Tentacle Death Trip (4 page)

CHAPTER
SIX

Well, I said it
once but I’ll say it again:
Yowzah
!

The young and
beautiful Gabby Peppermint really went bat-shit crazy and now she’s on her way
through the Gears. I’m fairly sure the gear bugs won’t be messing with her
again, don’t
ya
agree?

And Mama Hell,
well, she’s trying to get through
Mouthville
in one
piece after being left in Junko’s dust. I’m eager to see how she does it. Will
the sweet
lil
’ Mama make it or will she crash and
burn?

Let’s find out!

*

I.

“Stupid yellow
slut,” Mama Hell said, watching Junko speed forward, leaving her in the midst
of the teeth tornado.

She didn’t have
anything personal against the other drivers except for that Jap. In fact, that
other driver, that Samson guy, he was cute. If she was ten years younger, Mama
thought she’d make a move on him.

Maybe
not.

Men were dogs,
plain and simple. They couldn’t be trusted. Sure, they could provide a home,
put food on the table, and do small home repairs but when it came down to it,
they were good for little else. They sure didn’t satisfy any emotional needs
and rarely did any men satisfy her sexual needs. If you found one man who could
fuck well, he’d only keep it up until he was bored with you or got too old to
put forth the energy.

Yep, men weren’t
worth the trouble.

But that was okay
with Mama Hell. She had been content to race. In her spare time she liked to
help out the young people she encountered on her travels through the
Wastelands. She usually just assisted the young women she found. The young men
could fend for themselves. Back when her husband
Nate
was alive they had helped dozens of young women move to safe havens.

Mama Hell felt
like she deserved something for herself, something that at least resembled
retirement in the post-war era. Living in that city with Mr. Silver seemed like
something she could deal with as long as Silver kept his distance.

She stepped on the
gas, turned the wheel, and skidded out of the tornado, navigating the van
around the grotesque tree branches that were scattered along the road. She
realized they weren’t branches but the bones of some nuclear wildlife.

As soon as she was
close enough, Mama Hell pulled out another flare gun and shot it at Junko who
sped off even faster, getting out of the line of fire.

“Yellow
freak!”
Mama Hell said. She thought about how Junko was a man dressed as
a woman. She considered herself a pretty tolerant and loving person but
transvestites, homosexuals, and other sexual deviants were beyond her range of
tolerance. They were sick abominations, blasphemous examples of what happens
when society abandons God.

After the war,
Mama had thought the devastation might bring about change she could believe in.
She hoped the riffraff, the outsiders, and the foreigners would die out,
leaving the country to those who deserved it. She knew her ancestors came from Europe
and weren’t exactly native to the country but the Indians were as close to
savages as you could get. They were worse than the
Japs
.
They were Satan’s spawn!

But things didn’t
turn out like she had wanted. The Wastelands were practically overrun with
non-whites and she had a difficult time finding a good place to stay that
didn’t have some percentage of blacks, Latinos, Indians, or some other variety
of undesirables. Mama Hell hated how they roamed the land looking for handouts
or robbing people…just like they did before the war. Whenever she got the
chance, Mama ran some of them over or, if she felt creative, sent a flare at
their heads to set those deadbeats on fire. She figured they needed to get used
to fire being they’d be spending an eternity in it.

“Jap
bastard.”

Mama Hell was on
Junko’s tail. His little fag car was coughing exhaust in her face until there
was a dust cloud in between them. “Son of a bitch,” she said. It must have been
intentional. That little Honda shouldn’t be spitting out so much smoke.

Mama Hell couldn’t
see anything in front of her so she slowed down and crept up to Junko’s right,
only to have the bastard skid across to the side. The minivan hit a clump of
road kill and almost went off the road. Mama got control and swung over to the other
side of Junko, squeezing by fast enough to prevent him from blocking her. His
little Honda tried to push her over but the minivan held its ground, refusing
to budge.

Mama Hell opened
up a compartment on her dashboard and pulled on a handle. A metal bar extended
from the side of her car and attached to the bar was a giant buzz saw. As soon
as she pressed a button on the handle, the blade started to rotate.

She laughed.
“Let’s cut up a homo.”

The bar extended
far enough that it was almost touching Junko’s car. The blade spun and as soon
as Mama swung the minivan over to the left, it started cutting into the side of
the Honda.

She wanted to bore
that saw deep within that pansy car and cut that freak in half. Mama smiled at
the thought of seeing blood and entrails spilling out from that ugly dress
Junko wore. Then Mama would teach him another lesson with her steel-toed boots.
Stomp, stomp, stomp. She’d crush his fruity little head like a melon.

The Honda tried to
pull away but the buzz saw was embedded in the passenger side door. Mama’s
minivan wasn’t going to let go that easily. Junko sped up and veered right,
pulling the saw hard, bending the metal bar.

“Fucker,” Mama
Hell said, getting closer to Junko so her weapon wouldn’t break. The saw was
still boring into the Honda and finally made it inside. If she could stay close
to him, she could cut that Jap in half.

But Junko had
other plans. He braked and made an abrupt left turn, breaking the metal bar off
the minivan.

Mama Hell lost
control for a few seconds, missing a huge chunk of glowing road kill by inches.
“Shit!” she yelled, mourning the loss of her buzz saw. In her rearview mirror,
she saw Junko spin like a top, sparks and small metal shards flying through the
air. She was tempted to go back and gut that stupid piece of shit right there
in
Mouthville
but she knew that was too much of a
risk. Who knows if that teeth tornado was coming back? It would be better just
to move on.

II.

One Year Ago

Mama and her
husband
Nate
drove through the North
Dakota wasteland, having an animated discussion about the merits
of drinking one’s own urine.

“I just think it’s
gross,
Nate
,” Mama said.

“Soon it’ll be the
only way to survive, hon. You drink what water you can and then let it go
through you system and then you drink it again. I know it sounds unappetizing
but sooner or later, you’ll have to do it.”

His wife shook her
head.
“No way, not me.”

Nate
laughed. “We’ll see.” He slowed down the minivan.
“Hey, look.”

On the side of the
road a young, topless woman was walking. Her hair was bright pink and she
carried a bag full of bottle caps.

“Let’s pull over,”
Nate
said.

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you
liked helping these girls out.”

“She looks like a
road whore to me. I don’t trust the looks of her.”

“What would Jesus
do,
hon
?”

Mama grunted. “I
don’t think he’d do what
you
have in mind!”

 
“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”
Nate
pulled over.

“You know exactly
what it means.”

Nate
turned the car off. “I’m just saying we’ve helped
plenty of young women and it seems like simply because this one is half naked
and slightly,
slightly
more attractive than those dirt bags we usually
pick up, you’re jealous.”

“Oh, go drink some
piss,
Nate
,” Mama said, crossing her arms and waiting
for her husband to make his move. If he’d known what was best for him, he’d
have kept on driving.

Nate
called her bluff and walked out of the car. Mama
watched through the windshield as her husband approached the young woman
carefully and started a conversation. From the looks of it, he was doing his best
to play the role of savior. Mama could just imagine the type of lies he was
telling her, how he was a pastor (he hadn’t been one in nine years) or how he
had set up a homeless shelter before the war (he’d gotten as far as filling out
the tax paperwork). That stupid girl probably believed it all.

After a few
minutes the girl followed
Nate
back to the car. She
smiled when she saw Mama. As she got into the backseat she said, “Hi, I’m Jane
Mary.”

“Well, well, how
do you do, Jane Mary? I’m Sonia but people call me Mama.”

The women shook
hands as
Nate
got into the driver’s seat with a goofy
smile on his face.

“What are you
smiling for,
Nate
?” Mama said.

He shrugged.
“Oh, nothing.”

Mama grunted. She
could smell Jane Mary already. The road whore smelt like week-old sex stains
and asphalt. It was only a matter of time until she made a move on
Nate
.

The three of them
drove for several miles before they pulled over to the side of the road at a
makeshift gas station. Post-war entrepreneurs sold synthetic gasoline that
worked like shit but was enough to keep the car running. Rumors said the stuff
was made from the blood of nuke mutants or
Yuggs
.

Nate
said, “Hey Mama, want to stay here while I check out
what they’re selling? I think it’d be good if we stocked up.”

“I’ll stay here,”
Mama said, catching a quick glimpse at Jane Mary who was sleeping in the
backseat. “Get me some juice if they have it.”

“Sure thing,
hon
,”
Nate
said. He walked
towards the shed to where a midget in homemade armor was holding a bag of corn.
The armor was made out of cereal boxes and hubcaps sprayed painted yellow. The
two men exchanged words and then the little knight led
Nate
around the corner of the shed.

Mama heard a yawn
from the back. Jane Mary stretched. “God, how long was I sleeping? Shit, I’m
still beat.”

“I don’t know.
An hour maybe.”

“And I
gotta
piss like hell,” she said, getting out of the
minivan. “Need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,”
Mama said. She watched Jane Mary walk to the shed and look around. The girl
inspected a few items: a turtle shell, a ceramic pot, a soiled magazine, yellow
paperback books, purple jars. Then she walked around to the back of the shed.

A few minutes
passed when Mama got suspicious. Ever since picking that road whore up she knew
something bad was going to happen. Her father would have called it “Godly
intuition” on account that it was instincts given by the Lord to his flock. He
didn’t want to tell them straight out what would happen. He’d just give clues,
hints, and shadows of what was going to transpire. It was the least he could do
being the Lord of all things. Why be blunt and reveal his omniscience?

Mama got out of
the car and walked over to the shed. She rummaged through some of the things
for sale. “I’ll take this,” she said to the ancient woman sitting on a chair
made of Pepsi cans.

She walked around
the shed and walked straight into Hell.

Jane Mary was bent
over a rusted keg. She was nude, exposing an elaborate red tattoo that covered
her entire back. The armored midget was on a stepstool and thrusting his
discolored penis into her mouth.
Nate
was on the
other side, banging away at Jane Mary’s backside. He grunted like an excited
pig in slop.

Mama stared at the
pornographic atrocity. Though she had expected something unsavory, she didn’t
think it was going to be so grotesque. The midget was banging his fists on the
back of Jane Mary’s head and the girl seemed to be enjoying it.
Nate
looked like he was in a trance, his eyes rolling up in
his head as he got his penis wet in that road whore.

“What the hell?”
Mama said. “Hell…….HELL!”

If she had to
envision torment everlasting, this would be it: gross betrayal by a loved one.

Nate
didn’t seem to hear her but the midget stopped moving
and smiled. “You want in?”

That’s when Mama rushed
at them with the turtle shell. First she started to cut
Nate’s
face and neck. But he kept thrusting. It was as if he knew he was going to die
but wanted to get one last orgasm before he did. Mama wasn’t going to give him
the satisfaction. She sent the turtle shell down to his crotch, severing it
inside Jane Mary’s vagina.

Nate
fell backwards, his groin spouting blood.

The midget laughed
and pounded at Jane Mary’s head who was now screaming through a mouthful of
penis. Mama pushed her off the keg and fell on the midget. She stabbed at the
little bastard’s face, the sharpened turtle shell giving him a crude facelift.

Finally she turned
to Jane Mary.

The girl was
trembling on the ground, one hand in her crotch trying to get the dead penis
out of herself. Mama saw that the girl had tattoos on her chest as well as her
back. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were but it looked like a collage
of screaming human faces, feet, octopi, a shovel, insects, and a cappuccino
maker.

“You little
whore,” Mama said.

Jane Mary’s fear
turned into defiance. Her tattoos started to move. “You fat bitch.”