Friday, June 22, 2012

The Pallbearer: A Hundred Tiny Hands Part 1


Nothing but cunt fruit Neil, they're nothing but cunt fruit. Why shouldn't we make a couple bucks off of 'em?

Holly Ka and her exterminators; the Tulugal.

C'mon. We go flush the sewers looking for blind brats, collect some souveneirs, make a killing.

I scraped my teeth across my tongue and spit. She had kissed me with that mouth before I met Cassie.

On my shoulder, a scared five year old was singing "Pop Goes The Weasel." At the furthest tips of my ear, I heard gunfire.

"Samson, hold on."

"Yes s-s-sir."

We ran.

Come Neil, it isn't that hard a decision. We get rich bringing in some spoiled cunt fruit, or YOU stay poor. What do you say?

We came over the last hill of trash and Samson whimpered.

Eleven soldiers in ghost white combat armor, blades embedded in the length of their forearms, auto-rifles in their hands. The armor came up over their faces, blotting out their features. Intricate sensors laced throughout the suit would feed their senses directly.

The children had been jammed into a large box with air holes perforating its skin. Hands. Fingers. Feet. Toes. They were screaming. Not for themselves.

Nothing but cunt fruit.

Holly was as beautiful as ever. Her suit was forest green, bodytight and missing its headpiece. Her midnight hair was lashed back in a ponytail, fading sun glancing off of her warm brown skin. She held a long combat knife that was already wet. Smiling. So beautiful. In front of her, dangling from an old twisted light pole by a chain, hung her catch of the day. Pale white scales stretched across his body like kitchen tile at Cassie's moms. A fish too long out of water with a three-year old trying to clean it. Thick red gashes scored his tiny frame. Gremlin.

Samson was standing, raising her hands.

"Leave Misser Griblin ALONE!"

A hailstorm of wooden easel shards erupted from the trash piles. Holly dropped to her belly, head swiveling, a turret looking for a target. The Tulugal opened fire, blowing the shards to slivers. One arm length stake made it through and buried itself in a Tulugal's chest. The faceless child-hunter dropped to his knees, then fell face first into the dirt.

Samson. Gotcha.

"I'll handle these guys Samson, you go find someplace to hide."

"I gots to save Misser Griblin!"

"Then get him down. But do it from over there!"

She slid down my arm and bolted for cover to tear Gremlin down from.

The ten were already coming, Holly watching. Smirking. Hands on her hips. So fine.

St. George voiced his opinion on hunting children. His first comment blew apart the ground in front of the Tulugal. His second tore apart the first two Tulugal charging up the hill.

Ghost white?

Abbatoir red.

Eight still same. Another roar, my feet sinking further into the garbage, jerking backwards. Another raw meat eruption. Firing, bullets ricocheting away. Unyielding steel instead of the flesh of children.

Seven. Close now. Too fast. Just blurs. A light flickering at the edge of my eyes.

I flipped St. George and grabbed hold of his barrel. Roaring, I spun. Two more were caught by the butt of St. George and flung through the air, bones crunching like gravel underfoot. A home run and a double going way back... way back... gone.

Then someone cut my strings. I dropped as my Brute tipped over, hamstrung and knees gone. I saw oil on the tip of a Tulugal blade.

It slices. It dices.

I struggled to push myself up. Another blur, another bright stripe of crimson across my wrist. I fell, Brute shoulder driving into the garbage. I jerked sideways and caught the Tulugal beneath me.

He was still screaming when I hit the hatch release and pulled myself out. Four left. A square around me.

Holly reached the hilltop. She held Samson by the back of the neck. A doll in bum's clothing.

"Hello lover."

Vile. Putrid. Revolting.

I shivered and ran my tongue over my teeth.

"Hello Holly."

"Heard about your defecting. Pity that. Was still holding out that you would come join us."

A laugh. Curled around my tongue, gagging me. A laugh.

"Least you're taking them alive these days."

She laughed this time. Her teeth were sharp. Sinking into my neck... my chest... Yes... sharp.

"Better pay for fresh catches. After all, who likes spoiled meat? Although, I prefer mine raw."

The first Tulugal lunged for me. A stripe across my back, weeping red. He spun and leapt again. He drew a line across my chest, but my hand found his wrist. I jerked him sideways and caught the back of his neck. The Tulugal's elbow cracked. Howling. Silence again as I slit his throat with his own blade.

I moved my left arm. Not my left arm. The Brute snatched the nearest Tulugal and bent him in half. A broken toothpick.

The last two raised their rifles. Fuck me. Saved the smart ones for last.

Samson's hand twitched and their rifles jerked sideways. The last of Holly's Tulugal fell and joined the rest of the trash on the heap.

Holly giggled and flung Samson over her shoulder. The ragdoll girl screamed as she tumbled down the pile of junk. She was quiet was she reached the bottom.

"Now you're going to try to avenge her aren't you Neil? That grubby little thing. Is she worth dying for? Cunt fruit, that's all they are."

"I can't believe I let you kiss me with that mouth."

"You let me do far more than that Neil."

"Holly, our relationship's been dead for years. Time to bury it. This is as good a place as any, right with the rest of the shit people kicked off their boots."

The smirk disappeared and the snarl underneath surged to the surface.

Neil, have you ever wanted to be a father?


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