Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

It doesn’t seem interested in stopping, and Marcel doesn’t seem interested in moving out of the way. She reaches for the holster at her side and draws an enormous handgun. She raises it in the air and fires one warning shot. The noise is a boom that echoes up the hillside, rolls away like thunder. The figure stops before her, but Marcel doesn’t budge.

Edwina shoots a look over her shoulder and is reassured as every gun in the arsenal is lowered at the man. Maggie lies flat, but the big barrel hangs over the side of the semi and at this range, there is no way she can miss.

The horse puffs and snorts, and black horse-slobbery shit falls in a puddle. The figure drops its cowl, and reveals not the skeletal face with fangs and blood dripping from its eyes that Edwina expected, but the visage of an older man. He has a large bald head and glasses, and when he attempts to smile only one side of his face quirks up.

“I am War,” the man rasps. He extends one hand and gestures behind him. An army of dead is clawing its way free of the grass and dirt. The corpses moan and howl as their heads turn to find their leader.

“I am Marcel.”

“Stand aside, woman, I bring death and destruction. You shall not hinder me.” His voice vibrates inside Edwina’s brain as though someone were drilling inside her skull. Each time he speaks, she wants to bite her tongue in half to stop the pain.

“Fuck you. You fucking pig.” Marcel lowers the Magnum and holds it in one steady hand.

“You have no idea of the power I possess. If I so desire, I will lower my hand and the army behind me will eat the souls of those who stand behind you. I will take your head and use it to piss in. I will…” He cuts off with a surprised look as a hole appears in his forehead.

Marcel has heard enough. The thunderous boom of her gun rings across the field again. The man whips back out of the saddle and falls to the ground in a pile of tattered black cloth. Then he turns to dust before their eyes. His robe puffs into ash and is swept along by the wind. The horse screams, and little jets of fire snort from its nose… and it falls over. Its flesh takes on a stony appearance and crumbles when it strikes the ground.

“Holy shit!” Edwina exclaims.

“Holy fucking shit!” Darla outdoes her.

The girls holler their approval as Marcel turns and gives a bow. She strides back to the truck.

“Darla, wanna get out of here or do you want to do some target practice?”

“I feel like shooting stuff,” she calls back, her eyes on the slowly advancing army.

“Right. Well those fuckers look kinda like zombies to me. Like the stupid movies. So I say we shoot them all in the head. Seemed to do well enough by the big guy on the horse.”

More calls erupt from the ladies, and one even fires, dropping a corpse with a shot to the brainpan. Dirt and bone fly in every direction as its head explodes. Grinning, Marcel holsters her handgun, brings up the rifle and starts shooting at a steady pace. Fire, one drops. Fire, another head explodes.

Edwina pulls her own rifle off her back and takes a few steps toward the rotting army. The foul things move like they are walking through mud. She takes aim at a man dressed in the tatters of an old red flannel shirt. Big beer gut hangs in front as he waddles along with the others.

She fires and blows off one of his arms. It spins him around, but his only reaction is to pause as though remembering something he’d forgotten, then slowly turn to face her again. Maggots swarm around his nose and eyes, and big worms drop out of his mouth along with dirt and clumps of shit she doesn’t even want to think about identifying.

The next shot blows half his head to the side, and he falls forward with a thump.

The ladies open up. Guns chatter all along the hasty firing line, and wherever they aim, bodies fall and crumble. Edwina tugs her own handgun out and walks up to the edge of the desolated land and opens up. She aims, steadies, takes a breath and drops one. Then another. She empties the clip and at least five or six of the things fall.

The ground crackles and rolls around them. The women laugh at the slow, awkward ghouls shambling toward them. There are hundreds, maybe a thousand, but they move so sluggishly that they can be picked off with ease.

“How come it isn’t this easy in the movies?” Edwina glances at Darla, who has a big fucking shotgun in the crook of her arm and is shooting the things in the head if they get too close.

“Hell if I know. These fuckers are easy to kill. Easy peasy.” BLAM! One of them falls over. He might have worn a business suit at one time, but now the damn thing is covered in rot, and one of his sleeves hangs loose from a missing arm.

“Found it!” one of the Asian twins calls out. She struts out of the side of the truck with a bandolier slung around her chest, its giant explosive green eggs nestled between her boobs. She pulls out a grenade, yanks the pin out, then takes two big steps and lobs it right into a group of four deadies.

The explosion isn’t as loud as Edwina anticipates. It shakes the ground, sure. And puffs of smoke pour around the blast, check. Of course body parts fly. One of the dead things, a little girl of about twelve, is tossed into the air and cartwheels over and over until she smashes into two grown-up corpses.

“And the dead shall walk the earth.”

“Not that one.” Marcel mutters and then opens up with her sweet-ass machine gun again. Edwina has wanted to test fire it forever but hasn’t found the guts to ask. Marcel spits out two shots per corpse. Gets each one right in the head, for the most part. If they are lurching too much, it becomes more of a challenge. Sometimes they get it in the neck or the chest. But they get it.

The ground is covered in the things. A few retain enough brain matter to crawl around, but the girls put them out of their misery. The women hoot and catcall as they challenge each other. So far Tonia seems to be in the lead; she has an AK-47, and that fucker never jams. She is on her fourth clip and it’s still rattling away like an old Maytag.

When none of the bodies moves anymore, the women pack it in. Darla walks around her baby, checking the tires, the sides, the grill. She looks over her shoulder a few times, but none of the zombies comes after her.

A shape flits across the sky, and Edwina stops in her tracks to stare up at it. The thing glides through a series of graceful acrobatic maneuvers. She wonders if it is some kind of giant hawk or eagle on the hunt.

It drops, weaves as it falls and settles into a long circular pattern as it draws closer and closer to the ground. Edwina stares for so long her neck aches when she looks back toward the ground.

“What the fuck?” Marcel asks the question that has to be on everyone’s mind. It is certainly banging around in Edwina’s. A lot of shit is banging around up there. Like the zombies and the guy on the weird horse. None of it can be real. It’s as if she’s on drugs, but if someone drugged her, she wonders who in the hell she just shot.

The thing loops here and there, and as it falls ever closer, Edwina realizes just how large it is. It’s far too big to be a bird. In fact, it almost looks like someone wearing a big pair of bird wings.

The shape darts toward the earth and hovers above them. A soft glow emanates from the shape as it descends, feet pointed down, arms at its sides. Edwina gasps at its beauty and wonders if it is God come to take them away.

It drops ever so slowly, and Edwina can make out more details. A woman’s face, beautiful beyond measure. She has blond hair that sweeps from her brow to fall in soft waves across her back. She is dressed in a skintight suit of some white material that shimmers as it catches the morning sun. A gold circlet is around her waist and another around her head.