Other Fan Fiction / Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Adventures of Thad Gunter ❯ A Startling Turn of Events ( Chapter 13 )

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THAD GUNTER!!!

 

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Chapter 13: A Startling Turn of Events

 

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The night was cold and dark. The only form of illumination was the soft glow from the orange embers of the near-by truck explosion. Dr. Isaac Thaddeus “Thad” “Dude” “Mammy” Edgar Allen Poe Howard Philips Lovecraft Sam Leroy Gunter III, Jr. could see his breath clouded out from as they stalked along the empty parking lot. He held his hands behind his head and wished very much he could tuck them into his pockets. He knew in the morning his hands would be chapped something awful. Ugh. He hated that. He'd have to go to the store and get some moisturizer, the one that smelled like tangerines. Yeah, and some of the coffee scented shampoo. That stuff made him crazy, made him feel sexy. It…

 

His thoughts of sexy shampoo showers were rudely interrupted by a rigid, pointed object stabbing Thad in the left butt cheek. Considering it was world-renowned sexual deviant extraordinaire DJ Silloc, a diminutive maniac with pasta sauce orange hair and rat-red eyes, it could have been anything that poked Thad in the democratic buttock, from a cucumber to some sort of terrifying pleasuring apparatus that you can only buy in Hong Kong, South Africa, and northern Ontario, where Life Is Cheap.

 

However, the truth was much more frightening, or less so, depending on your point of view. Either way, it was actually a much-fancied, often feared, quite intimidating sniper rifle bestowed The Fag Cannon. Also tucked into the back pocket of Silloc's red heart boxers was an impractically large .357 revolver so dubbed The Emasculator. The weight of the gun was such that it actually caused Silloc's boxers to sag, revealing his hairy butt crack to all the world to see.

 

Said Fag Cannon and Emasculator belonged to fair Miss Rachel Merchawitz, who walked next to Thad, her hands also behind her head, wearing a rather preposterous black leather bodysuit, which transformed her beauty from that of the girl next door variety to the type usually favored by dominatrixes and erotic GI Joe fan fiction authors. It certainly didn't escape Thad's attention that DJ was poking her far more furiously then he poked him. Which was odd, cause its not like DJ's attraction was gender exclusive.

 

“Would you give it a rest, please?” Rachel was obviously not enjoying herself. Why would she?

 

DJ's eyes went the shade of taco sauce and he began to scream like a heavy metal band front man. Spittle, partially chewed food, virgin blood, and chocolate chips flew from his flapping gullet.

 

“You fucking slut-bitch! You do not tell me what to do! NOBODY TELLS ME WHAT TO DO! I am the internet renegade, Steve Jobs meets Lorenzo Lamas! I am vengeance! I am Satan made incarnate! I haven't taken my meds today! You're just some random nerd-girl whore! You can't tell me what to do! Only my mom can get away with that!”

 

Rachel rolled her eyes like a four-star, world class eye roller. “Are you trying to be offensive? Or badass or something? Cause it isn't working.”

 

Thad gulped. He whispered to Rachel, in a way that was so obvious that it completely negated the secrecy suggested by whispering. “Rachel, what are you doing? Don't antagonize him! That's like going into a panda cage wearing bamboo underpants; you're just asking for trouble!”

 

Rachel then turned her expert eye-rolling skills on Thad. “I am not afraid of this coward, Thad.”

 

The furious dwarf (Author's Note: Band name idea!) shook with diluted rage. Silloc's rage was so diluted that if he urinated into coke bottles he could package and sell it under the name “Rage-a-hol.” He cocked the rifle and pointed it at Thad.

 

“That's it! That was the straw that broke the Ukrainian prostitute's back! Thad, give me the bicycle helmet!”

 

Thad looked to his belt and suddenly became aware of the McGuffin that started all of this, The Para-Deity Communiqué Apparatus, hanging there. It looked just like a silver helmet with a few cable connected to it and, yet, contained such power that it was desired by James Eaalhi and other men of general nasty dispositions. Powers that nobody, except for maybe Mr. Eaalhi, were aware of.

 

Thad pawed at the device, curious, before DJ snatched it away and strapped it to his head. He directed Thad and Rachel to a small bright yellow beat to shit vintage Mini-Cooper.

 

“I'll show you just how big of a prick I can be! I'm the biggest prick around! I'm John Holmes, bitches! Both of you, to the Silloc-Mobile!”

 

A stifled chuckled squeeze passed Rachel's sealed lips. DJ screamed and jabbed her furiously with the gun's butt. (As opposed to jabbing her butt furiously with his gun. That would just be obscene.) As both approached the third-rate vehicle, the words sprayed painted on the side of the car, “The Silloc-Mobile,” become visible. Rachel chortled again and DJ furiously jabbed once again.

 

DJ shouted commands like a little Fidel Castro, after the Alzheimer's had set in, “Thad, you drive!”

 

Thad oohed like a disappointed child who had just opened the big box on Christmas morning only to discovered it filled with Old Navy sweaters, “Why do I have to drive?”

 

“Because nobody will ever believe a woman driver.”

 

Rachel snided back, “Fuck you, Silloc.”

He ushered them into the Silloc-Mobile. “No time for that now. Maybe later toots.”

 

The driver's seat cushion crunched like stale Frosted Flakes as Thad laid his ass on it. The opposite seat made a similar noise as Rachel sat her body on it, though her's was more like smooshed Boo Berries. Oddly, as DJ climbed into the backseat, laid down, position his rifle at the back of Thad's head, his seat made no such cereal related crunching noise.

 

DJ tossed the keys at Thad, beaning him in the eye with the pointy end.

 

“Owwie-owwie-ow!”

 

“Goddamn it, Thad, stop being such a Frenchman.”

 

Rachel spoke up, “Actually, Thad, I have to agree with him on this one.”

 

“He poked me in the eye with the sharp end!”

 

“Get over yourself. Swear to god, you men are all alike. Not a brave one of ya' in the bunch.”

 

“B-b-but the… the pointy end!”

 

Proving once again that jabbing was his favorite thing to do with a gun and that The Author needed to invest in a good thesaurus, the most feared of all dinosaurs, DJ poked Thad in the back of the head and huskily growled at him.

 

“Drive Thad, right now! You're going to continue on this road on your left for about ten miles until you come to a big empty, completely inconspicuous field just on the outskirts of Centralia. Then you'll stop and…” He chuckled like the damn dirty child molester he is, “What happens next is a surprise.”

 

Thad sighed before starting up the car. Something deep within the motor rattled before the vehicle puttered to life. Loud incoherent noise exploded from the radio. Both of the front seat residents quickly slapped at the dial, turning down the awful racket.

 

“What the hell is this shit?” Rachel quipped.

 

“It's The White Album, in reverse, the only way the Beatles should ever be listened to. Only then can you truly understand the nuances of Lennon and McCarthy's writing.”

 

Thad was curious, “What about the songs George and Ringo wrote?”

 

DJ sprang up rapidly and instinctually bitch-slapped Thad right in the face while screaming, “Shut the fuck up!”

 

An awkward silence passed while “Happiness is a Warm Gun” continued on in reverse. Thad didn't do anything. He knew if he did anything at all, even if it was something as small as picking his noise or blinking, that he'd get slapped again. So, in situations such as these, he took the best action possible: inaction. He sat there, doing nothing, not even breathing. It was the only sane thing to do.

 

Silloc delivered another megaton atom bomb kill-a-bitch backhand that slowed everything down, made Thad's face skin ripple like an ocean of salad dressing and stirred up clouds of dust and talcum powder in the air that wasn't there previously.

 

“Drive!”

 

Despite still recovering from the two or three brain cells he lost from the slap (Similar to the two or three brain cells readers of this chapter will surely loose.) Thad pushed the car into drive and they were on their way.

 

He focused on the road winding in front of him, trying to ignore the tension in the air that is naturally created when you give a three-foot-four-inch lunatic a high powered sniper rifle and stick him in a vehicle with two very high-strung hostages. Thad decided to ease the discomfort by whispering to his fellow captive.

 

“I'm really sorry about this, Rachel.”

 

“Shut up, Thad. The only thing that could make me feel better now is gratuitous amounts of swearing and Bill Moseley stabbing someone.”

 

“I can swear for you.”

 

“No, that would just sound weird coming out of your mouth.”

 

Another silence passed. Their diminutive captor chuckled grotesquely for no reason before squeaking suddenly and going quiet. Rachel gazed to the window.

 

“What do you think he's going to do to us?”

 

“I can't even begin to imagine. How did DJ become your stalker anyway?”

 

“Well, during my senior year of college, I talked to him once.”

 

“What was he doing at a college?”

“I thought he was attending but apparently he just built a shack on school's grounds and was living there for reasons unknown. Anyway, nobody ever talked to him so I said hi once, foolishly assuming he was just a shy new student or something. About two weeks later was when I first started receiving the perforated small animal carcasses in the mail. And the pictures of myself when I was undressing and shit.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Called the cops, bought a taser, learn judo, the like. Doesn't seem to have been much help.”

 

The rifle's barrel circled around the front seat in the space betweens Thad and Rachel's heads. A horse voice spoke from the back.

 

“Stop talking about me like I'm not here. And that is so not what happened. You showed me your vagina and I fell in love.”

 

“What the shit are you talking about?” Rachel yelled, “I didn't show my vagina to anybody that semester because I was going through a dry spell, okay? Even if I wasn't, I certainly wouldn't have shown anything private on my person to you, Mr. Silloc.”

 

DJ gnashed his teeth, “You broke my heart, you hose bag!”

 

“Broke your heart? Why? Because I didn't immediately jump in bed with you when you I got your oh-so-romantic package of gouged gopher in the mail?”

 

Thad's eyes might have deceived him because, he could've sworn, glistening in the rear-view mirror, he saw tears well up in Silloc's eyes. My God, was it possible that even a creature as wretched and deranged as DJ Silloc was capable of feeling love, even if it was only of the most possessive and single-minded kind?

 

“You women never appreciate anything! I worked really hard on that gopher corpse! I waited until it had the right color pus and everything! Everybody knows orange is the most romantic color of pus!”

 

And there went Thad's thoughts. Never mind.

 

Rachel responded, “What is so wrong in your brain that you immediately correlate dead animals with romance? I mean, are you that retarded, Silloc? There are gothic Liberal Art poetry majors who aren't this deluded.”

 

DJ putted down the rifle and instead put the Para-Deity Communiqué Apparatus on his head. A button was activated and the machine began to glow softly.

 

“Enough is enough!” DJ screamed, “I have had it with these motherfucking ungrateful bitches on this motherfucking car! Everybody out of my way! I'm about to open some fucking interdimensional portals!”

 

The helmet began to glow and whine loudly. A blue light emitted from around Silloc's head while the reserved version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” reached its crescendo on the radio. And then…!

 

Absolutely nothing happened.

 

DJ's jaw dropped, “This thing is fucking broken.”

 

Seizing the moment like Brian Dennehy seizes an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, Rachel lounged forward and grabbed the steering wheel away from Thad. She jerked it violently to the left, swerving the car right into the concrete meridian.

 

The bright yellow 1977 mini-cooper buckled under the speed and force of the impact. The car was launched into the air, somersaulting over the opposite lane of traffic. Thad and Rachel tumbled about the interior like the balls inside a Bingo cage. All Thad registered was the noise, the sound of smashing metal, the sensation of being airborne, before everything went black.

 

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As consciousness came back to Thad, he noticed a couple of things immediately. First off, his head rested on something south, wet, and earthy. Grass, he figured. Okay, so he was launched from the car at some point during the crash. Secondly, something warm and sticky rolled down his forehead and over his closed eyelid. Since the probability of Silloc's mini crashing into a syrup factory was highly unlikely, Thad correctly deduced this sticky, warm substance as blood. Finally, and most urgent of all, was the…

 

Oh shit. Jesus Christ!

 

His head throbbed like a group of rabid flying monkeys had just dropped a bag of horse-hammers on him. Or, perhaps, some invisible entity had taken up residence in his skull and was very eagerly playing the gong. Whatever obtuse metaphor you prefer.

 

Despite the instant pain inside his brain telling him not too, Thad some how managed to open his eyes and sit up. The sudden movement made what felt like an obscene amount of fluid to slush around inside his pained skull. Still reeling, he looked around and tried to get a grip on his situation.

 

The overturned car, though fairly fucked up in most ways, was still intact and hadn't burst into flames just yet. He just assumed that it was waiting for the right dramatic moment to go up in an enormous fireball.

 

He turned his attention to himself. Hmm, how was he?, Thad thought. Well, he was intact. Aside from the horrible headache and the thin line of blood trickling down his face, he appeared to be fine. No bruises, cuts, scraps, broken bones, or any sort of serious internal damage. That was a little weird. I mean, Thad kept himself in okay shape but he was hardly an indestructible ball of brass superpowers. And this wasn't the first time he had come out of a serious situation with nary a scrap. It's almost as if someone was protecting him, making sure he wasn't hurt by any of his insane misadventures.

 

Whatever thoughts about plot holes that might be plot points Thad had were interrupted when a bloodied, skin-dangling finger ominously tapped on his shoulder and a blood-gargled voice whispered in his ear.

 

“You shit-muffin. I'm going to eat your skin.”

 

Thad was only too well aware of who it must be. However, the exact visage of that person was alarming.

 

Short, yes yes, red hair, yes, skin missing from half of the face, eyeball dangling loose from socket, ye… Wait, what the fuck?!

 

DJ Silloc shouldn't have been alive with the damage done to his body. Exposed muscle and his bloodied skull peeked through the torn layers of face flesh while his left eye, now completely red, flopped loosely in the night air, attached precariously by a thin optic nerve. One of his legs was fucked to hell and back, completely pretzeled, a mess of protruding bone, black blood and twisted tissue. Several teeth were missing and his gums bleed profusely. What teeth hadn't been knocked loose had apparently been sharpened to dagger points. A shard of glass was embedded square center in his chest and seemed to raise and fall, vibrate, as if the heart it was stabbed into continued to function despite all logic. His hands belonged to a gore-strewn skeleton. His gasps were raspy and blood sprayed from his mouth with every breath. Anybody who looked that much like an EC Comics zombie shouldn't be alive and yet Silloc, propelled simply by his inhuman hatred, continued to function, at least for the moment.

 

Not that Thad had any time at all to absorb these details before DJ lunged at him and bit into his arm. The serrated teeth dug into Thad's precious tricep while DJ's claws started to lash about aimlessly, wildly. He tore back and forth, drawling more blood from Thad's arm, slashing at his body, going nuts like a rabid badger.

 

Thad screamed like a little girl. He swung his arm around, trying to loosen the clearly beyond help miniature madman from his gnawed up arm. It was no use. DJ's teeth were intent on not letting go. The attackee went running like a constipated wiener dog, waving his arms over head wildly, while the attacker nom-nom-nom-ed loudly. It was apparent that DJ had no intention of tearing the slab of flesh from Thad's arm. He was only intent on causing him as much pain as possible.

 

Thad thought back to his childhood in southern Nebraska, where rabid small woodland animal attacks are common. Yes, he knew just what to do. He sprinted to the overturned vehicle, turned his arm to the correct angle, and proceeded to smash DJ's head into the side of the car over and over again, screaming like a peacock with a sprained ankle the entire time, ack-ack-ing every couple of seconds.

 

It did little to help. Thad could have sworn that he actually felt DJ dig in harder afterwards.

 

“Thad?” A meek voice spoke up over the shrieking.

 

All three working eyeballs among the two men looked in the direction of the sound. Wobbling over to the crash site was Rachel, bruised, battered, and dazed, but seemingly intact. In her hands was the equally unscathed Para-Deity Communiqué Apparatus.

 

She spoke like a sleepy child awoken too early, “Thad, I found the doo-hickey.”

 

White foam oozed from Silloc's mouth and he growled like an ill-tempered bulldog. He let go off Thad's arm, finally, only to launch himself across the field like some sort of bleeding, short, hairy, sexual deviant missile, teeth chomping and claws slashing.

 

Thad had little time to react. As DJ shot away from him, he reached out with his good arm, and grabbed the leg of Silloc's boxers. They pulled back just slightly, causing the Emasculator, which the Author had forget to mention was still tucked away in DJ's pocket, to jostle loose and fall to the ground.

 

Rachel, however, did have some time to react. The only reaction she could process was a scream. Silloc latched onto her chest, crawled around to her neck, reared his head back, mouth wide, screaming, before biting down on her shoulder, drawling thick dark blood.

 

“You little shit!” She screamed. She pulled back and socked him twice directly in the face. The snap resonated across to Thad's ear but DJ didn't move.

 

Rachel started to scream, grabbed the menace and pulled him free. In response, DJ began to scream as well, berating her with profanity.

 

“You cum belching whore flagrance! I'm going to eat your children!”

 

Meanwhile, Thad looked back and forth from the scene and the gun. Rachel fighting DJ, the gun, DJ pulling Rachel's hair, the gun… He decided to scream as well.

 

DJ pushed forward and knocked her to the ground. He sank his claws into her chest and pulled back, ripping her bodysuit, exposing a breast. The screaming from both of them was unending.

 

“Don't even think about it!”

 

“I'll devour your uterus, you scum-blanket! I'll deep-fry your kidneys! I'm going to tear your heart out and then deep-fuck your chest cavity!”

 

“Will you shut up, please?!”

 

“I'm going to make a belt out of your nipples!”

 

“I only have two, you dipshit!”

 

He brought his bony claws down on her soft breast, tearing through the tinder skin. She let out a blood-curdling scream. It was a sensitive area.

 

“Yeah, this is only the beginning, bitch! Let me show you the depth of my misogyny! I'm missing a fucking eyeball, all right? Excuse me if I'm unreasonable! I'm going to cannibalize your tit muscle! I'm going to suck your guts out through your bellybutton! I'm going to masturbate your shine-bone! I'm going…”

 

There was a bang and a loud pop. Something wet splattered onto Rachel's clinched eyelids. There was silence. DJ had stopped.

 

Upon opening her eyes, Rachel realized why he was silenced. Screaming obscenities was difficult without a head. His face went up to his bottom jaw and then it stopped, replaced with a flapping tongue, spraying viscera, and air. His hands reached up and felt around where his face should have been. The arms reached back, as if shocked by the revelation that the body was now effectively headless. The thing that had once been DJ Silloc slumped back, finally dead.

 

Rachel was confused. She looked around and noticed the splattered skull and brain matter that now covered her upper body and the surrounding area. Glancing to the left, the exact matter of this scenario finally dawned on her.

 

There stood Thad, leaned over in the classic military style, smoking gun in his hand. He trembled slightly, horrified.

 

Rachel sat up and looked directly at him, “Thad, you saved my life.”

 

Thad responded with only a soft squeak.

 

And then he passed out.

 

TO BE CONTINUED!!!