The Damned Read Free Page A

waistbands, just like the one he’d just killed. The two left behind carried shotguns.
    The man bearing the machete looked at what was left of his headless compatriot, walked over and put a foot in the back of another, nudged him and said, “Goddamnit.” He had on a pair of black leather pants. A sleeveless black leather motorcycle jacket draped his thin shoulders. His long black hair lay flat against his head. He turned and Scott saw The Devil’s Own emblem adorning his back, the pistol grip protruding from his waistband. His eyes swept from house to house, settling on the slice of darkness hiding Scott for a brief moment before kneeling to relieve the headless corpse of its sidearm, scooping it up and jamming it side by side with his own weapon.
    “Man, look at this shit, Dub,” the larger of the two said. “Somebody sure fucked them up.”
    The other huffed out a laugh. “Blew ‘em the fuck apart is what they did.”
    Dub, the apparent leader, nodded at the woman. “Look at that. Goddamnit. Turn her ass over.”
    The other two lay down their bats. Manning opposite ends of the spit, they tugged and twisted and a fresh wave of juices sizzled, popping as they sluiced over the fire. Dub grabbed a handful of blackened breast, sliced off a nipple and tossed it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, crunching it between his teeth as he sawed the entire breast away. The steaming hunk of meat looked like a piece of barbequed pork as he tossed it to his counterpart, who snatched it out of the air like a rabid dog, crammed it in his mouth and said, “Tasty!”
    “I want her lips!”
    “Fuck you,” Dub said. “Grab her goddamn feet.”
    “Am I dead?” Scott whispered. “Are we in Hell?”
    “Well on our way if you don’t shut up,” the midget whispered back.
    Dub walked down a few feet, swung his machete until blade met wire and her feet came free. He did the same at the opposite end and the two behemoths shuffled sideways with the burned and blackened corpse.
    “We should do something.”
    “Like what, shoot ‘em? That’s what they want. They want you to give your position away so they can come get your ass. No telling how many of those cocksuckers are fanned out along these houses.”
    “Who are they?”
    The midget shushed him.
    “Who are you? ”
    Shushed him again.
    Dub turned and led the grisly procession back up the street. Moments later they joined their companions, and all five disappeared into the murky grey landscape from whence they had come.
    “Whew!” The midget sat back against the side of the house, sighed and smiled.
    “The fuck is wrong with your teeth?” Scott asked him—they were filed down to fine sharp points, like something out of a cheesy horror flick, or a nightmare, one Scott was not entirely sure he wasn’t having. “Am I even awake here?”
    The midget laughed. “I’m Warren the Rat Boy. I come from a long line of sideshow performers—notice I didn’t say freaks. I’ve worked the Carny circuit most of my life, finally made my way up to the Big Top a couple of years before the shit hit the fan.”
    “What do you mean, the shit hit the—”
    “What happened to your head? ”
    “Somebody shot me.”
    Warren snickered. “ What? When?”
    “I’m… not sure.”
    “Because I’m sensing you really don’t understand what’s going on here.”
    “Oh yeah? Why’s that, because I keep asking you WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?”
    “Keep your voice down, dumbass. Those big bastards could be anywhere.” Warren paused for a moment, then, “Look, what’s the last thing you remember?”
    Scott sat down, relaxed and crossed his legs. He laid the shotgun beside him, took a deep breath and let it out. “Just… pulling up to a red light. Somebody tapped on my window… a gun was there and it went off. I woke up a little while ago down the street in that rehabilitation center.”
    “That means you’ve been out seven weeks.”
    “What?”
    “About the same time that crazy