Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

Same as the old boss.

Mortimer stepped over the body, crossed through to the “throne room.”

The giant slumped dead in the chair, his chest and face caked with dark blood. He still clutched the caveman club in one hand. Around him lay half a dozen Red Stripes with their heads smashed open. Horace had gotten in his licks before he went down.

Mortimer picked his way around the bodies, trying not to step in too much gore, and entered the laboratory.

Freddy-the Red Czar-sat with his back to Mortimer. He wore a headset plugged into a ham radio. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and taking gulps from a bottle of his terrible vodka.

He must have sensed Mortimer’s presence, turned abruptly. “Oh, it’s you. Asshole. You started all this.”

“Not me.”

“I attacked before I was ready. You made me think Armageddon was about to attack too, so I attacked first.”

“I need to borrow your radio,” Mortimer said.

This made Freddy laugh harder. “You want to hear what’s on the radio? Here, have a listen.”

He unplugged the headphones, and the speakers buzzed to life.

– “…and I think they’re dead too. I can’t find any of the security people and-oh, hell, they’re everywhere. They killed Nancy and the whole kitchen staff…” Static.

“Who was that?” Mortimer asked.

Freddy laughed again, eyes afire with madness. “That’s your precious paradise. Joey Armageddon’s is in ruins. Lookout Mountain is a slaughterhouse.”

“You’re a liar.”

The static cleared, the voice coming in strong again.-“…if you can hear this, if anyone’s reading me at all. Repeat, the bicycle slaves are in revolt. They’re apparently organized, maybe been planning this…I don’t…they got weapons…so many dead…” It fuzzed to static again and didn’t come back.

Mortimer felt his stomach twist, his fingers and arms and face going cold and numb.

Freddy slurped vodka, much of it spilling on his chest. He coughed, wiped his mouth. “Nobody wins. Only losers. Only more and more of the world dying faster and faster. I couldn’t bring back civilization my way, and Armageddon couldn’t do it his way.”

Mortimer thought about the village around the incline station, all the bustling shops, the happy people singing along to “Walk Like an Egyptian.” It would have worked, thought Mortimer. We were so close.

“So what’s it going to be, Mortimer Tate?” Freddy belched, drank more vodka. “Are you going to shoot me now? Ha. What’s that going to prove? Go ahead. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Bang.

“Always glad to help.”

Downstairs, Mortimer climbed behind the wheel of the MINI Cooper, started the engine. He felt light and insubstantial, like he might float up out of himself, get lost on the breeze. Or maybe he would faint. He wasn’t sure.

“You find out anything?” Bill asked from the backseat.

Mortimer hesitated, took a deep breath. “No. No, I didn’t find out anything.”

“I’m sure it’s all fine,” Sheila said. “Last we heard General Malcolm had won. The Red Stripes ran out of gas.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bill said hopefully. “They kicked ass. And we rescued those women. I’d say the good guys won the day.”

“Right,” Sheila said. “Yeah.”

They looked at Mortimer, waited.

“I want to see Florida,” Mortimer said. “You guys ever been to Florida?”

They scrounged a hose to siphon enough gasoline from the battlefield wrecks to get out of the city, kept heading south and finally slowed nearly to a stop when they spotted an unknown edifice in the center of the interstate ahead.

“Looks like a person,” Sheila said.

Mortimer scratched his chin, blew out a sigh. “Just standing in the middle of the highway?”

“It’s too big to be a person,” Bill said.

Mortimer briefly pictured Horace, the shark-toothed giant. “We’ll go slow. I’ll toss it into reverse if something happens.”

“Or run him over,” Sheila suggested.

They edged closer, and the thing took shape. It was made in the form of a human, arms outstretched, legs bent. It stood atop a length of neon orange fiberglass that might have once been a car door or hood.