Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors (8 page)

The sounds of gunfire increased and Jimmy Lee added his own beat to the deadly staccato song.
 
He worked the lever of the old rifle like a wild-west cowboy, taking the first in the head, the second in the throat and the third in the stomach.
 
Each one threw up its tiny hands just like a real person.
 
When the bullets passed through their tough little bodies, they were hurled back and black smelly shit bubbled out of their smoking husks.
 
It was their blood and the thick stench was already drifting up and out of the killing ground.

Regular bullets didn’t work.
 
They’d found that out the first battle and their lack of preparation had almost killed them and sent the hordes crawling across the Earth.
 
It was the silver that had been soaking in holy water for nearly a week that did the damage.
 

Preacher Man said their bodies couldn’t take it.

Preacher Man said they was like werewolves that way.

Jimmy Lee missed with his next two shots, but found his aim again and brought five more down.
 
When his sector was empty he stole a look at the rest of the battle and saw the little demons getting thrown back — twisting, dying and finally transforming into obscene piles of hell-spawned fertilizer.

Granny said it was what the white men did when they came that had started everything.
 
She said the Injuns had been
one with the land
.
 
And then the white men came and started killing everything and everyone.
 
It was a Cherokee Chief that had finally gotten fed up and worked some strange magic.
 
It was supposed to clear the white men out of the hills.
 
And it did — but it also unleashed a demonic horde that killed everyone who had set foot in them for a hundred years.
 
It was a long time before the land had finally been freed of Satan’s Horde.

A piercing scream erupted from the depths below the outhouse and Jimmy Lee winced, his ears threatening to pop.
 
He tightened his grip on the Winchester and tried to keep his aim on his sector.
 

Finally, the roof splintered and blew apart as dozens of large winged creatures surged toward the sky.
 
Their green skin was pulled tight over human-shaped bodies and oozed pus that fell back to the earth in sizzling patches, killing everything it touched.
 
Their immense batwings glowed as the noon sun poured through them detailing each vein, artery and delicate bone.

Granny emptied her pistol into one attempting to fly over and drop its gelatinous acid.
 
The creature fell with a multi-octave scream and Jimmy Lee joined his Granny in a smile at the satisfying crunch the ground provided the demon’s delicate, deadly structure.
 
Granny jerked a speed loader from her cleavage and reloaded the smoking chambers.
 
She shot a wad of tobacco spit toward the downed demon and rejoined the fray.

Across the ravine Ernie
Whitmire
was running in a circle, succeeding only in fanning the flames of his shirt.
 
Beside him was a dead avian demon that had erupted into its own unholy bonfire.
 
Jimmy Lee felt Granny’s hand push him low and he heard the explosion of the one she’d shot.
 

He yelled his thanks, then rose and took out two more of the little ones, who had been sneaking up the hill in a low crawl.
 
They tumbled back down, turning into rolling mounds of shit before they
squelched
to a stop at the bottom.

Jimmy Lee heard a new humming below the gunfire and demonic screams.
 
He shuddered and realized the Super Maggots were coming — big
horkin
’ maggots covered with ugly purple fur that were deceptively fast.
 
“Like corn through a coon hound,” his Grandpa had said.
 
They could squirm up to you and take your leg off with their acidic mucus before you even had chance to feel the pain.
 
Jimmy Lee’s older brother, Josh, had lost an arm last year pulling one off his already-dead cousin, Odd Todd. And if you listened to their hum long enough, you were sure to become hypnotized.
 
Preacher Man said it was like sonar — like what bats do.

The first Appalachian Cocktail arced through the air from the
Whitmire
side and hit the outhouse.
 
The glass shattered and the crumbling wood was suddenly coated in a sheet of white-lightning fire.
 
Soon the air was filled with dozens of the glistening bombs and the floor of the ravine was a lake of burning moonshine.
 
Jimmy Lee stared as fifteen of the Super Maggots escaped and headed straight for the log he and Grandma were using as cover.
 
He fired round after round into the hairy beasts until his chamber clicked empty.
 
Cursing, he fumbled for his box of shells.
 
He started reloading his last six as Granny and the rest of the clan alternated their fire from the air to the ground and back.
 

Without warning, Granny screamed and fell face first into the log, shattering the left side of her bifocals.
 
Jimmy Lee swung his Winchester around and fired twice, downing the avian that had somehow made it through the barrage and dropped a handful of acid on Granny’s back.
 
The dead avian fell behind Jimmy Lee and started smoking immediately.
 
He rolled his body over his Granny’s and let the ground smother the fire on her back.
 
He felt hope when he saw her chest move, but he had no time.
 
He had to get Granny away before the avian exploded.

Jimmy Lee dropped his rifle, grabbed her under her arms and started pulling her backwards, wondering how the hell such a small woman weighed so damn much.
 
He got only a few feet before he tripped and fell back hard, bouncing his head on the hard Tennessee clay.
 
And then the humming became seriously louder.

Three worms suddenly appeared atop the log, their eyeless heads lifting as if smelling his incapacitation.
 
Jimmy struggled to rise, but his Granny had fallen on his legs.
 
He hunted desperately for the rifle and spied it laying by Granny’s feet — too far and out of reach.
 
The worms descended hungrily, heading straight for the two of them.
 

Jimmy screamed like a girl.

A long black cloak brushed past, temporarily blocking his vision.
 
The Preacher Man aimed from the hip and streams of holy water shot from the end of an orange and green Super Soaker.
 
Each worm burst into a gout of purple fire as the Preacher Man screamed divine condemnation.
 
Their savior fired until his plastic cannon was empty then paused to admire his handy work.
 
Jimmy’s mouth, still opened in an unleashed scream, closed as the Preacher Man turned, winked and headed for another part of the battlefield — just a little too wild-eyed for a man of God.

There were four more waves of demons, but Jimmy Lee hadn’t seen them.
 
Everyone was too busy and his Granny was weighing him down, so he had just lain there and prayed.
 
He heard the Ground Pounders come, but they were such big targets that even his little six-year-old sister Suzy Lee had no trouble hitting one.
 
She even stood on top of the log, firing her Uzi like she was a Middle Eastern-born rag-wearing terrorist.
 
Since they couldn’t aim too good, the automatic weapons were always given to the little kids.
 
And after Jimmy Lee shot Uncle John
John
in the ass that time, the kids were placed up front.

The sun had set hours ago and just a few still-smoking trees were the only signs of another successful battle; not to mention the hundreds of piles of shit that covered the ground like mines.

Jimmy Lee finally found Annie
Whitmire
.
 
She was already a little tipsy and he grinned in anticipation.
 
Maybe he’d get more than just a feel this year.
 
Maybe they could roll in the weeds.

She stood in the growing crowd of cousins surrounding the brand new outhouse that had just been placed over the hole.
 
About a dozen banjoes and at least three dulcimers were hammering out a version of
Go Tell Aunt
Rhodie
.
 
All the cousins wore different sized smiles — winning was never a sure thing.
 
Everyone was relieved it was finally over.

A hush fell on the crowd and a path opened near Jimmy Lee.
 
Granny walked stoically by, pausing to give him a big hug.
 
She stood back and smiled and he felt warm pride well up in his body.
 
She was proud of him for saving her.
 
Everyone loved Granny, and no one more than him.
 
Maybe they’d write a song about him.
 
Maybe he’d be famous.
 

Jimmy Lee smiled back, then doubled over in pain as she sunk a tiny, hard fist into his stomach.
 
As he gasped for breath and fell to one knee he heard her reprimand, “Never leave your rifle, boy.”

The crowd erupted with laughter and all Jimmy Lee could do was grin sheepishly.
 
Granny continued toward the outhouse, pausing only once to hitch up her gun belt then entered the small structure.
 
It was her due as the oldest surviving member of the clans to consecrate the victory.

Uncle John
John
limped to the front of the door and raised his arms.
 
The two clans silenced and waited solemnly.
 

Then, like the imperious voice of Satan himself came the clear, thunderous sound of his Granny.
 
The noise of her defecation filled the ravine and surrounded the two clans in a warm embrace.
 
The older ones remembering Grandpa Wheaton, nodded and smiled.

Granny exited with a hitch of her jeans and a face filled with pride.
 
She received congratulations from
Whitmire
and Wheaton alike.
 
This was the true end of
The Feud
.
 
The line formed to the right and people started pushing and jockeying for position.
 
Many had been saving up for days and were dancing with impacted plumbing.
 
Jimmy Lee eyed the line and guessed he had at least a two-hour wait.
 
He headed off for a jug of the
Whitmire
Special.

It wasn’t long before he saw Annie standing alone.
 
She leaned against a tree trying to act innocent and vulnerable and coy.
 
Jimmy Lee smiled a little drunkenly as he watched her twirl her long yellow pony-tails.
 
His Granny had told him to watch out for this kind of stuff.
 
He almost turned and left, but the memory of last year’s
feel
took control of his feet.
 
Just then, however,
Quinten
stepped squarely in his path.
 
Jimmy Lee watched as the bigger boy’s mouth struggled to form words.

The inbred
Whitmire
never got the chance.
 
Jimmy Lee swung the empty jug and caught the boy on the side of the head.
 
The jug cracked and broke into three large pieces as
Quinten
sagged to the ground.
 
Jimmy Lee stepped around him and strode up to Annie, ready for a hero’s welcome.
 
His leer changed to a frown as he noticed her frightened stare at something over his shoulder.

Jimmy Lee spun.
 
Quinten
was on the ground jerking and shaking like he was having some kind of fit.

“What have you done to my boy now, Jimmy Lee?” came
Quinten’s
mother’s squeaky voice as she ran up to her trembling son.

A crowd began to form.
 
Purple-tinged froth oozed out of
Quinten’s
mouth and several people shrieked.

“Oh My Easter Hell!
 
Get the Preacher Men.
 
The boy’s possessed!”

It wasn’t half a minute before Preacher Jacob and Preacher David each arrived, a dripping Super Soaker in each hand.

“Strip him,” commanded David and three men held the boy down while his mother ripped off his clothes.

Now, Jimmy Lee noticed that the purple bile was also seeping out of the shaking boy’s ass.
 
Several of the cousins crossed themselves and backed away.
 
There was always one that got it after every Feud.
The Devil’s sneaky like that
, his Grandpa had said, and it was
Quinten
this time.
 
Jimmy Lee shuddered.
 
It could have just as easily been him.