The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole! (1) (32 page)

“No, Control,”
 
Agent Gallstone pouts, “only the special secret agents can drive the Humscalade and pack nukes.”

“That’s fucked-up, Freddy,”
 
Gary snaps. “Just report back when you’ve secured the fucking thing.”

Agent Lickspittle pulls a locksmith kit from his pocket and leans over to work on the lock to the warehouse door. Agent M beats him to it, kicking in the door with one smooth, forceful motion. The three agents dive into the warehouse and surround the shiny black Humscalade. After a quick look around the big room, the agents deem it secure and empty save for the vehicle and a steel briefcase next to it.

“Building secure, Control,”
 
Agent Gallstone reports.

“Whatever,”
 
Control replies.

“Humscalade secured, Control,”
 
Agent Gallstone says a little more firmly.

“Whatever,”
 
Control responds with no less apathy.

Agent Lickspittle opens the door of the Humscalade and grabs a handwritten note off the driver’s seat.

Dear Secret Agents,

This is the Humscalade, the most advanced and comfortable weapon ever known to mankind. Satan has risen in the desert outside of Las Vegas, and the Humscalade could be the only way to stop the Dark Lord.
Remember your training and handle this mission with extreme care. Body counts, civilian or otherwise, are completely irrelevant in this mission. Kill them all and let God sort them out!
 

Beware,
there is a rumored nuclear weapon in the area that may be under terrorist control. If so, steal the nuke back and use it if needed.

God Bless,

Secretary of Secret Agents,

William Bluntbone

“I have our next orders, agents. Let’s go,”
 
Lickspittle says to Agents M and Gallstone. He turns his attention to the briefcase and notices another note taped to it.

Dear Kamal,

Here is the thermonuclear weapon as we agreed upon. Please remember our deal. Only nuke poor families and counties. No big places. 911
was
way too showy. We don’t want another cluster fuck like that, now do we?

Mohammad loves you,

Secretary of Terrorist Relations and Employment,

William Bluntbone

“Son of a bitch,”
 
Lickspittle growls before picking up the nuke case and putting it in the back seat next to Agent M.

“Control, we are ready for the next step of the mission,”
 
Agent Gallstone tells his cuff as he buckles his seat belt. “Destination Las Vegas.”

After a moment of silence, he asks, “Control, do you copy?”

“Yeah,”
 
Gary says in a faraway voice, “but there is some kind of box out here. It has lips and stars painted on it. A poster for a newspaper called The Daily Cunt on one side. It’s humming at me. I’m going to investigate.”

“No! Stay put, Control, await backup,”
 
Agent Gallstone yells into his sleeve.

“Oh, calm down, Fred,”
 
Gary says, and they hear his door creak open. “It wants to suck my dick. I don’t know how I know, but I know it does. It is calling my prick. I’m gonna do it!”

Agent Gallstone hears Gary’s zipper and then obscene sucking sounds followed immediately by deep gravelly Gary moans.

“Control, you better not have you your dick in some strange box!”
 

“Oh, I do, Freddy, and it sucks so good,”
 
Gary moans over the radio. “I don’t need you anymore, Fred, you or the fucking Humscalade!”
 

He moans a few times more, but the then he screams so loud that both
Agent Gallstone and Agent Lickspittle pull out their earpieces to avoid the terrible sound of Gary’s bone-cracking death.

Tears fill Agent Gallstone’s eyes as he stares at the floor. Agent Lickspittle looks at him and then at Agent M, who is checking his guns even though he didn’t fire a single shot. He nods at his crew; he knows they are the best. And now with the best weapon the United States government can offer, they are set to save the world. Like secret agents are supposed to do.

“All right, agents,”
 
he says as he climbs into the seat and starts the vehicle. “Las Vegas, here we come!”

Without missing a beat, Agent M growls, “And then dare you go!”
 

Piss Off, No One’s Home!

The women are stopped at the entrance to the Sons of Satan’s Redeeming Cock camp. It’s the middle of the day and the place is quiet. Way too quiet.
‘Everyone is already fucking dead’ quiet.
The big metal gate hangs open, and the dirt road is scarred with multiple tracks leading out of the camp.

The first team goes in hot. They are geared for war with Kevlar vests and black hoods. They wear tiny antennas taped to their throats so they can sub-vocalize when they have to.
Bleeding-edge tech, only the best for Marcel’s team of badasses.
And hot asses, as she likes to call them when they are sliding into their suits.

They move with military precision, poking into tents and ramshackle building. Guns out. Loaded, safeties off. Laser targets flitter across the ground ahead of them, but all they paint is dust. Hand signals flash. They move and stop as one. They would make a team of Delta Force operatives stand up and take notice.

The camp is set back a good hundred yards from the main road. There are multiple sentry stations along the way, but none has a guard. Maggie makes sure of that. She lies on top of the semi and scopes every position she can see. The trees are cut back the farther they get from the main drag. Marcel observes that the men are idiots for leaving so much space exposed.

A pair of jets flies overhead, roaring at the sky like angry birds. One of them has something on its tail. Something big that’s moving around. The plane fishtails and takes a dive for the ground. The other speeds away, but something huge and fast pursues it.

Screams from far away sweep over the camp. Like a concert. As if a thousand people are shrieking at the top of their lungs. Marcel pauses, fist in the air. The four slim shapes in black behind her stop and drop low. They look in every direction as they seek the source of the sound.

“What was that?”

“The end of the world. Now shut up, Liz,” Marcel says in a low voice that crackles off when she stops talking.

They creep forward and around a bend without another word. Edwina has an AK-47 at her side. Her favorite of the assault rifles in their collection. Darla is behind her with a shotgun and a pair of old Lugers. She saw them in the arsenal and decided they looked “pretty choice for killing assholes.”

They pause at the first tent and go low. They hover in this position for a full minute, legs straining under the weight of their gear. Marcel herself carries enough fragmentation grenades to take out a small country. They are strapped into belts that crisscross her body. The pins are covered in cloth and don’t make a sound when she walks. The primers on the right side are secured to the belt, so all she has to do is rip off a grenade and throw.

A shape, a flash of red.
The figure pounds across the ground, great hooting breaths puffing out as it runs. Then it is obscured by trees. Marcel has both hands on her chest, each gripping a frag grenade.

Darla moves around Edwina. She has the shotgun at her shoulder, stock pressed close. The big Remington will splatter anything that comes close and put a hole the size of tomorrow into anything she shoots before it gets a chance to come near.

The shape flashes again. Marcel lets go of one of the grenades and pushes her hand to her earpiece, but she doesn’t need it to hear the next sound.

Screams from her squad up ahead, then the sound of automatic gunfire. They are already on the run. Edwina holds her gun up, but she can lower it with a snap and shoot in a half breath. She is a dead aim, too.

The houses are pretty close on both sides, but the women rely on Sue and her sniper rifle to protect them from that angle. Still, they train their guns on the doors as they run. The road is wet as though from a recent rain. They slog through the stuff at a good clip. Edwina glances down and notices her shoes are bright red. Not the red of clay or dirt, but the color of blood.

She doesn’t have time to shout at her friends. They break into an opening, a field that was probably green at one time. The squad is scattered along the edge of the street. Two are down, lying at weird angles. From the red hair poking out of her black cap, it looks like Rhia is one of the victims. Her head faces one way and both arms the other. One leg wraps around her back and loops behind her neck.

“Mother fucker!” Marcel screams at the sight.

A huge thing crashes out of the woods and heads straight for them. It is the size of a minivan, but it has a head and five legs. Each leg moves around in a full circle to propel it. There don’t seem to be any joints, so the
appendages flap free. It’s like a giant puppy learning to walk.

But a puppy never looked like this. The head is almost as big as the body and opens into a gaping mouth filled with black teeth. It slobbers as it howls. There is a chunk of something hanging from the corner of its mouth. Edwina realizes it is an arm.

Darla doesn’t waste any time. She opens up with the shotgun even though the thing is still out of effective range. Marcel tosses a grenade, but it falls short and thumps against the ground, tossing chunks of earth all over the place. The smells of cordite, gunpowder, dirt and blood fill the air.

Edwina’s mouth hangs open for a half second before her training kicks in and she shoots the monster square in the eye. This only serves to piss the thing off. It raises its giant head in the air and howls, a horrendous cacophony that sounds like the end of the world, which is just ironic enough to make Edwina grin. Then she empties the clip into the creature.

“Suppressing fire! Get Echo squad in here, double time! I want a full fire team on the street in five seconds or we are all dead. And bring some goddamn RPGs!” Marcel screams into the microphone. She rips two grenades free and tosses them one after the other, big overhand throws that land the explosives right in the creature’s path. They tear the earth to shreds and give the thing pause as tiny flakes of metal dig furrows along the demon’s mottled skin.

Darla fires as she dashes to the side, her two handguns popping as she empties clips at the monster’s head. Edwina follows, firing as she runs. They reach the side of one of the buildings and press their bodies against it.

Some of the bullets must be penetrating the hideous creature, but they don’t seem to be doing any serious damage. A rippling sound passes over them, and Edwina knows that Maggie has opened up with her sniper rifle. There is a wet splat of flesh, and a hole appears right in the center of the thing’s head. It whips around and tries to rub its forehead on the ground as though to crush an irksome insect. Another blast, and green crap gushes from a neck wound.

Under the bursts of gunfire and the howling of the demon comes the thrum of insects buzzing in the air as a flight of Cockbugs descends in a swarm. They are on the thing and lapping at the leaking fluid in a flash. Edwina feels like slapping herself. None of this can be real.

A hiss and streak and then a stream of smoke as something whizzes past their vantage point. Edwina follows the smoke back to a squad of girls kneeling in the street. Two of them have rocket-propelled grenades and are making good use of them.

The first explosive hits the monster in the side and pushes it back a few yards. The second one knocks it off its feet. Edwina takes the
opportunity to slap a fresh clip into the assault rifle, move into the street and empty it.
Bullets lace across red flesh, leaving a lattice of holes.

The thing howls and tries to right itself, but Darla walks forward, shotgun lowered as she pumps shell after shell into it. Marcel follows, her big handgun at the ready. As the immense red head thrashes and shifts, she puts massive slugs of lead into the target.