screaming wasn’t that odd in this strange place but these screams were different; there was more terror in these screams and more rage in others. Regeliel was aware that many of the residents of this hospital were not of the right mind. He looked over to the next bed and saw that Napoleon was already awake and straining against the restraints that held his wrists. The Emperor looked up and ordered Regeliel to do something. Most of what the French dictator said was nothing short of gibberish to the knight, but he got the gist of it.
Get me out of here.

             
The giant rose from his bed and examined the nylon webbed restraints. There would be no ripping them, they were designed to condense as you pulled on them, thus pressing the weave closer together and resulting in only making the restraints even denser.

             
“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for you, M’Lord,” said the knight.  Napoleon became enraged and began cursing in various languages.

             
As the knight faced the Emperor he heard the door open on its pneumatic hinges.

             
“Regeliel!” said a heavily accented voice. It was the doctor, his friend Murashell. Regeliel turned and saw the doctor gesturing for him to come to him, his expression was urgent.

             
“Regeliel, you must come with me!” The doctor noticed the restraints on Regeliel’s wrists and brandished the knight’s two foot long dagger. Murashell cut the straps and helped the giant to his feet.

In the distance, the knight recognized the sounds of slaughter, within the walls of the hospital. “Are you being attacked?”

              “I couldn’t carry your other weapons, you will have to help me,” stressed the doctor.

             
Regeliel decided it was best to follow the doctor and let him explain on the way. The doctor had never acted this way before. He strode to the doctor and he saw Rangwalli’s face visibly relax.

             
“Come, come,” the doctor gestured and bolted back out the door. He led the giant to his office, ushered him in and locked the door behind them.

             
“What is it, my friend?” asked the knight.

             
“I don’t know…I cannot explain it…something terrible,” he said, striding to the stand that held the knight’s implements of war. “You will need these.”

             
The knight felt relief wash over him. It had been too long since he had wielded his steel.

             
“What do you need first?” asked the doctor.

             
“Undergarments,”

             
The doctor ran to a storage closet, retrieved them and pressed the bundle into the knight’s large hands.

             
“While I dress, lay out the pieces of armor. I will need you to help me put them on.”

             
The doctor nodded and immediately went to work.

             
It took the two almost fifteen minutes to finish.

             
The knight slammed his long sword into the scabbard.

             
“Won’t you need that?” asked the doctor nervously

             
“It is too long to wield in such cramped quarters,” he explained, then drawing forth his dagger, which was two feet long.

             
The doctor put his hand on the door knob. “I am afraid that I won’t be much help to you, my friend.”

             
The knight laid a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and the doctor felt the weight as it rested there. “You have done enough. Stay here and hide yourself.”

             
“The patients… please help them.”

             
“I shall do what I can,” said the knight before he exited into the hallway. His first responsibility was to the Emperor. He opened the door to his room and saw that the Emperor was trying to chew through the restraints. Napoleon saw him and prattled at the knight who smiled beneath his steel visor. He strode to his roommate’s bed and wedged the blade of his dagger under the nylon straps and severed them easily.

The Emperor jumped to his feet. “Viva La
France!”

             
The knight nodded, and though he did not understand the words, he believed that he knew the root of the tone. Defiance. It was a fine trait in the correct circumstances. The knight watched as Napoleon reached under his bed and pulled out a long thin piece of metal, the edges of which had been sharpened. One end was honed to a point, the other had been wrapped with white medical tape and Regeliel recognized it immediately. Although poorly crafted from a section of bed railing, and nowhere near as fine a weapon as his, he still smiled approvingly as the one-eyed man swung it before him in crisscrossing arcs. The knight was surprised and elated at the madman’s ingenuity.

             
“En Gard!”

             
The two emerged into the hallway and before Regeliel could stop him Napoleon sprinted away, shouting obscenities. He knew that he had no time to chase the man down; he had promised his friend, the doctor, to help the other patients if it were possible to do so.