Four black SUVs came barreling down the road with their high beams on. Then, four more followed behind them. I thought that would be the end, but nope — that would’ve been too fuckin’ easy, right? Sixteen goddamn cars came down that road, packed full of people.
Fuck.
“Shit,” said Mee Maw, looking through the window over her reading glasses. “Lotta people just to round up some softies in the suburbs.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I said. They weren’t sending a whole fucking battalion to wrangle up Mee Maw, that was for damn sure.
The cars parked in a line in front of the house. A head poked out of the front most SUV.
“Mickey! Come on out! Ain’t you waitin’ for us?” he said. He was totally bald — smooth head, smooth chin, no eyebrows — with thorny black vines crawling up his neck and etched into his skull. His eyes looked black, like rat’s eyes, illuminated only by street lamps and headlights. Each tooth jutted in a different direction in his massive mouth, and even from inside the house I could see split flying when he spoke.
“Come on, Mickey! Are you scared? Get out here and fucking atone!” the thorned man spat. The cars behind him all rolled their windows down and caused a ruckus — hooting, hollering, and smacking the sides of the cars like bass drums. I grinned my teeth together.
“Mee Maw, do you have any booze in this house?” I asked.
“Do I look like a damn square?” she replied, adjusting her cardigan indignantly. “How much you want?”
“How much you got?”
She waddled to the kitchen and came back with five mostly-filled bottles of rum, whiskey, and vodka.
“Sir, is it really wise to be drinking at a time like this?” Gerald said in that annoying way I thought I had bullied out of him at this point.
“As good a fuckin’ time as ever, I reckon,” I said, taking the whiskey from Mee Maw and downing a few hot gulps. It had been a while since I had a real drink. It felt good. I felt good. Before, I’d just deal with my throat burning to shit when I chugged liquor, but now it just left a nice warming sensation. I got about halfway through the whiskey before Bruce and Marv came into the living room, armed to the fucking teeth.
It was a sight to behold — two men in their PJs carrying AR-15s and wearing Berettas on their hips. I guess it wasn’t too odd, given we were in Tennessee. Bruce snatched the bottle out of my hand.
“You’re not gonna be much help to us if you’re shitfaced,” he said.
“You’re not gonna be much help to us if these motherfuckers have magical fucking powers,” I countered. “Get your GI Joe asses back to the bedroom, and take these bottles with you.” Mee Maw was still holding the rest of the liquor, and I pushed her towards them. “Make some molotovs or something if it’ll make you feel better. Or just drink it. Either way, get the fuck out of here.”
They started to protest, but me pushing them was like a NFL linebacker pushing a child. I corralled them into their bedroom and shut the door.
“MICKEY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I START TEARING DOWN HOUSES!” The thorned man was getting angry, and the hollering behind him grew in intensity; they were screeching like chimpanzees, frothing at the mouth to start fighting.
Peeking out the window again showed that they were all out of their vehicles, shuffling back and forth in an unorganized mass. The thorned man stood out in the front of the crowd.
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“Gerald, you’re coming with me,” I said. “Just stay close by, but unseen. Come out if I need you.”
He looked like a kid who was just told he was going to have to start putting in shifts in the coal mine, but he bit his bottom lip and eventually forced out an “Ok”.
“Baldies, you know what to do: hit the right flank and thin out this crowd as much as you can. I’m gonna take care of this prickly son of a bitch.” They nodded and slunk out the back door.
“MICKEYYYYY, COME OUT AND PLAYYYAYY—”
“Jesus, shut the fuck up already!” I said, walking out the front door. “You’re asking for the wrong bum!”
The crowd went silent in an instant, and a few dozen heads locked in on me at once. I covered myself in a thick coat of sludge. The crowd scattered — they must’ve realized who I was and didn’t want to end up fueling their own funeral pyre. The thorned man didn’t move an inch. He just looked at me with his beady little rat eyes.
“That’s fine. We can kill you first.”
Black spikes pushed through his skin and covered his entire body. He held his breath until his face turned red and his cheeks puffed out, and a volley of thorns shot from his chest, ripping clean through his shirt, and flew towards me. They stuck into my sludge armor with a wet schlick, and slowly started to burn holes where they landed. The smell was absolutely fucking vile, like a dead skunk smoking a cigar. Luckily, I stayed calm — thanks, alcohol — and pushed the thorns out with more sludge before they made contact with my skin. The grass died where they touched the ground.
I looked up, relieved that there wasn’t venom burning through my kneecaps, and the thorny motherfucker was running straight at me with long black spikes growing out of his knuckles. I shot a glob of slime at his feet, but he hopped over it without breaking his stride. I shot another, right under his foot, giving him no time to react. He landed in it and slid towards me, maintaining perfect balance.
Fucking great. I made him even faster.
I dove to the right just in time for his spiked fist to graze the sludge on my cheek and leave a sizzling line of toxic tobacco skunk next to my face. I fell hard to the ground, but the shell around me absorbed almost all of the impact. It was like falling on a goopy, tacky cloud.
I expected another thorn to come at my head while I was on the ground, but my snail trail carried the thorned man too far, and his fist stuck into a fence post a few feet behind me. It only took him a second to yank it out, but it only took me a second to get off the ground.
We looked at each other, taking each other in, both waiting for the other to make the next move.
Behind me there were sounds of war, baldies versus zealots. I didn't know who was winning, but with three against fuck-knows how many, the sounds of fighting were encouraging. If those sorry sons of bitches could take on twenty men apiece, I could deal with one pointy rat person.
I focused all of my energy on thickening my sludge shell, adding inch after inch until I was looking through a tunnel of tar. It was heavy as shit, but he couldn't get a thorn through a foot-thick semi-liquid shell.
I hoped.
My sloppy, golem-looking ass stomped towards him like Godzilla. His face was barely visible through my tunnel vision. He sent another volley of thorns at me — nothing. I had plenty of time to push them out before they burrowed anywhere near my body.
I took another step. Distant shouts of frustration penetrated my shell as he sent punch after punch into my abdomen with no effect. This fucker was toast. I sent a heavy fist down on his head and he fell to the ground. I laughed, even though I knew nobody could hear me. I lifted a foot up – about to crush his body like an unsuspecting Tokyo citizen. But he was so much faster than me. He rolled out of the way before my foot was even halfway to the ground.
“You fight like a bitch,” he said, but I didn't give a shit – better to be an alive bitch than a dead non-bitch. I lumbered towards him again, feeling invincible, when that crazy motherfucker did something I never would've anticipated – he gave me a hug.
He wrapped his body around me, sinking into my shell. I tried to push him out with more sludge, but it just swallowed him instead. Slowly but surely, he moved through the sludge, until I felt a thousand points poking me at once.
It burned more than I thought possible. It felt like my DNA was being ripped apart, dissolving into putrid smoke. I screamed, but I didn't let him go. The sludge was holding him against me just as much as it was holding me against him.
I shed the shell from my face and was met with a facefull of rotting yellow teeth. He cackled while my skin crackled. I knew I only had a couple of seconds before the pain would consume my mind, and only a few more seconds after that before my body was turned to mush.
With my last remaining strength, I snorted as hard as I could and sent two booger bombs into his mouth. The cackling was quickly replaced with coughing and spitting; and the coughing and spitting was quickly replaced by his head exploding.
He was dead, but I wasn't in much better shape. I shed the rest of my armor and fell to the ground while the sounds of war echoed around me.