Read Highway To Armageddon Online
Authors: Harold Bloemer
Arrow flashes a stupid, cheesy grin. “Don’t mention it. I’d have your back if
all the armies of the Earth came after you.”
Boom Boom’s cheeks turn red. I roll my eyes and gag.
“Let’s go, people!” Machete hollers from the car.
I glance at Yin and Yang and notice they’re starting to moan. Machete’s got the
right idea; we need to get out of here, and fast.
The three of us hurry over to the Moon Cruiser and hop into the back, Boom Boom
sits in the middle so she can keep the peace between me and douchebag. Krystal
is already up front with Machete.
“It’s about time,” Krystal says irritably.
“Shut up, Krystal,” I say. “You didn’t do anything but get your ass kicked.”
Machete mutters something about how annoying we all are and starts the car. Two
slender wings extend out of the sides and the Moon Cruiser roars to life. Machete
steps on the pedal and we shoot forward. I slam back in my seat and reach for
my seatbelt.
Boom Boom grabs my arm. “Lance, your hand is bleeding.”
I look down. Blood is still trickling from the wound I received courtesy of Yang’s
sword.
“I think we’re all pretty beat up,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I got my forearm sliced open and you don’t see me complaining,” Machete
says, holding up her bloodied arm for all to see.
Boom Boom and I make a face.
Krystal covers her mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Do you have any gauze and bandages?” Boom Boom asks.
“Yeah, they should be up in the glove box,” Arrow says.
Krystal opens the glove box and tosses a thing of bandages back to Boom Boom.
Boom Boom goes to work dressing my wound.
I smile at her gratefully. “Thanks, Firecracker.”
“Arrow, do me a favor and give the car a quick sweep for bugs,” Machete says,
swerving her Moon Cruiser to the left to avoid a flock of bats.
Arrow dons his goggles and looks under the car seats. He only spends a few
seconds on the floor before he holds up a tiny metallic chip.
“Found it!” Arrow chucks the mini GPS chip out the window. “Now if Pitbull
wants to find us, he’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Krystal yawns. “Where are we going, by the way? I’m tired as hell.”
“I’m trying to get some distance between us and Pitbull,” Machete explains.
“I’ll land in a bit.”
“We’re going to have to stop and get new weapons,” I say, reminding everyone
we’re pretty much defenseless at the moment.
“Are there any gun shops nearby?” Machete asks.
“Lemme check.” Boom Boom slides on her goggles and sits in silence as green
light shines out of the sides. A few minutes later she says, “The closest gun
store is at that Wild West Settlement.”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to visit that place,” Machete says. “Everyone dresses
up like they did back in the 1800s.”
Machete almost sounds giddy talking about the Wild West. She’d probably feel
right at home back in those lawless days.
“How far is it?” Arrow asks.
“Only a couple hundred miles, and it’s on the way to Vegas. We can head there
tomorrow.”
“Alright, we’ve flown far enough for one night,” Machete says. “Prepare for
landing.”
Machete doesn’t give us much time to prepare because a split-second later she
takes us into a nosedive. We zoom down toward another meadow. Machete pulls up
just before we crash into the ground and glides to a somewhat smooth landing.
Machete hops out of the car, opens her trunk, and tosses us pillows and
blankets.
“You kids get some sleep. I’ll stand guard for a few hours. We shouldn’t have
to worry about anyone else dropping in on us, but you can never be too safe.”
Machete
walks off into the distance, until all I can see is the orange tip of her
cigar. Soon even that vanishes from sight. Machete is a lone wolf if I ever saw
one.
Pretty soon everyone is snoring up a storm. Krystal is the worst one. She
sounds like a pig with a bad case of asthma. I almost barf when I notice Boom
Boom curled up in Arrow’s arms. I turn around so I don’t have to see them
cuddling.
I have trouble falling asleep. When I do occasionally drift off, it’s not too
deep, so I keep having dreams. They range from Pitbull strangling me with his
cyborg arm, to Caesar torturing me, to Yin and Yang chucking throwing stars into
my skull, to Rasputin zapping me with lightning, to General Kang gutting me
like a fish while Empress Xing watches from her throne of human skulls. The
first thing I think when I wake up the next morning is,
‘Damn, we sure do
have a lot of enemies.’
Chapter Eight:
Boom Boom
I wake at the crack of dawn. It’s not voluntary, either. Machete feels the need
to turn up the radio full blast, jolting me out of a deep slumber.
I yawn and stretch. Arrow wraps his arms around me.
“Hello, gorgeous. How do you look so amazing first thing in the morning?”
I should know better than to fall for Arrows’ cheesy one-liners, but it does
feel nice being complimented about my appearance when I haven’t put any effort
into it.
“You look pretty good yourself,” I say.
“You guys are going to make me puke, and I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet,”
Lance says as he climbs out of the car.
“If that’s all it takes to get him to go away, then I’m going to start sweet
talking you more often,” Arrow remarks.
I playfully punch Arrow in the stomach. “Be nice.”
After we all wash up in a nearby stream and eat a quick breakfast of dried
fruit and trail mix, we squeeze back into the car and head toward the Wild West
Settlement. To kill time I slide on my goggles and do a little research on the
settlement’s founder, Geronimo Blackbird. Blackbird is a billionaire who owns
several casinos and high-rise condos in Sanctuary 41. He also owns several
major sports teams. He’s an ardent Klaxton supporter who’s donated millions of
dollars to her campaigns over the years. His bio says he’s in his 60s, but in
his most recent pics he doesn’t look a day over 50. He must use one hell of a
plastic surgeon.
The articles I come across all say the same thing. Blackbird has always been
fascinated with the Wild West, ever since he learned as a young child that one
of his ancestors was an outlaw cowboy who terrorized authorities in the late
1800s. (He is also of Cherokee descent, which makes his infatuation with
cowboys somewhat ironic.) 30 years ago he decided to use his massive fortune to
create a city that resembled the Wild West towns he grew up daydreaming about.
The Wild West Settlement is now one of the most popular tourist destinations in
America.
It’s not just an amusement park, either. People actually come to live there so
they can live like real cowboys. The place is so authentic that historians
claim it’s like traveling in a time machine. It’s also dangerous. Dozens of
tourists get killed or wounded every year from saloon brawls and wild
shootouts. I personally don’t like the idea of us going somewhere so anarchist,
but we do need weapons. And the Wild West Settlement has the closest gun shop
for hundreds of miles.
After a few hours of flying we finally reach the settlement. No flying cars are
allowed inside the settlement fence (I guess so as not to ruin the historic
atmosphere), so we park in a nearby lot. We then climb out of the car and make
our way to the park entrance.
The line to the entrance is so long it takes us half an hour to get to the
gate. While we wait I admire all the crazy getups. All the guys are dressed as
cowboys, with Wild West style hats, vests, gun holders, belts with huge
buckles, and boots with spurs. Some of the women dress as cowboys, too, but
most wear dresses that make them look like they have big cabooses. All the kids
look especially cute in their Wild West gear.
We finally reach the front entrance, where an older cowboy is taking money and
handing out tickets. The cowboy scowls when he sees us.
“You got a problem, buster?” Machete asks.
“My problem, lady, is your indecent attire. We don’t like outsiders in these
here parts.”
“You’re a damn theme park! The whole place is crawling with outsiders!”
“It’s all part of the act, Mom,” Arrow whispers. “Chill out.”
“Oh, my bad,” Machete says.
The cowboy adjusts his jacket and gruffly says, “I highly recommend you visit
one of our shops and buy new clothes. That is, if you want to avoid trouble.”
“Oh, I like trouble,” Machete says.
“Hmm,” says the cowboy. “Now then, how many in your party?”
“Five,” Machete replies.
The cowboy waves five tickets in the air. “$500, please.”
Machete grumbles something about being robbed, but she does fork over the
money. The cowboy hands us the tickets and gestures toward the open gate. “Have
fun!”
The instant I step foot into the Wild West Settlement, I’m overwhelmed by all
the vivid sights, sounds, and smells. The settlement is massive, with tons of
Wild West-esque stores and shops. Hundreds of people walk along the town
square’s dirt road. Everyone is dressed up… everyone but us. I’m reminded of
this when we receive dirty stares.
I’m most intrigued by all the horse-drawn carriages that rattle past us. I love
horses, and this is the first time I’ve seen so many. The smell of the
settlement, though, leaves a bit to be desired. I immediately detect the
unmistakable scent of dung… lots and lots of dung. The piles of brown crap that
litter the streets imply people in the Wild West don’t think to clean up after
their four-legged friends.
I stare in wonder at all the stores and shops. There are restaurants with names
like ‘Momma’s Country Cooking’ and ‘Auntie Marie’s Fried Chicken Café’. The
delicious aroma of fried chicken, cornbread, and biscuits wafts over us, making
my mouth water. I can tell from the saliva dribbling down Krystal’s chin I’m
not the only one who finds the smells intoxicating. There are also old-style
pharmacies, clothing stores, saloons, and even a place to purchase tombstones. If
you look past all the filth, dirt, grime, and horse crap, it’s quite a charming
little town.
I’m forced to reconsider that assumption seconds later when shots ring out. All
the tourists scream and duck for cover. The horses neigh and take off, sending
a few people tumbling out of the back of their carriages.
I duck under the porch of a nearby restaurant with Machete and Arrow. I have no
idea where Krystal and Lance went.
“What’s going on?” I ask, peering out from under the porch.
My question is answered when the door of a bank across the street flies open.
Four rugged, grimy-looking cowboys burst out of the bank with large burlap
sacks I assume hold money.
“It’s a wild west bank robbery,” Machete exclaims gleefully. “Awesome!”
Arrow and I stare at Machete like she’s lost her ever-loving mind.
The cowboys run drunkenly down the street, hooting and hollering and firing
their pistols into the air.
“Should we do something?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Arrow mumbles. “Something about this seems---”
“Look!” Machete shouts, cutting Arrow off. “The coppers have arrived.”
I look back out into the street and sure enough, the sheriff and two of his
deputies have arrived on horseback.
The sheriff aims his rifle at the bad guys. “Put em up, Mad Dog Baxter! You and
yer cronies have been terrorizin’ these here parts for far too long. The gig is
up!”
One of the robbers (I assume Mad Dog Baxter) staggers forward and slurs, “No,
our gig isn’t up.
Yer
gig is up, Sherriff!”
Mad Dog aims his pistol at the Sheriff and fires a shot. The Sherriff topples
off of his horse and collapses to the ground.