Episode 1.9: "Max Bodycount"

 

Upon seeing this giant mechanism of death, I decided to go right back the way I came and find a nice quiet place to await the end of the world. But that's when He came along and made me reconsider humanity’s chances in this conflict. He jumped up on the hood of the Prius and punched his chest, which caused four massive, missile-loaded barrels to protrude from somewhere on his back. He took hold of the two joysticks that extended in front of him, and I heard the precise whistle of warheads singing on their way to a target. I stared at the invading machine through the driver’s side window and laughed in amazement as I saw two bright orange and red blossoms of fire blast huge chunks off of the machine’s torso and arms. The machine looked pissed and extended one coiled arm towards us, but the mystery man let two more missiles loose. They found their target, and the dome-headed machine fizzled, sputtered, and crashed to the ground, consumed in greenish blue flames.

He must not have noticed me, because He jumped off the Prius and started walking back towards the campus.

“Hey!” I yelled, not really knowing how to casually approach a mysterious man who just brought down an alien menace. He stopped, but didn’t completely turn around. I could see that he was wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and a vintage-looking duster. He turned his head back slightly, and I could see that a lit cigarette was dangling from his mouth.

“Who’re you?” He asked, sounding as grizzled and pissed as one would infer from his appearance. I stood up, trying to act like I didn’t just witness a military base get decimated by aliens.

“My name’s Marla. Marla Killian. I study English Lit at the U…well, I studied it, anyway…” He turned to face me, and took a few steps in my direction.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

“Well, I guess it’s because I got knocked out by an errant brain and couldn’t afford a Vonix phone.”

“Makes sense. The part about the phone, anyway. That’s how they’ve infiltrated our planet.” Score one for Jeff.

“Who are you? Where’d you get that four-barreled missile thing? I’ve never seen one of those before.” The man smirked slightly. Now that He was closer, the cigarette lit up his features. I had expected Sawyer from Lost, based on what I’d seen of him so far. However, He was astoundingly average looking; like a greeter at Best Buy. His reply to my question was a shrill whistle. I paused for a moment, not quite understanding how to carry on a conversation that had been derailed by whistling. Suddenly, I heard the faint and obnoxious chime of a cowbell heading our way. A small donkey pulling a cart materialized from the smoke that had begun billowing around us. The cart looked to have been fashioned out of the hindquarters of a circa 1970’s Ford pickup. A tattered American flag struggled to contain several gun barrels of differing lengths and widths. Ammunition belts flopped over the side of the cart like the tongue of a thirsty bulldog. He punched his chest again, and the four barrels retracted back to their hiding place.

“I found it,” he said nonchalantly, “Along with all these. Came in handy though, didn’t it?” I nodded my head in agreement. Despite the deluge of traumatizing shit that I had witnessed over the course of this utterly bizarre day, a cowboy and his ammo-toting donkey weren’t so bad.

“As for my name,” he took a long, dramatic drag on his cigarette, “It’s Max. Max Bodycount.” That pushed me over the edge. In the span of roughly six hours, I’d seen decapitations (plural!), gallons of blood, actual evidence of extra-terrestrial life, and half a military base consumed by lasers. Now, at the end of it all, I was talking to a guy named Max Bodycount in front of his gun-toting jackass. I couldn’t control it any longer, and I let out a torrent of laughter. My knees started to buckle and my ass hit the ground while tears streamed from my bloodshot eyes. The laughter wouldn’t stop, and for a few moments, I was genuinely worried about vomiting.

Episode 1.8: "Out Come the Big Guns"

“Jeff, here’s what’s going to happen,” I said calmly, replacing my shirt, “I’m going to take your gun with me while I try to figure out what’s going on. Do you understand?” Jeff clenched his teeth and nodded as he sucked the cold night air into his blood-coated mouth.

“Good. I’m going to leave you here, now. I hope you find someone to help you propagate our species, but I would suggest going about it the old fashioned way and ask her out to dinner before giving her the “genetic responsibility” speech. Bye, Jeff. Thanks for the gun.” I proceeded to walk away from Milton Bennion Hall, the mutants that had shacked up there, and poor, lonely, one-armed Jeff.

To his credit, Jeff was right about the campus police, because no one answered when I picked up the phone. I hung up and paused for a moment to consider my options. The logical thing to do would be to contact any friends or loved ones, but in all honesty I didn’t have much of either. My useless alcoholic dad back in Oregon never answered his phone when I called on a regular day, and I doubt an international crisis would change that. My mom left me to fend for myself when I was ten, so I doubt she cared what I was doing right at this moment. After weighing my options, I decided to head up to Fort Douglas. It was fairly close, and if there was a safe place to be right now, it’d be with the military…right?

As I made my way to the fort, I could see chaos overtaking the city below me. Clusters of red, white, and blue sirens dotted the streets, and there were at least three fires that had begun consuming some of the larger buildings downtown. Occasionally I could see small, frightened groups of people wandering around campus, screaming incoherently into their phones. They’re probably trying to reach their loved ones, desperately hoping that their circle of friends and family had remained unbroken during this sudden tribulation. Right up until the moment Professor Channing’s head blew up, I had dealt with a consistent sting in my stomach that came from my lack of close friends, and my inability to do anything about it. However, now that the chips were down, I found a small bit of comfort in the fact that I was on my own. It’s pathetic and sad to have no friends, but in the worst-case scenario that was unfolding before me tonight, I appreciated the fact that all I had to look out for was myself.

As I got closer to Fort Douglas, I could hear the microwave popcorn sound of machine gun fire, and I developed a sick feeling in my stomach that told me that I might not be able to find any help here. A traffic jam of unattended vehicles blocked the street for miles in both directions making it difficult to make it to the fort directly.

I began zigzagging through the cars, but the closer I got to the fort, the more my gut was telling me to turn around and find some other place to hide. The grounds outside the fort were also littered with headless bodies; soldiers, students, doctors, men, women, children… these things saw us all as potential hosts, regardless of race or religion. The entrance to the fort was locked, but I could see through the thin black bars of the outer fence. It looked like they had created a barricade of chest-high brown sandbags on the north side. I aimlessly wondered what the barricade was for, since the gates were locked. Around two minutes later, I understood. Metallic shrieks echoed throughout the cold air, and bursts of machine gun fire blasted out a reply. A popper (that’s what I decided to call them) flung itself over the sandbags and into a soldier’s surprised face. Two, three more followed, heralding a literal flood of writhing, biting, and clawing hostiles (that’s what the military would call them. Probably.).

The poppers rushed the fort, gnawing on anything that got in their way. For a moment, the sheer amount of weirdness that my brain was processing caused me to freeze. As I was thinking frantically about what my next step should be, I was knocked off my feet by a thunderclap of force…the result of Fort Douglas’s armory violently exploding. The impact sent me over the hood of a vacant Toyota Prius, which was now between the fort and myself. I slid my back up against its wheel and quickly checked myself for injuries. My shoulder got scraped pretty badly when I hit the ashphalt, causing small pinholes of blood to well up within the angry red cuts that crisscrossed my shoulder. I pressed my shirt against the wound and peeked slightly over the hood of the car. In the wake of the deafening explosion stood…no…hovered a giant mechanism that was definitely not manufactured in the U.S. of A.



It was about the size of a bulldozer. A huge glowing dome dominated the top of the vehicle; flickering and flashing like an overcharged light bulb. The dome was connected to what looked like a torso composed of steel and thick cords. Two arm-like appendages jutted out from the vehicle's upper portion, terminating in chrome satellite dishes which pulsated with a greenish white glow. It was held together with tightly wound fibers of glimmering wire, and thick cables coiled around the mechanism like shiny black pythons. Jagged bolts of greenish white electricity supported the base of the machine, occasionally clinging to the trees and overturned vehicles within its vicinity. It pointed one of its arms to the next building, and a blinding beam of acid green energy reduced it to a smoldering pile of brick and dust after another deafening explosion.

NEXT: "WHO IS MAX BODYCOUNT?"

Episode 1.7: "Game: Marla"

“If you’re serious about this craziness, you’re not going to shoot me, Jeff.” I had seen plenty of hostage situations in movies, and this was a universal truth.

“No,” he replied, aiming the weapon at my leg, “At least nowhere important. You can still fulfill your end of this deal with a shattered kneecap.” He had me there. I couldn’t just go along with this, though. My mind started racing for some way out of this awkward and very creepy situation. Okay, what do I know about Jeff? He was definitely a pervert. And the way he’s handling that gun like it might go off at any moment led me to believe that in addition to being a pervert, Jeff was also a pussy. I decided to exploit both of these character flaws to ensure my escape from his deranged clutches, and get a Glock in the process.

I slid the handle of Shawn’s hammer into one of my belt loops and held my hands out. I’d have to play this guy out just right.

“You seem pretty passionate about this idea, Jeff,” I tried to make my voice sound all smoky and sex-crazed, “And right now, you’re the only person I can trust. I’ll need someone like you to keep me safe from these…things.” Jeff lowered his gun, his eyes widening slightly. I wasn’t a pro at seducing men by any stretch of the imagination, but whatever limited experience I had was working on poor, lonely Jeff. From his reaction to the slight change in my voice, it became painfully evident that Jeff’s only sexual experiences had come by way of Madame Palm and her five daughters.

“So, when do you think we should get started?” I asked, stepping closer to Jeff.

“Well, uh…I thought that…when…whenever, really.” Jeff was on the ropes. I pulled off my shirt. It was laundry day, so out of necessity (and quite serendipitously) I was wearing one of my two “sexy” bras. I heard Jeff release a weak sigh, and I knew he was toast.

“I think sooner would be better than later.” I spoke quietly. He let the hand holding his gun fall limply to his side, and I slinked closer, sticking my chest out like I was in a Jay-Z video. I put my arms around his neck, and nearly blew my cover when I saw the expression on his face. Body-wise, I’m like, a 6 out of 10 at best, but keep in mind that Jeff was a very lonely kid.

At this point, I probably could have just asked him for his gun, but I opted for a more vengeful solution. I slid my left hand up Jeff’s neck so I was gripping the back of his head, and then I thrust my head forward directly into Jeff’s pathetic face. The impact stung slightly, and I heard a small crunch that I assumed was Jeff’s glasses, his nose, or maybe both. He groaned and swore through blood-soaked teeth, and I took this brief opportunity to remove Shawn’s hammer from my belt loop. I flipped the hammer in my hand so the clawed end was facing forward, and swung for Jeff’s gun-wielding forearm. It connected, and I felt the hammer dig into Jeff’s muscle and crack bone. He shrieked as he dropped his Glock and reached for his injured arm. His screaming continued as he dropped to his knees, looking at his shattered arm.

Episode 1.6: "Jeff's Weird Plan"

“Those Vonix phones were popular,” I added, “Lots of little mutants running around now, I guess.” Jeff nodded his head.

“Exactly. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“I guess it means that I’m glad I could never afford one. And hopefully someone on campus police couldn’t afford one either. Let’s try to call over there.”

“Pointless,” Jeff responded, “It’s already too late. We’re done. Humanity is done.”

“Let’s not jump to that conclusion yet, Jeff. I’m sure the government is dispatching experts to mop this up as we speak.” He did that nerd thing they do when they look at you over their glasses that have slid too far down their noses.

“Our government? Helping out in a crisis? You are obviously unaware of the teensy incident involving a huge hurricane and New Orleans. If you think our government is doing anything but trying to figure out how they can make money off of this, then you’re completely ignorant, and I may not want to father the next human race with you.”

“Okay, first of all, I’ll bet you’ve never been to New Orleans. You’ve just jumped on the same hipster, anti-government bandwagon that everyone’s on. And second, I’ll bet you’ve got your share of student loans and…hold on, did you say something about fathering something? And did that somehow involve me?”

“Yes, I did. It did. I was hoping to find someone with more intelligence, but you’ll have to do.” I folded my arms tightly as I assessed this strange turn of events.

“Are you…are you being serious? Or are you just trying to lighten the dismal mood by saying something incredibly stupid?” Jeff put his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie.

“I’m very serious. We’re looking at the end of the human race as we know it. You and I will retreat into the mountains. They won’t find us there. Once we are successfully hidden, we will focus on repopulating the planet. It’s our genetic responsibility.” My stomach wrenched itself into a knot and my throat went dry; the same sensations I get moments before vomiting.

“Hate to wreck your plan there, Jeff, but there’s no way that’s going to happen. At least not with me, anyway. Best of luck finding yourself a baby maker, though. I’ll just…um…be on my way then.”

“I’m afraid I can’t risk that, Marla,” Jeff produced a Glock from his hoodie and cocked it, “It’s for the future of our species.” He pointed the gun at me. I guess it’s a sign of the times when the first person you meet during Armageddon is a guy like Jeff.

NEXT: "MARLA GETS FREAKY"