Waco had rounded up the others as quickly as possible and they had barricaded themselves in the upper regions of what they now called the Fortress. Funny that something as lovely and magical as a fairy tale castle could become a fortress of defense during the most dire of circumstances.
After that, Waco and the others were pretty much prisoners in their own Utopia. When the
Nutjobs
had discovered their presence, there were constant attacks against the Fortress. The only advantage Waco and the others seemed to have against the lunatics was the absence of firepower in the
Nutjobs
' arsenal. While they came armed only with clubs, knives, and swords, Waco met them at the door with his .44 Magnum, the Mark V, a Mossberg twelve-gauge, and a compound bow that could put an arrow completely through a man from an eighth of a mile away. It wasn't long before the
Nutjobs
, led by chain-smoking Annie Wilkes, knew their limits and found other ways to torment the occupants of the Fortress. One way was dressing up in the costumes of the theme park characters that had once been a fixture of their cherished memories. Another was shutting off their water supply from time to time, forcing them out into the open.
It was during Waco's last trip to the water valve beneath the train station that he discovered another gruesome fact about the
Nutjobs
. Not only were they lunatics, rapists, and murderers, but they were also cannibals. He and Taylor had entered the basement to find no one around and almost thought that their latest mission had gone without a hitch, when a
Nutjob
dressed as a cartoon spaceman stepped out of the shadows and buried an ax into Taylor's head, splitting his skull from scalp to neck bone. Soon, they were coming out of the woodwork with carving knives and forks clutched in their fists. Some reached Taylor before he could, ripping away chunks of flesh with their fingers and teeth. Waco blew them away with the Mossberg, determined that his friend wouldn't end up on a
Nutjob's
dinner plate. He shouldered Taylor's body and, like a medic carrying a wounded grunt, toted the big man the length of Main Street, back to the Fortress. The
Nutjobs
had nearly overtaken him, but had been driven back by shots from the Weatherby stationed from a tower above. It didn't matter that T.P. couldn't hit the ass-end of a killer whale. The
Nutjobs
didn't know that and quickly retreated to their subterranean lair… until it was time to attack again.
Lying there in the darkness, smoking a cigar he had fashioned from cured palm leaves, Waco wondered why he had let Taylor's death hit him so hard and turned him into an asshole of a redneck. After that day, his respect for the others had dropped rock bottom. And in turn, their respect for him had dwindled, too. He knew he intimidated them with his brash behavior and insults and that they were afraid of him, although they pretended not to be.
He thought of how they had disposed of Emery Taylor's body and it made him sick to his stomach.
Folks gotta survive… one way or another.
"To hell with all this soul-searching shit," he told himself. "Time to hit the hay."
He ground his cigar out in a souvenir ashtray, then, snuggling amid
Trixie's
naked curves, drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Waco and Numb Nuts unbolted a heavy wooden door and left through a side entrance of the Fortress. It was early in the morning. The sky was still dark, with only a hint of an approaching sunrise in the east.
Waco was armed with the Magnum and the compound bow, while Anderson toted the twelve-gauge, loaded with double-aught buckshot and lead slugs.
The two stood in the circular courtyard for a moment, taking in their surroundings. The Victorian shops along Main Street looked dark and threatening rather than quaint and picturesque. The train station seemed to stand a mile away, when in actuality it could be reached in a matter of minutes.
"Waco," Numb Nuts said in a low voice, "I know I act like a blowhard sometimes, like I'm not afraid of anything… but to tell the truth, I'm scared shitless."
A half-dozen smart-ass insults came immediately to the Texan's mind, but he dismissed them. "You know something,
hoss
… so am I. It'll keep you sharp and on your toes, though. Just follow me and watch my back, and I'll get you back to your family in one piece." He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and shook the car dealer's hand. "Do you trust me?"
Numb Nuts looked the lanky man in the eyes and nodded. "Yes… I do."
"Then come on," Waco told him, taking point. "Keep in the middle of the street and watch the sidewalks for movement. They could come out of nowhere at any moment. And watch the sky. Those big-ass prehistoric sea gulls might dive-bomb us, too."
Anderson looked toward the dark Florida sky and ducked his head out of habit. The radiation from the bombs had turned the gulls into dangerous scavengers as big as a bald eagle. Once, one of the monster gulls had swooped down and tried to carry off his son. They had actually gotten airborne a dozen feet or so, when Waco brought it down with a shot from the Mark V. Luckily, the boy's fall was broken by the canopy of a snack cart.
Waco looked back at the Fortress and spotted T.P. on an upper balcony, Weatherby in hand. He saluted the nerd, and T.P. waved back. Motioning to Numb Nuts, he started down the street toward their objective. The car salesman pumped a shell into the breach of the Mossberg and followed.
They made the length of Main Street without incident.
Where are the crazy bastards?
wondered the Texan.
Are they gonna attack in the basement…like they did with Taylor?
He reached to his belt and felt three flash grenades hanging there; ones he'd made himself out of cleaning chemicals, baking soda, and gun powder from some of the fireworks they had liberated from the storage sheds across the railroad tracks.
"Keep sharp!" whispered Waco. He shouldered the bow and shucked the .44 from its holster. "We're almost to the train station. We'll go down the stairway, back-to-back. T.P.'s covering us from the Fortress, but ol' Four-Eyes can't see worth a damn in the dark, so we've gotta depend on ourselves to pull this off."
Numb Nuts nodded nervously. "Right."
"The valve to the water main is on the far left side of the basement. Down the stairs, turn it back on, then up and out onto the street. Simple as that."
"Yeah," muttered Anderson. "Simple as that."
A minute later, Waco was opening the utility door that lead to the basement of the train station. It was pitch dark below. There was no need to try the light switch; Waco knew the power was out. He took a small
Maglite
from his jeans pocket and directed its beam down the stairway. Together, the two men descended into the cellar.
They soon found themselves in a long basement full of crates and plastic totes. "There's the valve yonder," Waco told Numb Nuts. He directed the beam at the thick network of pipes with the red cut-on/cut-off wheel at their junction. "Come on."
The two made their way toward the water valve. Halfway there, Waco shined his light on the floor. The beam revealed an ugly brownish-red stain on the concrete. "That's where Taylor bought the farm," said the Texan.
Numb Nuts swallowed dryly and averted his eyes. The last thing he needed to think about right now was some maniac popping out of the shadows and mistaking him for a stick of firewood on a chopping block.
They reached the valve. Waco twisted it until he heard the thrum of water pressure returning to normal. As an afterthought, he took a wrench from his pocket and, unloosening the nut on the red wheel, removed it entirely. Waco stuck the cut-off wheel inside his wife-beater undershirt and let it slide down to his ribs. "There. They're gonna find it damn hard to pull this prank the next time they get the urge."
Surprisingly, they made it back to the top of the stairs unmolested. "I don't like this… not
a'tall
." Waco told him. "Expect the worse on the street. They didn't turn off that water for nothing. They're here somewhere. I can feel it."
The sky had lightened a bit from when they had first entered the train station. Waco waved his flashlight in a slow arc, signaling to T.P. that they were homeward bound. In response, T.P. signaled back with a flashlight of his own.
Cautiously, Waco and Numb Nuts started down the street. Anderson had the scattergun leveled from his hip, ready to mow down anything that moved. Waco had the compound bow in hand, a four-bladed razor arrow secured against the nylon cord. A quiver of eleven more just like it hung over his back, while four pounds of blued-steel .44 hung directly under his left arm, ready to come into play at a moment's notice.
They were halfway down the length of Main Street when it happened. A hangman's noose fashioned from heavy rope dropped down from a shop overhang, encircling Numb Nut's throat and hauling him off his feet. "Waco!" he squeaked, choking as the noose grew tight, constricting his windpipe. He bucked and struggled, dropping the shotgun. It hit the street, the walnut stock splintering with the impact.
Waco whirled and saw the man dangling a good two feet off the ground.
He was starting back to help him, when he heard footsteps pounding the cobblestones behind him.
The Texan turned and saw a pirate with an eye patch coming at him, a wicked-looking sword in his hand. He pulled the arrow into line and released the string. The projectile split the buccaneer's sternum, went through his heart, then exited between his fourteenth and fifteenth vertebrae. The arrow traveled onward, catching another pirate square in the solar plexus as the shaft lost momentum and dropped. Even still, the
razored
head punched a hole in the bundle of nerves and lodged itself in the cartilage of his spine.
Waco shucked another arrow from the quiver, positioned it, and spun in his tracks. He was shocked to find a couple of dozen pirates, princesses, cowboys, and revolutionary soldiers coming down the street straight for him.
As they moved in mass, a couple of safari hunters wheeled a huge hibachi grill from the doorway of a restaurant, while two Arabian sultans in turbans and sashes began stripping the clothing from Numb Nuts. Soon he was completely naked except for his boxers and socks. A witch in a black cloak grinned viciously and, pulling a long, curved knife from her sleeve, began to peel the flesh from the thighs of his legs.
The man screamed long and loud. "Waco! Help me… oh, God, please
help me!"
Waco shifted his aim and put the arrow through the socket of Witch's left eye. The woman dropped to the ground, taking the knife and a long sliver of Anderson's leg meat with her. A princess in a pink sequined gown stepped in, though, and, retrieving the knife, continued where the old hag had left off, carving the man's hairy calves like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Knowing the bow was too slow a weapon, Waco slung it over his shoulder and grabbed for the long-barreled Smith & Wesson. At the same moment, a pirate stepped in and ran his broad sword across Waco's abdomen. Luckily, it grated against the water valve wheel the Texan had stashed in his undershirt. Waco swung the big gun wide, shattering the pirate's nose with its barrel, then finished him off with a hollow point slug between the eyes. The slug expanded with impact, leaving only a jagged piece of lower jaw and neck bone amid a spouting gorge of crimson.
Where the shit are you, T.P.?
thought Waco frantically.
Take a shot, dammit! Take a shot!
As if in answer, a brittle crack sounded and half the throat of a revolutionary soldier disintegrated. Waco took a flash grenade from his belt, closed his eyes, and hurled it at the street. It went off in an explosion of light and sound, blinding those around him. When Waco opened his eyes, they stood around, arms thrown over their faces. He took the opportunity to blast five more with the Magnum, then reload with a speed-loader. A
Nutjob
dressed up like an Indian warrior ran at him blindly, wielding a tomahawk in his hand. The man instantly reminded him of the Cherokee who had massacred his only child.
"Bad choice of costume, you
sumbitch
!" As the Indian leapt forward, Waco jammed the barrel of the Magnum into his open mouth and fired, blowing out the back of his head in a shower of brain and skull fragments.
He didn't escape the lunatic's attack entirely, however. The tomahawk swung downward powerfully, glancing off the side of the Texan's skull, peeling away scalp and cutting off his right ear.
"Damn!" cussed Waco. He grabbed and threw another bomb. Then, after the flash, he dropped to his knees on the ground and located his ear. He stuck it in his hip pocket for safe-keeping.
As the
Nutjobs
stumbled around blindly, T.P. picked them off like sitting ducks. Waco was impressed by the accuracy of the nerd's aim. He made a mental note to congratulate him on a job well done… if he got out of this shit alive. As he ran toward Numb Nuts – whose legs were no more than bloody bones now – he traded his Smith & Wesson for his seven-inch Ka-Bar. He slashed his way past several pirates and princesses, then reached the spot where Numb Nuts hung, a pool of widening blood staining the stones beneath him.
"Lord Jesus… give me wings!" he shouted, then leapt upward. He swung the combat knife and, miraculously, parted the rope over Anderson's head, eight feet from street level.
As the man hit the ground heavily, the denuded bones of his legs shattering beneath his weight, Waco turned toward the two big-game hunters and the hibachi. Strips of leg flesh already sizzled on the grate. He gave the grill a good, swift kick, sending hot charcoal onto the hunters' khaki outfits. Their clothing burst into flames. Shrieking, they stood there like two lanky scarecrows ablaze.