The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole! (1) (21 page)

Darla pulls her handgun in one smooth motion and fires. The explosion whisks away Edwina’s hearing. She feels like she just had her head stuffed with cotton.

There is a pop and then the whistle of air escaping plastic. Darla lowers the gun and laughs. She just shot an inflatable sex toy with big plastic tits and a brown spot where her bush would be.

“You killed Suzy fucks-a lot.” Edwina laughs as she reads the name on the back of the toy.

“I’m sorry, Suzy!” Darla cries. She is laughing so hard that tears streak down her face. Suzy doesn’t answer, just continues to lose air. It sounds like a long loud fart.

Six of the women are gathered in the office. The rest are setting up camp in the two livable hotel rooms. It turned out there was a small kitchen in the back. Sue took to it with some supplies from the semi and prepared them a gourmet dinner of mac and cheese and powdered eggs. They washed it back with warm beer they had stashed in the semi. The stuff tasted like shit, but it was worth it to get a buzz, Edwina thought.

The television was the first thing they checked. After fiddling with the rabbit ears, they got a weak signal from a local channel that was running up-to-the minute updates on the madness. They even had a banner underneath that read, “First on the scene for all your apocalyptic needs.”

Marcel is next to Sue on the sofa, and the sex doll sits between them. Someone found a box of Hello Kitty Band-Aids and taped them in an X across the hole in her forehead. Darla grabbed a marker and wrote, “OW - FUCK!” across it.

The news is pretty dire, but they watch it just the same. Speaking now
is a man in a sharp suit with a gun pressed to his head from off screen. All they see is a hand covered in scales. After the day they’ve had, it is the least of the crazy shit they’ve seen.

“This is Chet Toaster bringing you the latest news from the Apocalypse. Remember, folks. When you want to hear about the end of the world, turn to KCUM for all your apocalyptic news. We have a weather report coming up in a few minutes, but first we go live to our WDIK affiliate in Las Vegas where an interesting new feature has appeared along the outskirts of the city.”

The screen cuts away to a bird’s eye view of the ground. The camera focuses on a giant red mountain that has sprung up in the middle of the desert. Edwina is no expert on such things, but she is pretty sure there are no giant fucking red mountains in the desert.
Big cacti, maybe.
Big stretches of sand, sure. A pair of hills thousands of feet wide that are bright red and covered in scales? Not fucking likely.

The sand shifts as the hill moves. Then its twin moves as well. A giant cloud of green gas rises between them and ascends into the sky. The camera focuses on a frazzled-looking woman in a business suit. She is covered in ash and trying to talk over the helicopter’s rotors. Her hair hangs over her face like a grey cloud. She has big circles under her eyes and not one smear of makeup on her face. She might be twenty-five, but she looks twice that.

“What the hell is that?” Edwina asks the room. 

“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a giant ass,” Marcel says and stands up. She paces up and down the room while watching the screen. She keeps walking in front of the TV, but Edwina doesn’t complain because Marcel has a marvelous sway to her walk.

Darla laughs and then looks again.

“Holy fucking shit!” she says out loud.

“This is Kelly Pusboing, and we are live over the desert of Nevada about twenty miles from Las Vegas. A few days ago, there was a clash between the military and some protestors, but the scene today couldn’t be any more different. What ended in blood has turned the desert a shade of red that the world will never forget.” The sound of the chopper cuts in and out, distorting the sound of the reporter.

“She may look like hell, but she knows how to put on that concerned face in a hurry,” Edwina observes.

“I’d do her.” Marcel chuckles.

“She’s kind of skinny. She might not survive,” Darla observes.

“Oh sweet innocence. I bet she’s a hellcat.”

“Speaking of hell.” Edwina points at the screen.

A stream of people is either running away from the piles in the desert or being herded toward it. It’s hard to make out with all the red dust flying.
The earth shifts again, and a giant red cloud engulfs the Army far below. The helicopter tilts and sways back. Other choppers hover in place, but they will also have to move or they will be swimming in the crap.

A pair of fighters rocket
s
past the helicopter. The little speakers in the television crackle as the sound in the onscreen helicopter goes up a few decibels. The reporter flinches back, and the camera tilts at a crazy angle to follow the jets.

“As you can see, it is chaos outside today. We’ve seen the military on the move.
Scores of fighters and even a few Cobra helicopters popping up here and there.
Whatever the thing in the desert is, it is considered a danger to the … wait we are getting word from …” She pauses and pressed her headset tight around her head. She squints her eyes, and then they go wide. She leans over, almost falling on the floor of the chopper as she yells something at the pilots.

A thunderous wave passes overhead, shaking the already vibrating craft. The camera falls over, and for a split second there is a perfect view up young reporter Kelly Pusboing’s skirt.

“Someone forgot her big girl panties today,” Darla giggles.

“She also forgot to tape her cock up.” Marcel stares on.

The girls shift uncomfortably in their seats. Sue picks up the blow-up doll and looks between the thing’s legs. “This has girl parts.”

Something smacks into the front windshield of the helicopter as it tries to come around in a circle. Then something else hits, but it is too fast to make out.

“Was that a bird?”

Then a giant red flying thing that looks like a dragon from Hell slams the helicopter from the side. The pilot tried to avoid it, but the creature moves too fast. The camera catches the pilot’s terrified hands scrabbling at the controls. The sky is suddenly straight ahead, and warning sounds buzz and click. The reporter tries to push herself back up into her seat, but the helicopter lurches again and she has the misfortune of being near the sliding side door. She catches the handlebar as she attempts to get her balance. The metal portal slides open, and she tumbles away with a scream.

“Kelly!” a voice screams over the sound of the wind ripping into the tiny space.

“Ah fuck meeeeeeeee!” her voice howls.

The helicopter swings over, and the screen is filled with something that should not be. A giant horned face that looks like the bastard child that resulted when a nightmare fucked a giant lizard. Screams as the helicopter falls into it. Cries for help as the screen goes blank, then a tremendous crunching sound fills the room as the speakers overload in the tiny television.

“Special effects get better and better every day,” Darla says, breaking the shocked silence.

Edwina turns to her lover but closes her mouth. Having it open reminds her of the thing she just saw on the screen.
The thing that cannot exist.
Just like the angel.
A thing that cannot exist.
Just like the little flying cocks that flooded the semi earlier in the day.

“This is truly the end,” she says into the silent room.

“Well shit. I need to hurry up and get laid then.”

“Now we’re talking!” Marcel grins.

In This Town W
e Spell “Law” S-M-O-O-C-H-O-L-E

After finally escaping the constant horrific soul-violating multi-partner fucking of the orgy in the desert, Sheriff Smoochole and his lone surviving deputy, Fenton Morks, stole General O’Coddle’s personal Hummer and fled back to Reno and the sheriff station. Only they were too exhausted to make the entire drive.

Instead, and due only to his cop-subconscious, Sheriff Smoochole pulled the Hummer into a roadside rest area. He turned off the ignition and passed out for approximately seventy-two hours straight. Deputy Morks was fast asleep and sucking on the back of his red-balled gag like a toddler sucks its thumb before Smoochole pulled the massive vehicle to a stop.
 

Now, as demons whoop and screech in the air above them, Sheriff Smoochole stirs in his sleep. Behind his eyelids, he sees Hell.

Once the first drop of blood soaked down into the earth, Satan shook off his great shackles and began pushing against the mass of copulating dying hippies. Smoochole saw the bastard Devil; he made eye contact with the Father of Lies. The Devil’s eyes sparkled with malice, and he shook an unbelievably thick red prick at the struggling Sheriff Smoochole while two more flaccid peckers watched from either side and laughed in a thousand voices. Smoochole fought through the pile of human flesh to escape the cock-stroking Master of Evil and still, days later, it haunts his dreams.

In his dream, Satan’s bright red cock throbs and grows with each obscene stroke until it is just inches from the sheriff’s face. Flames erupt from the foot-thick shaft of the Devil’s dick and dance up and down the length of it. Sweat beads and falls from the sheriff’s face. He turns back and forth, trying in vain to avoid the colossal cock
that inches
toward him. He realizes suddenly, and strangely, that he has the twin walrus tusk handled .357s he took from the meathead general.

In his dream, Sheriff Smoochole reaches for the pistols, unaware that his slumbering body is also reaching for them in real life. He fires. The thunder of close-range gunshots wakes both officers. Temporally
disoriented, the two look around, confusion on their faces. They both turn to the demon standing next to Deputy Morks. Twin holes are blown through the bright purple skin of his chest, and Deputy Morks’s wallet falls from the demon’s claw into Morks’s lap as the monster collapses, dead.
 
Deputy Morks reaches over and slams the door closed. He turns back and nods at the sheriff, who starts the Hummer and nods back.

Sheriff Smoochole pulls back onto the freeway and slams the pedal to the floor. The massive Army vehicle groans and whines as it careens across the hot asphalt. As they round the last bend before Reno, they spot black pillars of smoke reaching for the sky from all over the cityscape. Winged creatures, great and small, soar around the tall fingers of smoke, whooping and screeching demon songs.

Deputy Morks moans, “Smmmphh wmph FWPH!”

“Yeah, I know, Deputy,”
 
Smoochole tells him without taking his eyes off the smoldering city.

Morks’s eyes glisten with tears. “Tmmmph kmmmph’d Dmmmphh Jmmmphh! Tmmmphh fmmmphh uph mmhph ammph! Tmmmphh smmmpph’d tmmph bmmph gmmph im mmp mmmphh! Fmmmphh tmmph!”

Visions of Satan’s giant throbbing wang flash before Sheriff Smoochole’s eyes, and he tightens his grip on the steering wheel until his bony knuckles pop and go white. His muscles clench, and he grinds his teeth to force the phantom prick from his mind. Deputy Morks’s muffled tirade continues, but Sheriff Smoochole can hardly hear him over the pounding of his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The sheriff takes the exit to the station.

Smoochole pulls the Hummer to a screeching halt in front of the building, and both officers stare in awe at their beloved station and the giant skinny demon in sheriff khakis scowling at them from atop the small stone staircase. The tall creature flaps leathery wings peppered with rips and holes. It takes a stiff step forward. The sun gleams off a dozen sheriff badges that are pinned up and down
its
thin chest.