Authors: Alan Spencer
“The Americans can’t keep up with his physical and intellectual abilities. Teams of slayers have died fighting what this guy picks off like nothing. Dr. Aorta has survived two decades of monsters. He was trained at birth. He probably had a pair of boxing gloves already strapped on in the womb. He was staking vamps, blowing away werewolves with silver bullets and bashing zombies’ heads in since he was a tyke. His parents were slaughtered by ghost-inhabited scarecrows, you see. He was born in Russia, but then moved to America, where he was raised on democratic ideals and valor and all that shit, and he was trained by mixed martial arts instructors, learning Taekwondo, Karate and Druid self-defense, and then—”
Dr. Aorta was gracious. “You’re too kind, Nelson, too kind.”
“He’s the James Bond of monster slaying,” Nelson gushed. “He creates the best weapons. He infiltrates evil. He’s an engineer. A weapons specialist to boot. And he’s pulled a lot of ass in his day. That pep squad lady you bagged in the locker room, she was aching for you. They call him Dr. Aorta because he’s a man of valor, courage and he has the biggest heart of any human being—literally, he was born with an enlarged heart.”
Billy scoffed. “Then why didn’t they call him ‘Dr. Heart’?”
Nelson shook his head. “N-no, he’s Dr. Aorta. ‘Dr. Heart’ sounds stupid, you jackass.”
Dr. Aorta had the bearing of a militant man. “Yes, perhaps another time I can school you in the art of courtship, Nelson. I’m grateful for my fans. For now, you have an address in your hands, son.” He held out his hand to Billy. “Do you mind showing me that paper?”
Billy handed him the address. “Here you go, doctor.”
“Oh yes.” His eye behind the monocle went small. “Then we don’t have any time to lose. The projector is on the fourth floor of Ted Fuller's apartment building, Andy has told me. All we have to do is go across town and destroy it.”
“Wait,” Jessica said. “I’m not going out there. Have you seen what’s out there? It's dangerous.”
Nelson shook his head. “This guy will protect us. He’s the best. He always has an ace up one sleeve and a stick of dynamite in the other. We’re saved. Wake up, guys. Everything’s going to be okay. It’s Dr. Aorta!”
Billy recalled what Andy’s spirit said about ghosts. “So how did you come to life, Dr. Aorta?”
“I was in one of the reels the vampires are playing in Ted Fuller’s apartment. Andy allowed me to come to life. He’s gathering the spirits of good on his side. It’ll take time before more good spirits can save us. That’s why we have to save ourselves first. The city’s almost all dead, Billy. We’re one of the few left alive. Once the final body hits the ground, that dome will be released, and you can kiss the next city goodbye.”
Jessica clutched onto Billy. She was quivering. “Is this real, Billy?”
“I’m afraid so. When I was on watch duty, voices called out to me. I was dragged up to the fifth floor by living corpses. They were your co-workers, Jessica, but they were temporarily inhabited by ghosts, including Andy’s. Andy told me a haunted movie projector is playing horror movies. It's the simplest explanation I can give you. That’s why there are the strange creatures out there. The crazier it sounds, the more it makes sense. Andy said Dr. Aorta was his insurance policy. I guess that proves the movies do come to life.”
Nelson said, “You were right, Billy, about
Death Reject
. And the
500 Foot Hooker
, I was right about that too. The Internet site with the pictures, it’s real.”
Jessica hid her face in her hands. She still didn't want to believe the far-fetched truth.
Dr. Aorta brought them back to the current situation. “Let’s get a move on. I know how to get to Ted’s apartment building. My vehicle is parked outside.”
“Let’s use the emergency exit,” Billy suggested. “If we’re going to do this, let’s be safe.”
Jessica raised her voice. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere! This creep, I barely know him. He’s not real. He’s a fucking B-movie character. You say he’s Russian, but I hear the New Jersey accent. He’s a fake.”
Nelson refused her argument. “He’s an A-1, first class, man of valor.”
“Shut the fuck up, you…you,” Jessica stammered, “dork! You’re getting off on this guy. Why don't you go jerk each other off after a double feature, or something.”
Dr. Aorta stepped out of the office without further talk. He faced the end of the hall and removed a ray-gun from his shoulder holster. The ray gun was made of reflective steel. It had the handle of a small handgun, but the sides of the device had glue stick tubes around the circumference. “Stand back, evil, or I’ll blast you to hell!”
Billy joined the man but doubled back at the sight of the enemy.
The man from
Death Reject
.
“If you blow up,” Dr. Aorta warned, “you’ll kill us, but when you come back together, you’ll be stuck. This is a super-chemical adhesive. You’ll never explode again.”
The death reject, his corpse face shiftless and unaffected, simply looked at Dr. Aorta. He pointed his finger straight out. His fingernail grew to a sharp lance. He sliced both wrists and cackled, throwing his head back, salivating and foaming with pleasure at his move.
Dr. Aorta shouted, “Run like hell for the fire exits! The bastard’s going to flood us out of the building!”
The warning was useless. Billy expected the man’s wrists to gush blood, but this was like the breaking of a dam. The flesh burst open from his wrist up to the forearm.
Ssssssssssssst!
The death reject’s body was hidden behind the torrent of blood that erupted form him. The spray elevated to a wall of crimson, the tide ripping doors from the hinges, the wave barreling down upon them. Each of them was pounded down onto their backs. Jessica had wrenched open the fire exit the moment it happened. The liquid push delivered them down three sets of stairs, their bodies gliding on blood, spinning, flipping, hurled forward as if body surfing in red. Nelson went under, pushed by the rushing tide. An ocean of blood raised them many feet above the actual stairs. They were paddling to survive.
Billy paddled harder, swimming along with the current. He couldn’t see anybody else in the red waves. They finally arrived in the ground-floor lobby, spread out like beached fish. Blood flooded the lobby, washing up the furniture and filling up the space. Jessica, Nelson and Dr. Aorta had landed farther out than him, so Billy regained his composure, waded through knee-deep blood, and lifted each of them to their feet.
Dr. Aorta removed his suit jacket, angrily heaving it into the blood. “That’s a huge dry cleaning bill!” He pointed at the exit. “Move it, people. Death Reject will be right behind us.”
They followed Dr. Aorta, the B-movie character they had no choice but to trust.
“Listen to the man,” Billy demanded. “I don’t know any other plan that’s as good as following this guy.”
He clutched Jessica’s arm and helped her along as they waded through the blood. Nelson was side-by-side with Dr. Aorta.
That prick is loving every second of this.
Dr. Aorta picked up a chair and heaved it into the window. The shatter allowed the draining of blood onto the street. It gurgled down the gutter and painted the sidewalks. As they stepped into the Chicago night, the thinning air still carried a chill. Jessica was repulsed, being slathered in red.
“I’m taking the longest shower after this is over," she said.
Dr. Aorta giggled—two high-pitched snorts. “Prissy thing, if we’re going to survive, you're going to get your hands even dirtier.”
“Oh, fuck off. I’ve had intestines touch me, I’ve seen my co-workers massacred, and I almost drowned in blood. I'm about as nasty as a lady can get.”
Billy squeezed her arm. “Let’s just get to the address.”
“I lost the paper,” Dr. Aorta said matter-of-factly. Then he smiled that astute, inside-joke smile. “Oh, but I memorized it.”
Billy asked, "So how are we going to get there?”
Dr. Aorta pointed up the street next to Star Coffee. “That’s my baby. It’s a GTK Boxer. I just call it ’The Boxer’.”
Billy eyed the war machine. Camouflage painted the modular armor. It had eight large wheels. It was like a tank without the turret. Maybe a steroid-injected Hummer, Billy thought.
“German engineering at its finest,” Dr. Aorta bragged. “It has a 40mm automatic grenade launcher sticking out the front and an MG3 machine gun. Baby runs on diesel. This will mow down whatever’s in our way and protect us from their evil.”
The street shifted, literally rocked on its foundation. Three streetlights tilted and crashed from the concussion. Car alarms went off. The breaking of rubble, the grinding of rocks, and a deafening sigh of pain, “UHNNNNNNNNNN…”
“Now what?” Billy shouted. “What else is there? Trolls with laser guns?”
Down the street, the back of the five hundred-foot hooker rose from the street. She lifted herself up again from the subway and dominated the street. Blood trickled down her face. From her eye down to her jaw the flesh was jagged and serrated. She swung her fist down at them, but she was only semi-conscious and missed. Billy and Jessica were forced to back-pedal from the vehicle, but Nelson and Dr. Aorta found safety within the Boxer.
Nelson stuck his head out of the top hatch. “Hurry up, guys, before she swings again!”
Dr. Aorta took the helm, Billy assumed, because the vehicle coughed out a black jet of exhaust and sped from the scene. Nelson shouted down into the vehicle, “What the hell are you doing? You’re leaving them! Guys, run—watch out!”
Ssssssssssssssssonk!
With a flash of orange and an ear-shattering boom, the grenade launcher issued its first round. It struck the woman at her shoulder. Bone, blood and flesh disintegrated. The damage rained down onto the city in thickening clops. The g-stringed titan raged, screamed and threw her head back. She stamped her stilettos and shook the earth, causing the vehicle to side-wheel.
“That guy’s going to get Nelson killed,” Billy huffed. “I shouldn’t have trusted that war monger. This is all out of control!”
Out from the alleys, they arrived. Men and women with their heads split down the middle, teeth clacking together, the Venus flytrap monsters hungry for brains.
“Run!” Billy pulled Jessica from the alley. Dozens pursued them, pouring out of apartments, wrecked buildings and gutters. “Into the subway, quick!”
They rushed down the steps and into the subway. They raced down each stair, Billy catching Jessica from falling forward when she turned her ankle on one of the steps. They reached the end of the stairs and prayed the subway was clear of enemies.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ted forced himself to stop drinking after reeling from five back-to-back shots of whiskey. He couldn’t focus, his mind a sinkhole full of shit. Nobody knew he was in the bar, though every now and then new screams carried into the night. Ted figured there weren’t many people left to die. He was safe for now, he consoled himself. There's nothing else he could do for anyone. He tried his best, and with that consolation, he sat alone at a booth opposite a dart board and a Terminator pinball machine. He stared at the beer poster of three women clad in bikinis floating on inflatable rafts on a lagoon-like pool. Ted dreamed of swimming with the brunette and the blonde, sandwiched between them, and staying tipsy.
“The closest you’re going to get to that is with your vampire women.” He laughed hysterically. “I should’ve called the movie
Naked Graveyard Vampires Find Orgasms in Dildo Cemetery
. I can’t believe I had sex with them. Un-be-fucking-lievable. They’re ghosts. They’re dead. But it's the best sex I've ever had! Ah-hah-hah-hah!”
The silence that followed was haunting. He grew paranoid. Uncertain. He regretted drinking. The room tilted. He had to swim upstream to form complete thoughts. The image of Detective Vickers’ head sliced from the neck by a schoolgirl replayed in his mind. That could’ve been him. Should’ve been him.
Why didn’t the slasher girls kill me? I’m not that fast. They could see where I was running. I didn’t out-maneuver them.
He scrambled across the room and tried the phone. The phone lines were down. How many people were still alive in the city? Was he one of the few remaining, if not the only one period?
The room was rocked by tremors. Huge footsteps.
FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP!
Bottles were jarred from the shelf and shattered.
He peeked through the curtain.
FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP!
The concussions grew in intensity. The five hundred-foot woman passed the bar, pursuing something, her steps quick, precise and undeterred by her surroundings. Her breasts jiggled, her stilettos keeping her at a jog. He recalled the ending of the film where she was blown up by jet fighters. The end shot was a fake city being drenched in blood.
Ted pulled away from the curtain. The determination to sneak into the apartment hadn’t vanished, but it was weakened by the improbability of survival.
You won’t survive in here for very much longer, either. I won’t die in a fucking bar.