The teenagers repaired to the basement to find Travis, resplendent in his boxers listening to Guns n' Roses and having himself a good old time slicing up the captured boys. Lily burst out giggling. "God, you're weird," she said, taking up a knife of her own. She ungagged one of the more lucid ones, the dark-haired one, and asked him how he was doing.
"You fuckin inbred whore! What the hell's wrong with you?," he spat, apparently not fully realizing his situation. He struggled, unable to move out of his chains holding him to the wall. Lily licked her lips and declared he was a fine piece of meat. She put her soft lips on his and moaned with pleasure, running her hands under his shirt. He bit her lower lip, making her stiffen in surprise. She kneed him in the gut, making him release her. She screamed at him, a full banshee sound that made the black-haired youth cringe. Blood trickled down her chin and her greenish eyes twinkled dangerously. She went to the table in the center of the room and selected a lead pipe and came back to him, grinning. "Oh no," the boy groaned, eyes pleading. She then proceeded to whack him him in the side with the pipe until she felt his ribs give way and he slumped against his bonds, unconscious. Frothy red foam oozed out of his mouth and Lily threw down her weapon, satisfied.
"Son of a bitch," Lilith complained, wiping her mouth. Tommy asked her if she was ok, and she assured him she was. In fact, after the brutal beating she'd administered she felt elated.
Tommy suddenly felt protective over his cousin, turning to the preps with retaliation in mind. They were completely under their control to do with as they wanted; it was an awesome discovery. For once he was in power, he wasn't a victim. He didn't even pay any mind when Travis licked the heavy one's face, carassing him almost lovingly.
"Rufus, you didn't have that nasty Bob over at my Daddy's house usin the phone again, did you?," Rita asked him, hands on hips.
Rufus got that guilty look that no male can cover, essentially giving him away to any ladies close to him. The woman's voice rose an octave or two as she scolded him, telling him her pa had had enough trauma in his life and wouldn't take kindly to Spaulding's little monkeyboy messing around his house. RJ let it go on for a while, then simply went over to her and easliy swept the petite woman up and began kissing her.
"RJ you dumb bear!," she chastised, burying her brown hands into his salt and pepper hair and kissing him back. When they pulled away, she said "I thought we was going to yer folks' house today."
"We are," he spoke, frugal as ever with his words. "You ready?"
"I put mah blue dress on, didn't I? So let's go, you big galoot." Rita grabbed her purse and they departed the small apartment.
Otis threw the big switch, making the body on the table jerk and spasm. It raised up and looked around the lab, awaiting a signal from Otis. "My pretty," he crooned, pleased with his creation. "Join your brethren," he instructed, and the naked cheerleader once known as Carla swung her legs over the table's edge and shambled across the room.
A few hours later Otis and Mama were looking at the kids piled up against the wall of the basement. Fear and sweat permeated the air, along with some new bloodstains on the floor. Tommy's head rested in Lilith's lap, Travis's head on her shoulder and they were all asleep. Gore caked their youthful hair and faces in peaceful repose. "Ain't that sweet?," Baby said softly. Otis grinned, seeing Stacy in his son's form.
"Hey big man," he spoke to Tommy. He opened his light brown eyes and they lit up seeing his father. "Come with me." They went upstairs to an unused room and Otis went to the closet.
"These are for you," Otis said, presenting the case of antique surgical tools to Tommy. "I've been saving em for any offspring I might have. Heh."
"Wow," breathed the boy, sensing the extreme age of the utensils. Tentatively he reached out to touch a shiny scalpel in awe. "Did you not know my mom had me?"
Otis shook his head. "Broad skipped out on me before you were born. Didn't figure she'd go through havin you."
Tommy was silent for a few minutes, then looked at the tools again. He wondered if his mother was all right and if she was thinking about him.
Stacy was sleeping in the spare bedroom in Ray's house, still in her clothes, when Jim crawled in beside her. She rolled over to him, saying "What, no more beds in the place?" He muttered no, keeping himself to the edge of his side of the bed. The woman fitted herself against him, arms going around his neck.
"Ummm," went Jim. He was graced with a smoldering kiss, and he detected the rustling of clothing as Stacy shed it. Soon he felt smooth skin against his own, and flustered he started to scoot away and fell out of bed. "Shit!," he swore. It was a good thing the old man's hearing wasn't so great anymore or he'd been seeing about the ruckus. Stacy laughed heartily, the first she'd done so in a long long time, and it felt wonderful.
"Get back in bed," she invited, her top half bare.
"Is this really such a good idea?"
"Get in this bed!," this time it was an order, and like a good marine he complied. As he embraced her, she whispered, "We go into the belly of the beast tomorrow. We may never come back alive," she wrapped her legs around his waist.
The next morning Tommy went down into the beast's lair, eager to learn more about his father. He met some of the ones Otis had brought back from the dead, shambling around. Their brains were mostly mush, and they paid the boy little head. He noticed panels in their heads with lights blinking green and red. He saw more lively ones whose expressions were more lucid but they still didn't respond to him. Then he saw one he recognized.
The naked girl walked aimlessly, limping somewhat. One side of her head was shaved and had the strange lights flashing, and in the flickering electric light many incisions could be seen all over her body. The caked blood on the inside of her thighs attested to Otis's special attention, so he must've enjoyed himself with the unlucky cheerleader. "Carla?"
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice, saliva dribbling down the corner of her mouth. She made some noises but nothing coherent Tommy could understand. "Oh..my..God," Tommy exclaimed.
"You like what I did?," Otis spoke, emerging from the shadows. "Bet she don't give you no lip now." He scratched his stomach and smirked.
"What did you do?"
"A bit of improvement," came the laconic reply. "She didn't quite make it through our little...sessions, and she was still a good specimen. Essentially, her brain is dead but the rest o' her ain't. She even responds sometimes when I'm havin a go at her. Hey, if you wanna have a lil ride on her, feel free. You picked her out, after all."
The boy was suddenly revolted, unable to look at the husk of the once-vivacious girl.
"The deaduns got a battery in their heads, controlled by yours truly of course," he went on, desiring to share everything with his son. "The others are smarter and better workers, all of them improved by me."
"How could you--," began Tommy.
"Why not?"
"It's just wrong!," declared the platinum haired boy.
"Did you expect Mr. Roger's Fucking Neighborhood?," cut in Otis. "You came here to find your family, and this is it. No frills n' bullshit here, baby, and we don't lie to you like yer mama did. Oh yeah, I'm sure she gave you some bogus story didn't she? Everything perfect over there in that little world?"
"You don't know anything about it!"
"Oh, but I do. Sugarcoated dumbed-down nonsense, head full o' ridiculous dreams, livin that rabbit existance. Let me tell you somethin, the only time your mother was ever truly alive was when she was with ME."
"Shut up, don't you talk about her!"
Otis laughed his gravelly laugh, and enlightened Tommy on Otis's ideas and schemes amidst slapping the shit out of Tommy.
"Hurt, didn't it?," Otis taunted after sending the boy reeling backwards. "That pain is nothin compared to how yer mama hurt me." He bent and helped Tommy up, who was completely bewildered at the outburst. "I love you, Tommy--don't you mistake. It's my turn to teach ye, now."
Both turned their heads at the sounds coming from aboveground--sounded like the exchange of gunfire. "Shit on a stick!," spat Otis, urging Tommy toward the exit. Peeking his battered, reconstructed old head out, Otis observed shots being fired to and from the farmhouse. He squinted his sensitive eyes at the harsh sunlight, cringing back into the safe darkness. "Jesus H. Christ we're under attack!"
"What?!," exclaimed Tommy.
A few moments earlier, an old pickup parked out of sight of the Firefly residence and two people got out, slinging guns and bags over their shoulders. "You guys can do this, I know it," Ray told the pair. "Please get my girl if you see her. Hope you get yer boy."
They made their way to the home, Stacy imitating Jim's crouch. She felt so weird with all that firepower on her back and in her hands, and she hoped she wasn't messing up terribly. After spying on the family for a while, they decided to chance sneaking in one of the downstairs windows. However, no sooner than they pushed the windowpane up and Jim starting to squeeze inside when a skinny dark-haired boy walked into the room and cried out in surprise. "We got visitors!," he hollered, and movement could be heard in the other rooms.
"Time to jet!," exclaimed Stacy, pulling on Jim. They ran to cover just as bullets began spraying the spot they had been, hiding behind the junked hulk of a truck. "What do we do?," squealed Stacy.
"Shoot back!," answered Jim, squeezing the trigger on his automatic weapon.
Stacy positioned the gun and aimed like Jim had shown her, pulling the trigger and bracing herself against the kick. She thanked God she didn't shoot her own feet and actually was hitting close to her targets. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she stopped firing to wipe it with her forearm. Her thick hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed in the jeans and blouse she'd been wearing for the last few days, and she figured she was pretty rank even after the shower she had at Ray's house.
Bullets continued to be exchanged between the groups, shouts and curses coming from inside the house. During a break in the barrage Jim told Stacy they needed to move, closer if possible. "Closer?," Stacy was incredulous, her head ringing from the noise. What decided the issue was Jim pushing her out and following right behind her. "Shitballs!," she hissed as they hauled some serious butt toward the front of the house. They hunkered down in front of the porch, catching their breath.
Inside the house was sheer pandemonium, shattered furniture and shards of glass in many of the rear-facing rooms. RJ was reloading his altered SKS and nursing a headwound from a bullet grazing his skull. Baby was in the next room in what was left of a nightgown, picking glass out of her shoulder and chest and cradling a sawed-off shotgun. She called for Lily and was relieved to get an answer--the girl had been upstairs when the shooting began and was unhurt.
"Baby!," came RJ's gruff voice. "It's Travis."
Staggering to her feet Mama rushed toward the sound and found RJ hovering over her son, trying to staunch blood. Twin 9mm's laid where he'd dropped them when he was hit. Checking she found a bullet had went right through his body, narrowly missing the heart and major arteries. Even so he was bleeding and unable to move without excruciating pain. Wild-eyed, the matriarch roared her pain. "Where are they? I saw them headin up front," she spat, shedding the shredded bathrobe she'd been wearing.
"Ready?," asked Jim, asking if she was ready to storm the front door. Stacy replied in the affirmative.
Just then shots rang out at them from a woodshed, causing them to duck. The woman dropped her weapon, face in the dirt. "Come on, fuckers!," challenged Otis, rifle barrel poked out of the shed door. It brought back memories and she nearly froze with fright. She lifted her head up and screamed a response to his challenge and the firing stopped. "You two-timin bitch-hawg wet hole! YOU FUCKIN BITCH, WHAT YOU DOIN BACK HERE?!" Heedless of the sunlight the wraith dashed out of his hiding-place, shooting above their heads to keep Jim from firing back.
Grabbing a handful of blouse he hauled her upright, snarling "Gimme one good reason I shouldn't splatter yer useless brains all over my yard."
Facing him, looking into the well-known faded eyes she replied "Nobody fucked you like I did, you miserable asshole."
"Get up," he told Jim, who obeyed reluctantly. Still holding onto her he smiled at Stacy but it was a shark's grin.
The front door swung open and Baby sprang out, chest essentially bare and brandishing her sawed-off shotgun. She was surprised at seeing Otis in the daylight and even more so at who he had hold of. "Well, well," went Mama, setting down her weapon and sauntering over. "So you're the one who hurt my boy." In the blink of an eye she raked her nails across Stacy's cheek. She went for her again and Jim lunged for them--then Otis slammed the rifle butt against his head. The man fell to the ground out cold.
"Stop!," Tommy yelled, emerging from his cover. Everyone halted and the boy looked from his surrogate mother to his real one, upset.
"Go upstairs with Lily, Tommy," Mama told him.
"Thank God, Tommy," breathed Stacy, relieved to see her son alive and well. "You go on, I'll be fine."
"You shouldn't have come," Tommy scolded his mom, turning to go. "Don't hurt her." Tommy went to check on his cousin after casting a long look at his mother.
"Fuckin crap in a hat, I'm fryin out here," Otis complained, then hollered for RJ to come get Jim. Stacy was observing the all-too-familiar people she'd spent a summer with, Otis seeming not much older but quite ganked up. His jaw was steel, hand was mostly metal and he had a leg brace on his right knee--but few in their right mind would mess with him. He bundled Stacy up the porch steps and into the house.
Baby followed, ample breasts bare and one of them full of glass cuts and bleeding. She was plumper than Stacy remembered and carried a few more scars as well. "Bitch you need your tits cut off and shoved down your piehole," she snapped. Tossing her shoulder-length blonde hair she stalked into the next room to see her son Travis.
Tiny came upstairs at Mama's bidding, having retreated with the gunfire began since he presented such a large target. He was more stooped but appeared about the same, disfigured face covered with a mask. Recognizing Stacy he waved, mumbling in happiness; she waved back and was shoved by Otis.
Stacy clocked him with an elbow, a jarring clang ringing out from his metallic jaw and tore out the door, moving her butt faster than her treadmill on crack-smokin' mode. Almost in slow motion Otis stepped onto the porch and brought the high-powered rifle to bear. Squinting his sensitive eyes in the scope he fired--and a bullet passed through Stacy's lower leg and embedded itself in the ground. Stacy felt a burning in her calf and fell on her side, screaming in pain. She looked at her damaged leg spurting blood then her light brown eyes rolled back in her head.
"Bullseye," crowed Otis.
"Fuck," coughed Stacy as she woke up in a room she'd been in before, riddled with bloodstains. Sharp pain throbbed in her leg, but at least the blood had stopped. Her arm felt sore too, and upon inspection she'd been given some kind of injection. Oh lord, what had they given her? And where was Jim?
"Helloooo, Stacy," said Otis in a high-pitched singsong. "Loooook at my arm!," he swatted her with one of the teenage boys' severed arm. He was apparently raring for action. "Can I give ya a hand?"
"Hello, Otis," she said, gritting her teeth. Otis scratched his back with the appendage and cackled. She watched him move, recalling his serpentine swiftness that was apparent, even though now he moved more carefully. A red bandanna had been tied around his head, but it wasn't a fashion statement. Oh no, not with Otis B. Driftwood--it was to keep sweat out of his eyes and from rusting his replacement jaw. His eyes looked more sunken than the last time she saw him, his lean frame riddled with scars. She appeared nearly the same to him, exept for shorter hair and some lines around her eyes and mouth.
He was supremely pissed at her. He also wanted her something mad. She shied away from him as he neared, jangling the chains that attached to the wall. "Youuuuu thought to keep him away from me, didn't ya?," he shook the grisly relic in her direction.
"Where is my son?"
"Upstairs," came the surprising reply. Tossing the arm aside he took hold of her chin, forcing her to face him. "I...loved you," he said, finally voicing the pain. "Fucking whore. Who's the beat-up old soldier you've dragged with you?" His breath was on her cheek, and she let him run his hands over her.
"Undo these chains," she hissed, pressing herself against him shamelessly. She was baiting him, and he knew it.
"Oh fuck, I've missed you," he moaned, unbuttoning her blouse.
"You realize I'll fucking kill you over our son," she told him, sighing as he tonged a nipple.
"I'll fucking kill you for shits n' giggles," came the retort as he unzipped his pants.
"But a corpse won't ride you like I do."
"AAaaah, you bitch," he giggled like a schoolgirl.
His clothes in a heap beside her own, she spotted the hunting knife he usually wore, and wasted little time stabbing him with it. Right in the neck. Gurgling he writhed in agony, blood pooling on the floor, as she jerked her clothing on and hobbled to the door. "You striped snake," he spat, pulling the knife out and groaning. She made her way up the stairs past a surprised girl that looked like a younger version of herself. Her greenish eyes boggled at the woman before her, like looking in a mirror that had been aged. Tommy soon appeared, and was brought up short as he discerned his mother.
"Mom!," he exclaimed, then ran and embraced her. He'd missed her and was overjoyed she was alive, and repentant as well. "I'm sorry, Mom, I am," he sobbed, and she stroked his platinum hair. "I love them," he spoke truthfully of the demonic family.
"I kow you do," she soothed, glancing over at the teenage girl whose mouth was agape. "I loved them too. But you're better than that. Better than me or them. Tommy, listen! We have to get out of here, and get Rita out too. Her father helped us, and he needs her--he's all alone. Where is Jim?"
"I--I don't know, Baby had him," Tommy answered, and Lily looked at him sharply. He didn't want to leave her, but he realized he couldn't live like this.
"What did you do to Uncle Otis?," she demanded, and it dawned on Stacy she must be the daughter of her dead brother.
Tommy explained who she was and it wrenched Stacy's heart to see such youthful innocence being reared in this hellish den. "Where does Baby keep her...trophies?," Stacy asked. Tommy pointed in the direction and Stacy grabbed his hand in her own mangled hand--the one Otis had chopped half a finger off of when she was young. Working their way down the hall Stacy had her son kick the door in since her leg was lame.
"You can't go in there!," exclaimed Lily, following them but not able to lay hands on her aunt.
Jim was hanging from some straps coming down from the ceiling looking the worse for wear, and a wobbly Travis was raising a knife to strike him. Baby was urging him on when the door flew open. "No!," shrieked Stacy, darting forward as fast as she could. Travis's head snapped toward them. The blade flashed down and instead of his groin (as the kid had intended) it slashed his thigh, eliciting a howl from Jim. Before he could do anything else Stacy seized the knife and sliced the soldier free.
"What the fuck?!," shouted Mama, leaping to her feet. She was clad this time in an 'Achy Breaky' t-shirt, battered old cowboy hat and tight jeans. Then her eyes gazed past Jim and Stacy to the hall, and everyone else turned to look.
A bleached out tottering figure came into focus, holding his throat, gore staining his bare chest. How he got his pants back on was anyone's guess and boy was he pissed off. It was Otis, and the blood that trickled through his fingers appeared thick and unnatural. "You shoulda been a Firefly, darlin," he rasped. "Damn that was a good hit. Why you so surprised?," he addressed Baby and the others. "I had to experiment on myself first. Now--come here an' die like the piggy you are, cunt," he staggered toward his old nemesis/lover. Stacy waited until he neared then, leaning on Tommy and dragging Jim along, propelled them out the door. Travis swooned and Baby caught him, still weakened from his gunshot wound.
"RJ! Rita!," Baby shrieked. "Don't let them get away!"
"God, I'm bleeding pretty bad," observed Jim, tearing off the bottom part of his shirt and making a tourniquet as he was steered through the house. Hulking Rufus appeared at the top of the stairs as they were preparing to descend, his wife Rita in tow.
"Tommy stays here," he says simply, blocking the way with his mass.
"Rita, your father sent us," Jim told her, teeth clenched with pain. "He misses you." Her almond-shaped eyes flew open in surprise.
"He has nobody," added Stacy earnestly.
"Otis has let you live for too long," RJ growled, taking hold of Stacy's arms. She struggled to free herself, her heroic attempts no match for his prodigious strength. Falling back, she went right through one of the large old-timey windows--and down about 25 feet. Tumbling she freefalled for about 2.2 seconds and then met the ground. It was another half a minute before she could breathe again and roll over. Her shoulder ached and she was cut up but didn't think anything was broken. She looked up to see Tommy and Jim jumping but she was unable as yet to yell at either of them. With his military training Jim rolled, grunting at the pain in his thigh. Tommy went ka-thunk like his mother did but didn't fare as badly.
Stacy couldn't breathe for half a minute, and was helped up by Jim and her son. Sounds of a scuffle could be heard from the house. She asked Tommy if he was ok and he assured her he was.
Otis rushed down the hall screaming mad, chest stained with blood. RJ turned and gaped. "What the hell happened to you?," he blurted.
"If anyone's gonna kill the heifer, it'll be me! I do the killin' round here. You just drive a tow truck," he mocked.
"Fuck off, Otis," Rufus Jr. growled. Rita was behind him, struck speechless by Otis's appearance.
Metal clanged off flesh and bone as RJ was slapped by the smaller wraithlike Otis. Dark eyes narrowed in surprise and anger--Rita gasped. RJ knocked him aside with a broad shoulder, not wanting a confrontation and intending to head down the hall. Otis wrapped robotic fingers around a thick throat and was clocked in the side of the head by RJ's meaty fist. "No!," shrieked the black woman, unsure of what to do. "Otis, stop that! RJ!"
"You two cut that out!," huffed Baby, high voice tinged with authority. Rita looked to the blonde woman and saw tears staining her fair face. Travis must be in bad shape indeed to have her this upset, Rita thought. Mama muscled her way between the two men and separated them; both were unwilling to lay hands on the matriarch. "You get yer truck and run em down," she pointed at RJ, blue eyes flashing. "And you," she rounded on Otis. "Get to work on that surprise you keep talkin about in the basement. I'll go take care of shit like I always fuckin do." She stalked off, leaving RJ and Otis glaring at one another.
Otis made for the stairs hissing, "This ain't over yet." Rita (after casting a loving look at RJ) followed him down the steps worriedly, asking him if he needed any help and if he was all right. He whirled about abruptly, causing her to nearly run into him. "Oh, I'm fine, darlin," he wheezed, reminding her of his bad lung. Running his fingers through her close-cropped hair he smirked, saying "I could use some help, though." Clutching her arm he pulled her after him as he headed for his lair. His safe place.
Oh, what surprises he had in store.
"Goddammit, where's my keys?," growled Stacy as she checked her pockets. The Blazer sat in sad silence. Tommy had left his set inside, and Stacy had had hers confiscated by the freakish clan of miscreants that called this spread home. Heavy booted footfalls sounded on the front porch, the trio turned toward the sound and spotted the hulking figure wearing patched jeans, t-shirt and a checkered flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. "Shit, it's RJ," Stacy groaned. "I need a fuckin drink."
"Red-headed BITCH!," he snarled, voice a bass rumble. "You shot Travis an' made my sister cry. Your ass is mine."
"RUN!," shouted Tommy, supporting his mother and partially Jim as well. Blood was sticky on the old veteran's leg, but he'd stopped the bleeding. Didn't help the painful throbbing every step brought, though. They cut across the yard and into the brush when they heard Rufus Jr's truck start up.
A guttural chuckle emerged from RJ's throat as he gunned the engine and took a swig of his bottle of gin. The tow truck made short work of bursting through foliage and debris, driving his targets before him like spooked deer. They ran until they could run no further, and hid in a stand of trees--RJ's truck couldn't follow. Cursing he switched the motor off and crowbar in hand exited the vehicle. When he stepped closer something hurtled toward him, knocking him backward. Jim had shoulder-tackled him and deftly relieved the big man of his weapon, then went to work on him with it. RJ took blows that would've felled most other men and merely grunted, and dealt Jim a strike which left him seeing stars. He staggered.
"Jim!," exclaimed Stacy, rushing to him. Tommy went after her.
"Go on, get outta here," rasped Jim, readying himself for another round. "Now's your chance!"
"Ohhh, no," argued the woman. "Not this time, dammit. Not this time!" Before she could react RJ whipped a chain out and wrapped it around Jim's neck. With his powerful arms he crushed his enemy's neck, letting the body flop in a boneless heap. "You bastard," she hissed, staring at Jim's inert form. Scooping up the crowbar from the soldier's grip she bounced it off RJ's head, stunning him for a bit; however, he had another weapon he pulled off his belt: his small hunting knife.
"Don't hurt my mom! Please, RJ!," pleaded Tommy as simultaneously the short blade pierced her skin, sliding neatly between two of her ribs. Gurgling could be heard as she drew in her breath, a hideous sound as she struck RJ a final time, opening up a wound on his forehead. The behemoth took hold of that arm, forcing it slowly down as he tried to get another hold to stab her again. Her other arm prevented this, however, and her free hand found its way to his testicles which she squeezed mercilessly. RJ's face turned white.
A sickening crack signalled her right arm had broken, eliciting a long wail from her lips. Tommy beat at RJ with his own strong fists, but the boy hadn't come into his own yet and the blows simply rebounded off the man's tough hide.
"That's enough!," came a gravelly voice. RJ glanced up and saw Otis with his high-powered rifle trained on him. "Step away from my heifer." He slowly approached, aim steady. RJ lowered the woman's now nonmoving body to the ground, saying nothing. Tommy was weeping over his mother, in shock.
"Just to let you know, dear sweet Rita is now stayin with me as my guest," he taunted RJ who was still as a mouse. "She's ever so much help," he giggled viciously.
"Otis, if you've--," Rufus began.
"She's fine," he assured him. "For now. Come here, Tommy." The boy cautiously obeyed. With serpentine swiftness Otis stuck a syrienge procured from his belt pouch in the boy's neck. It was tranquilizers and the teenager went out like a light.