The Quake CrewMature

Waving my machete, I hang my head out the back window of Steve’s shitty Corolla and whoop a “YEEE-HAAAAWWW!” You can hardly hear it over the Marilyn Manson we’re blasting, but Steve starts wailing away too. He pushes the pedal even farther through the floor as we roar down the last mile of the interstate, sandwiched between fields and fire. Cockney, riding shotgun, loads her shotgun like tomorrow isn’t coming. Because it probably isn’t.

Golden Age of Grotesque, indeed.

The fuckin’ meat-poles like downtown Sherry much more than out in the bufu farms, so that means we have to go to them. Sure, a couple knocked on our door and we knocked ‘em dead, but it’s not every day that you get to go on a killing spree AND get called a hero.

The interstate to get out of town is a parking lot of retards, trying to escape. Idiots cut each other off, but expect to be let in by calm, reasonable folks? Shit man, it doesn’t take a kindergarten degree to see how quickly people started pulling those handguns out of the glove compartments and shooting “zombies.” But then, once you got that fucker back, what do you do with his car? Nothing. It just sits there, blocking EVERYBODY’S path. And now you have one less bullet for them Second-Lifers and a lot of pissed off people in vehicles full of gasoline.

The way into town though is pretty clear. We just snaked past some accidents and managed to chop a moaner in two at like 45 mph. Nearly ripped my arm off, but it was worth watching that sad face of his finally look confused as he realized that not only was he missing out on a meal, but now he was missing out on his legs. He’s gonna look like a goddamn seal waddling around on those stubby-ass arms. Hahahaha, what a bitch.

“Man, soon as we get into town, we gotta jack a fuckin’ cop car,” Steve says as he jacks the volume down. “That shit’ll go fast and then we can start pulling people over, pretending like nothings happening. How confused would people be? ‘But officer, there’s a mob of zombies following me!’ ‘I don’t care, you were speeding. Here’s a ticket, asshole.’” Steve laughed like a pig as he handed over the imaginary ticket.

“Haha yeah yeah. I’m gonna bust open a gumball machine and watch ‘em all skate like 4 year olds, til they bust open their faces. Then I can just curb-stomp their ass!” Cockney starts stomping the floor and we all join in, the car jerking like it can’t wait either.

Harry’s Hardware passes us on the left, with no more geezers playing checkers on that long-ass front porch any more. Steve sees it, hits the breaks like it’s his sister and starts turning the car like he’s fucking James Bond. Except in a shitty Corolla.

“What the fuck, asshole?” Cockney shouts.

“I want a goddamn Coke or three, and nows a particularly good time to sit down and enjoy it good and proper. No geezers or weezers. Sorry to disturb your make-up.”

“Asshole. I almost pulled the trigger and that would’ve disturbed more than your eyeliner, dickweed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your thong all up in a bunch now, we’re here.”

I kick open the back door of that green, generic piece of 1994 ass, and step out. I’m looking pretty bad-ass, I gotta admit. I found my little brother’s toy-gun cowboy holster, but filled it with real brain-blowing ammo and pistols. I didn’t bother with the boots, since that isn’t as practical as some straight-up Air Jordans. You never know when you’ll play some one-on-one or twelve-on-one with some ex-people. And they just love to foul you.

Of course, guns are great and all, but they’re for later. Right now, I managed to get this rusty as hell machete that I sharpened up real quick. Dad wanted me to clean it last month, but pshaw, maybe now I’ll get around to cleaning it. And hopefully give some fuckers some lock-jaw in the process. That’ll shut ‘em up.

I wasn’t about to give Steve my fave hack-and-slash, but he wasn’t lacking either. He ripped off the thick-ass chain he had on his bike, and locked the biggest padlock he could find to the end of it. It’ll be fun for a little bit, but even he knows it’ll get tangled. That’s why he also has a thick-ass pipe, like three feet long, next to the sawed-off on his back.

Of course, can’t forget our dainty little Cockney- her parents named her Courtney, but we all know how she’s got like 8 fuckin’ balls and a 4 foot cock on her. Probably why no one else at school fucks with her. Probably why she’s got a backpack full of ol’ Molotov Cockney-tails and like half her dad’s personal arsenal. While we plan to have a little fun with the light stuff first, she’s probably gonna start with the hundreds of shells we got in our pockets, backpacks, ammo straps, and trunk.

We are The Quake Crew.

Steve strolls on up the stairs, struts across the porch and kicks open the door with a “CRACK!”

“YO, BITCHES! Where you at? I got some lead fo yo FACE!”

Old man Harry Miller looks up from the register, stops mashing the buttons and looks dead-on at us. His beer-belly is spilled all over the floor and to be honest, the weight he lost makes him look a lot better.

“Dibs,” Steve says. He takes a step, does a half swing of the chain and whips it around Harry’s neck. Chink, chink, chink, the chain clatters as it makes it’s rounds. Dude gives a good moan before Steve slams his bald head down. A much meatier “CRACK” than the door. Of course, he tries to get up, so he gets another “CRACK.” This time, though, he gets it through his thick skull that he should stay down and let the big boys do their thing. Haha, what a bitch.

“Hey watch out, he’s probably got a pretty boy giving him a blowjob under that counter.” Cockney shouts.

And sure enough, there’s his lanky stockboy Kenny munching on his intestines, his mouth full of meat. He looks so satisfied, just chomping down on innards like corn on the cob, I almost feel bad plastering the floor with his brains. But then I remember how like two weeks ago, he wouldn’t help me on my pre-algebra test. What a bitch. All he had to do was let me borrow his sheet for like 5 minutes to write down the answers. Nothing to get all pissed about. So I pull out the pistol and give him a bullet facial.

“There, now we’re even.”

We look around, but nobody else is there. No surprise: we’re even louder than when we’re at school and now that adults really want to kill us, they would’ve been here by now. Or maybe there is someone who is actually getting eaten alive as we speak, but is keeping quiet because they’re so afraid of us. I’d believe it.

“Alright, let’s take all the hotdogs and beef jerky and stuff. I want some meat. Oh, and get a couple big bags of potato chips and like... five cases of soda,” Steve says. He opens up a big bag of chips and dumps them all over the floor. “Now I can fill this up with candy too.” Steve starts running around like a little kid in a candy store, going between the racks of stuff and the car like every thirty seconds.

“Hey, I’ll get the booze. We gotta get a bunch of that.” Cockney grabs one of those hand-basket thingies and heads back to the coolers in the back. “Natty Ice? Nope. Budweiser? Sure. Heinekein. Definitely. Grey Goose? Hell yes.” She has to start making trips too, just that her trips clink a lot more than Steve’s.

I look around for something to do while everyone is stocking up. Steve has the healthy stuff and Cockney has the fun stuff, so I carefully step behind the counter to grab a little cash while we’re at it. Kenny and Miller are all over each other, just like in real life, but they’re definitely down. Still, it’s creepy that their mouths are like 2 inches away from my fucking leg.

“Mmm... 151 Rum... maybe I can make some Flaming Dr. Peppers for those z-bags,” Cockney says to herself in the corner, examining fancy bottle of whatever.

Spreading my legs so I step on the little bit of space that isn’t occupied by bodies, I feel like some old dude doing Tai Chi in the park real early in the morning or something. I pistol-whip the cash register with my machete and watch as it springs open. Inside, there’s like $200, which I promptly shove into my back pocket. I love it when things work  out the way I want them to.

I start to lift one of my legs when I feel teeth. “What the fuck! Shit!” I jump out of the way. 

Looking over, it was just the bottom half of Kenny’s head shifting. Duh. God, I’m so retarded. Still, that was weird. Note to self: don’t put my leg into anybody’s mouth, especially zombie mouths.

Outside, everything is empty. It’s usually pretty quiet, but now it’s even more boring than I than I thought was possible.

“Hey, I think we’re all filled up,” Steve says, walking out with a case of Snickers.

I look around: we’ve done a pretty good job of cleaning the place out. As a finishing touch, I kick a rack of Cheetos and Doritos and shit over. There, now our masterpiece is finished.

“Alright, let’s go kill us some bitches.”

The End

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