Chapter 2
"The weather in Union promises to be fair all throughout the day with temperatures in the eighties, but don't let that fool you. Tonight, expect heavy acid rains and violent winds…" The forecast droned over a speaker in the empty, silver plated bus. The four men bounced in the faded blue seats as they road along the rutted desert highway. The scene outside the grimy windows was a dismal one. Old, rusty, rebuilt cars where their only companions on the long stretch of road, each one painted with tribal symbols on them. Rugged looking passengers occupied the rolling scrap metal, usually bearing long barreled shotguns and decorated with bazaar piercings and tattoos.
"…a pile up on route thirteen is causing a bit of trouble for commuters this morning…" the news report went on. "If you're on your way into Viator, we strongly suggest finding an alternate route."
Just then, a sign reading Route 13 blurred passed them and Gerard was suddenly on edge. He got up and staggered to the front of the bus.
"Excuse me but I think this isn't the best way to go…" he said to the bus driver.
The driver whirled around, gun in hand, and pointed it directly at Gerard's throat.
"Get in your fucking seat, asshole, before I relieve your body of your head," he growled, the lit cigar stub in the corner of his mouth moving up and down with his words.
Gerard raised his hands and slowly returned to his seat, heart thumping in his chest.
"What was that all about?" Frank whispered, seating himself next to Gerard.
"Beats the hell outta' me," Gerard shrugged his shoulders.
A few minutes pass and there was not even a hint of a traffic. In fact, Gerard thought, they haven't passed a single vehicle since they got on route thirteen. Another sign passed.
Viator Air and Space Station: 20 Miles
Zone 7: 112 Miles
In the distance, a tall, gray building was now in sight. It stood out from the flat landscape like a giant, dark pillar of against the ancient desert backdrop. The bus rolled to a stop at a four-way intersection. A caution light flashed on the digital readout above the cabin next to a skull and crossbones symbol. The driver half turned in his seat.
"You boys might want to buckle your seatbelts," he grunted sternly as he reached behind his seat for a machinegun clip. "It's gonna' be a bumpy ride."
Gerard heard his brother gulp nervously and fumble for his buckle.
Just then, the bus driver pulled a switch on the dash and the entire front of the vehicle was replaced with metal armor. Giant automatic guns lifted out of the hood as the entire bus became a rolling tank. The engine revved and spat clouds of black from the pipes in the rear. When the light turned green and with a mighty whoop from the driver, the metallic monster lurched forward, nearly sending Frank to the floor.
"Yeeehaw!" screamed the man.
The bus barreled forward, straight towards a stretch of road with two hills on either side. From the window, Gerard saw a crouched black figure behind the dune and simultaneously reached for his gun.
"I see ya', you fucking little beetle," the driver sneered over the roar of the engine. He pulled his goggles over his eyes and leaned half of his body out the door, one hand on the wheel, and opened fire on the dune with his machine gun.
"Hah!" he cried with a sense of satisfaction as he sat back down in his seat. "That's how it's done."
Gerard looked back to see the back clad man on his knees, blood spraying from his chest as he fell face first into the sand. His gut lurched and he felt as if he might throw up.
"You pussies might want to keep your heads down," the man said over his shoulder. "We're not out of this yet."
Out of what? Gerard wanted to scream but he ducked his head below the window instead. He could hear Mikey's asthma causing him to wheeze from one seat back. He got down off the bench and crawled to him, putting an arm around his brother.
"Breathe, Mikey. It's gonna' be okay…" Gerard comforted.
The noise of bullets riddling the metal side of the bus was deafening. Mikey buried his head in his brother's arm.
Just then, I giant hole was blown into the back of the bus with a massive explosion. The driver whirled around, a look of fury on his bearded face. "Oh, no you don't!" He switched the bus auto and got up from his seat. Unlocking a compartment in the floor, he pulled out a nasty looking grenade launcher with a scope. The thing was covered with huge, metal spikes and bore the word Kablooey along the side; obviously being it's name. The driver lifted the thing to his shoulder and started his way down the long row of seats to the back. He tossed his machine gun to Gerard as he passed and commanded, "Cover me."
Gerard held the incredible weight of the killing device in his hands and stared blankly at the man, mouth ajar.
"Common, meathead! We got Ghosts to kill!" The man screamed.
Gerard flinched at the man's words but still couldn't find the strength to stand.
"Don't worry, kid. The old Doc never let any of his passengers die. I don't call this old bucket of bolts the Deathdefyer for nothin'!" he said, a thumb to his puffed chest. "Common' let's smoke these bastards!" He yanked Gerard to his feet and dragged him to the back half of the bus that hadn't blown off in the blast. A troupe of black clad characters pursued them on motorcycles from behind, each one with a weapon mounted on the front. "You watch the dunes!" Doc barked.
Gerard knelt by the wall behind the last seat and clumsily perched the stalk of the gun on his knee and pulled the trigger. He was immediately thrown back against the wall with the force from the gun. His chest heaved with fear he but righted himself for a second try.
Doc braced himself against two seats and fired Kablooey. Smoke filled the bus and everyone's ears rang from the boom.
A rider appeared on the dune opposite Gerard, turret aimed at the bus. His breath caught in his throat and his arms felt electrified with a surge of adrenaline. He lifted the gun to his shoulder and looked through the scope. A bump in the road caused the scope to hit him in the eye. He winced and tried again. The rider on the ridge fired at the side of the bus causing them to ride up on two wheels and land with a thud. Gerard put the rider in his sights again, and with an inner rage, pulled the trigger, spraying the rocks with bullets. "Yaaaahh," he cried over the continuous fire.
Suddenly, the firing of bullets was replaced with a clicking and Gerard realized he was out of ammunition. His eyes flew to his target to see that he'd actually hit the rider's vehicle and immobilized him. His heart jumped with surprise.
"Nice hit, kiddo," Doc said out of the corner of his mouth not holding the cigar stub. He braced himself for another shot and fired the launcher at his opponents, once again filling the cabin with smoke. "Yeah!" he called when he hit his target. "Here!" he tossed a small, green grenade to Gerard.
Not fully understanding the function of a grenade at that time, he simply hucked the thing out the back of the bus at the herd of motorcyclists where it did nothing but lodge itself in the course sand.
"What the fuck are you – ? No! Pull the ring, you numbskull!" the bus driver wailed then tossed Gerard another one and readied himself for another shot from Kablooey.
This time, Gerard looked at the tiny bomb in his hand and was stricken with a sudden panic. What if he didn't throw it in time after he pulled the pin? What if it blew up in his face?
"Wait for my -" Doc began but Gerard had already pulled the pin and hurled the grenade out the gaping back end of the bus. The explosion sent several of their pursuers flying in all directions.
"Heh," Doc grinned down at Gerard.
A bullet nailed the man with a sickening sluck. Blood sprayed his face and his cigar was knocked from his mouth. Kablooey clunked to the floor. Gerard could hardly believe his eyes. He gasped with horror, thinking the man was dead. Doc groaned and rolled onto his knees, reaching down for his cigar. "Bastards…" he growled. He held his shoulder as blood spilled over his hand.
"Are you okay?" Gerard asked.
"Yeah, kid. Let's just end this thing." The man stood, painfully grasping a bench for support. "I've had enough of these bitches." He crouched beside Gerard. "Listen good, pussface. Get your boys and climb onto the roof. When we pass under Hangman, let 'em have Big Momma's Boobjuice. " Gerard shook his head with compliance, although he had no idea what any of that meant. "Go!" Doc yelled and Gerard sprung up from behind the seat and wobbled to where his band sat. Just then, a thin ladder shot down from the ceiling and a round hatch appeared. Gerard, Frank and Ray climbed the ladder out onto the roof. Bullets winged by their heads as they clung to the metal supports of the roof. Toward the front, a large dome shaped protrusion stood out on the white roof, the words Big Momma scrawled across it. At the top of the dome sat the black barrel of a gun giving the weapon the overall appearance of a giant, metallic breast.
"Okay," Gerard said to himself, things starting to become a little clearer. He motioned to the others and began crawling to the gun, keeping his body as low as possible. Up ahead, a rock formation dangled precariously over a chasm, marking what seemed like the end of the ravine they've been traveling in. Thinking that it looked a bit like a hanging man, Gerard honed in on his target. "Help me," he called to Ray who helped him turn the apparatus towards the back of the bus. It was obviously quite old and rusted and took all three of them to turn the thing. The formation was almost upon them as Gerard latched onto the handles of the turret and readied his fingers on each trigger. "Get behind me!" he called.
The Hang Man whooshed overhead and Gerard squeezed the triggers with all his might. The bus shook with the powerful force of the gun. The mortor met the stone with a terrible crack and rocks flew in every direction as death showered down on the brigade of motorcyclists that followed.
"Yeah!" Gerard cried with triumph, adrenaline filling his chest with joy at their victory.
"Fuck yeah! Eat that!" Frank chimed.
The three men scurried to the hatch and slid down the ladder.
"Did we get 'em?" Mikey asked timidly from behind a torn leather seat.
"Yeah, we sure did, kiddo" Doc answered from the front seat of the bus. He was at the wheel again, seemingly uninhibited by his injury. "And we're almost to Viator, too."