The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole! (1) (20 page)

“Come on, dead guys,”
 
he tells General O’Coddle and his troops, “Let’s go find more shit.”
 

He leads his half-rotten caravan through the desert toward Reno. Above them, demons fly in wide circles, shrieking, screaming, and looking to raise Hell.

“No Antichrist and no Christ!”
 
Pestilence yells at the circling horde above. They shriek and whoop, all flying in different directions.

Pestilence smiles his rotten smile and nods off as he and his zombies trudge slowly through the sand.
No one to stop him.
Or War. Or Death. Or Satan.
Time to party.
But still, deep in his warped junkie’s mind he wonders, “How fucked can one Apocalypse get?”

The Ladies Hate the Cock

Back in the truck.
Loaded and ready for war.
Guns sprout out of every window and door like the big rig is a giant moving porcupine. The graveyard they leave behind looks like an army rolled over it. Corpses everywhere like a lost battlefield. Nothing moves when they move on.

Nothing.

They shoot every godforsaken thing they see on their way down the winding hillside, and there are some very fucking godforsaken things out there. It started to get dark a half hour ago, and then the moon made an appearance. A moon that was drenched in blood. The air took on a sultry feel, like they stepped into a sauna that smelled of piss. The reek is everywhere, and even the open windows blowing air in at over seventy miles per hour can’t suck the smell out.

Conversation is impossible. They tried to yell back and forth, but it was just irritating, and Darla told them to shut the fuck up. Music blares through the cab. It’s almost as loud as the wind, and it does help to cheer everyone up. Missus ManHole is one of the angriest femme bands on the planet, and they play them constantly. The current hit,
I Smacked up a Tranny Bitch
is rooting around in their brains, making them think happy thoughts.

Another hour goes by, and the sky is lit by fire as more red streaks flare across it.
Dark at first, then bright red, now orange as the things rip at the atmosphere.
Concussions rock the truck, and every once in a while Edwina wonders if they are in another earthquake.

“How much longer?” Marcel shouts.

Edwina has the map plastered to her legs, and she is pretty sure they are on the right road. The Sons of Satan’s Redeeming Cock are about to get a wakeup call. Apocalypse or not, there is going to be blood spilled. Screw the end of the world. No one breaks into their camp and tries to kill them like some kind of bad slasher flick. Leave that shit for the big screen.

“Soon. If we’re on the road I think we’re on, then you are going to
take a left in about five minutes.”

“I’m on the lookout for it.” Darla hits a button, and lights on top of the big rig illuminate the night like it is midday.

“How are we on gas?”

“Fine. As long as we keep it steady. We won’t be able to run the engines when we rest, but I’m sure we can all cuddle up in the back.”

Edwina smiles and leans over to p
ats Darla on the leg.
When she pulls her hand back, Marcel slips a leg toward the console, and she ends up brushing the tall woman’s thigh. Edwina looks at her, an apology on her face, but Marcel smiles at her. Eyes teasing. She leans back in her seat and swallows, thankful for the noise in the cabin, which covers her nervous actions.

“So what’s the plan?” Darla looks in the rearview mirror.
Eyes on Marcel, who is cleaning her automatic.
Edwina glances back. Marcel has the gun stripped and is checking the barrel. She peers down it, and when she seems satisfied, she snaps it back onto the stock of the gun.

“Shoot first.”

“Because that worked out so well with the angel.”

“It did. Didn’t it?” Marcel smiles a tight little grin that makes Edwina want to punch her in the face.

“No it did not! I can’t believe you shot before it could even say a word.”

“You know how I know it’s not an angel, Ed?
Because I was able to shoot it.
I don’t know if you are up on the Bible, but angels are these nasty things that show up when there is trouble. Big trouble. They kill firstborn by the boatload. Forget all that angelic shit. You see these guys and you run. It’s that simple. Don’t ask questions; don’t ask for help or directions to an orgy. You turn the fuck around and run!”

“You don’t know.”

“Marcel. Edwina’s right. We should have asked questions at the very least,” Darla interjects.

Edwina frowns at the memory of the beautiful bird that came to visit them.
The woman with th
e wide white wings who fell to E
arth.
Darla, who was raised a devout Christian for the first fifteen years of her life, knew it was an angel. She had seen hundreds of pictures; there was no mistaking them.
None at all.

Christianity hadn’t really worked out for Edwina. Too often she found herself looking for ways to skirt the rules.
To bend one or two in her pursuit of feelings.
She also had a problem with the whole waiting until marriage crap. She got laid at seventeen and then again the next day. Marcus Walker had been crap in and out of bed, so she dumped him for a big dumb guy who did what she asked. Did it the way she liked, and if he was good she would reward him with something special like a nice long
visit inside her.

She had always been extreme, never really exploring the softer side of her femininity. When she drank at eighteen, she drank a lot. She drank until she couldn’t see straight, and she did it fast. She and her friends would sneak tequila and wine whenever they could. She would hold her nose and drink from the bottle of hard liquor until she thought she was going to gag. The others laughed, but she got buzzed faster than those crows.

She sighs and looks out the windshield and regrets it as a pair of bugs smash into the glass. Big bastards, each wing the size of a whole butterfly. They have bulbous nasty bodies that look like little fuzzy black pigs. One of the mushed creatures sticks on the windshield, glued there by its own bloody goo. Above the thorax, they can all see, quite clearly, the face of a bearded man whose obvious pain gives way to obvious death.

“Oh my fucking God!” Darla gasps.

The women roll up the windows as fast as they can, but a few more of the things fly in.

“Shit! I can’t see!” Darla applies the brakes, and the rig slows. A cloud of bugs sweeps by and nearly covers the rig in black.

Marcel screams and bats at the little pig-men-bugs. They flitter in front of the ladies and make obscene gestures with tiny fingers. They stroke themselves with wicked little grins on their wicked little faces. But the only fluid release occurs when Marcel slaps them against the windows or dash. Then they explode in a spray of red and white.

“Gross!” Edwina cries but smashes one more just the same. She looks all over, finds a wadded-up clump of old towels on the floor, and uses it to wipe up the bug guts. She vaguely remembers that she and Darla may have used the towels a few days ago when they stole a little alone time in the truck cabin. Edwina tends to squirt all over the damn place. Something she was NOT aware of before meeting her lover.

Darla fucking loves it.

Darla swats at a pair of bugs with one hand while the other remains glued to the wheel as the truck slows to a stop. She is a pro; she would drive through a hurricane just to spite the damn thing.

“I got ‘em!” and Marcel does. She has a wicked knife in one hand, and when the pair flash
es
by, the blade lashes out in short, sharp, lightning-fast strokes that slice the things in half.

“Gross! You got dick chunks all over my cab!” Darla says, her eyes livid. Now that she says it, Edwina realizes the pig boys do have a certain phallic quality.

“We need to find somewhere to hole up for the night.” Marcel says.

“That is the best damn idea I have heard all day.” Edwina smiles as she smacks another little cock man against the dash.

The women pull off the road and find an old hotel back in the woods. It is abandoned, and some of the rooms are flooded with water. But they find a pair right next to each other that are in pretty good shape. The carpet is shag, gross, and probably crawling with stuff. They drag in cots and spend some time airing the place out. The little dick men are long gone, but they lock up the rooms as soon as they can.

Darla and Edwina wander down to the office. Darla plants her boot right in the center of the door, and it bursts open. She steps through, a hand cannon gripped tight. Edwina follows with her assault rifle slung low. No sense in getting excited and blasting the room if something or someone pops out. She is amped up, ready to deal lead, but the room is completely deserted.

The counter, couch, chairs and small card table are covered in dust and debris. Old newspapers are stacked everywhere. They check the date of the Daily Gab. Five years out of date.

Edwina half expects to see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the counter or in the back room. Why would someone leave this place, just lock up and call it a day? If she had more of a domestic bent, she might like to run a hotel.

“What the hell?” Darla shakes her head.

“What?”

“For a minute I thought it said The Daily Cunt.”

“That’s funny. Maybe later I can show you the real daily cunt.”

Darla smiles and pecks her cheek with a sweet little kiss. Edwina feels a familiar thrill race through her abdomen at the prospect of jumping into bed with her lover. They grin at each other like a pair of loons and then get back to business.

The back room is almost as bare. There is a television, but it is just as dead as the rest of the place. The cover hangs off the circuit breaker. Neither one thought to bring a flashlight, but a little reddish moonlight shines through the windows.

“Spooky in here. Like a slasher movie.” Edwina says.

“Booga booga!” Darla laughs.

“If I were a killer, I would wait until we were flipping the switches and then jump out.”

“Eek!” Edwina squeals. She grabs Darla and hugs her close. Then kisses her for real. They stand together in the dark for a while before breaking apart and going to try the switches.

“You were great out there. I loved how you had that shotgun and
went to town on those stupid zombie things.” Edwina flips a few switches, but nothing happens. She feels around the box until she finds a larger one.

“What the hell was that all about? I still can’t believe those things came out of the ground.”

“I think the news is right. It’s the end of the world.” Edwina can’t help but think about the angel Marcel shot. What was she thinking? That winged creature may have had answers. She flips the big switch, and the breakers snap. Then a humming starts in the background.

“Shit!”

“Shit yeah!”

She pops breakers so fast it sounds like popcorn. The lights come on in the room and in the lobby. The vibration of a large fan shakes the place. She glances around the tiny room and squeals. From a chair in the corner of the room, a figure is watching them.