Tentacle Death Trip (2 page)

TENTACLE DEATH TRIP

CHAPTER ONE

Howdy, race fans!
I’m your humble host
Enzo
. You will not believe the
exciting spectacle you are about to witness. Mr. Silver himself, yes, that Mr.
Silver, he’s put together the best race you’ll ever see in your life.

I know what
you’re thinking. You’re saying, “
Enzo
, what about the
race between Sabbath and Chainsaw Cook? What about the three-way between Cane
Toad Moon, Meat Sham Bo, and the Laird? Well let me tell you, people, those
races are nothing compared to what’s coming up. I can assure you! This is will
be one for the record books!

*

The rumble of the
engine made Samson nervous.

He felt this way
despite his having won two dozen races against some of the fiercest
competitors. He beat Razor Mays and
Macronympha
Phil
in Baltimore and left plenty of
racers in his dust within the last few years. But this race was different.

Samson sat looking
out the freshly-washed windshield and waited for the race to begin, a death
race, a gory opiate for the masses. There he was revving his engine in Mr.
Silver’s Northern Compound, one of two places the warlord gangster called home
and the starting point for the race. Situated in Jersey
City, New Jersey, it was a
stadium constructed out of concrete blocks, truck skeletons, and random pieces
of industrial plastics.

Samson looked over
at the other drivers. There were supposed to be four other than himself but he
only saw three. The one to his immediate left was a plump, older woman in a
souped
-up minivan. Her body was wide, her neck short and
fat, and her red hair sitting on top of her head like a dead fox. The woman was
inspecting her engine when she looked up and made eye contact with Samson. She
stuck out her tongue and wiggled it obscenely.

Samson was
startled by an emaciated man in the audience who screamed at the woman.
“Fat bitch!”
The man stood up and grabbed his crotch with
his dirty, mangled hand.

The plump racer
pulled a flare gun from her waistband and pulled the trigger. A bright flash
left the muzzle of the gun and landed on the man’s face. He screamed as the
skin on his face melted off into his hands.

The audience
cheered.

Samson turned his
eyes away from the gory scene and looked to his right where a small Japanese
woman was sitting on a small two-door car. Something wasn’t right about the
woman, though. Samson squinted and looked at her legs. They were hairy.

It wasn’t a
Japanese woman. It was a man. He was wearing so much make-up it he resembled a
slutty
, underdressed Kabuki actress. There was a handcuff
on each of his wrists but the chain that had connected them was dangling. The
Japanese man was grabbing small handfuls of his hair and eating them.

Samson turned away
and got out of his car to get a better look around. Next to the cross-dresser
was a muscle car convertible Samson couldn’t identify. It resembled a Corvette
but it just looked….
wrong
. The drive was even stranger looking: a beefy,
half-naked man with a
mohawk
.
His skull was made of glass, his brain and eyeballs visible through it,
seemingly floating in gasoline. Two leather straps
criss
-crossed
his chest and on his shoulders were large metal spikes. He looked more like a
steroid-infused gladiator than a racer.

Samson wondered
where the fifth driver had gone. He got back into his car and that’s when he
heard the engine behind him.

A blue
Camaro
IROC-Z sped down the road and entered the entrance
to the arena. Samson watched as the fifth racer pulled up next to the plump,
red-haired racer and her minivan. Inside was a young, blonde woman chatting on
a cell phone.

The crowd of
spectators cheered as a bullhorn sounded through the compound and one of the
video screens flickered on. Silver’s face appeared on the screen looking
fox-like and well-fed. He wore a short ponytail and a gold chain with a
sun-shaped pendant.

He said, “Hello
drivers and race fans, I’m Mr. Silver and I welcome you to the greatest race of
your lives.” With that the crowd cheered louder not only because of Silver’s
words but because some of his men were starting to throw small packets of dried
meat into the audience. No one but Silver knew exactly what
kind
of meat
it was but Samson was sure he didn’t want to know. The people didn’t seem to
care. They were poor and desperate for some sustenance to go with their bloody
entertainment. Their lives consisted mostly of survival and Silver’s diversion
was a bright point in their somber existences.

Through the
loudspeakers, Silver went on, “I’ve always lived by the rule: if you get, you
give. I’ve always gotten a lot of enjoyment from races. The roars of the
engines, the suspense as the drivers make their way around the track. It is one
of life’s greatest thrills. Because I’ve gotten that, I’m going to give it back
by staging one of the most spectacular races ever imagined.” The pony-tailed
gangster chuckled.

Samson watched the
other racers as their eyes were glued on Silver’s face. They looked enthralled
as if the race was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

“But with
everything there are rules!” Silver said. “First, you cannot leave New
Jersey and drive through the Western Wastelands. I
consider that a blatant show of disrespect. I’m a man of respect if nothing
else. You should understand that leaving New Jersey
is an instant disqualification and that means you will be killed on sight.”

He snickered.
“There is one gas station and it is in Hell’s Fish Market. You cannot attack
the other drivers when they are at the station. This is very important.
Consider it a safe zone. Once they leave the station, however, then you may
commence with the violence. Got it? Other than that, you may maim, burn, kill,
and destroy anyone or anything in your way except for
my
people. The
more violence the better the entertainment and that’s what the audience is here
for. That’s something you must remember:
you have an audience
. As a
driver in my race your life is no longer your own. You are not living your life
in isolation. I have cameras nearly everywhere and everything will be
broadcasted here for your fans and for your fans that are waiting so patiently
in my Atlantic City compound. They
deserve a show. Never forget that. They deserve a show!”

The crowd cheered
but Samson laughed softly, quiet enough that he didn’t think anyone had heard
him.

He was wrong.

A hulking man
wearing nothing but a leather mask and a codpiece walked up to Samson’s window and
bent over so his head was inside the car. Samson smelled smoke and fish. The
man said nothing but he didn’t need to. Samson could see his eyes: milky white
marbles with just a speck of black in the middle. They told him everything he
needed to know.

“Sorry,” Samson
said, trying to transform his fear into machismo and staring down the man but
knowing he’d lose in that silent contest. The milk-eyed man pulled his head out
of the car and stood up. The word COP was drawn on his chest in blood.

Silver’s voice
brought Samson to attention. “Oh, and Cop over there is my number one enforcer.
He’ll meet you down in Atlantic City.
Let’s give a round of applause for Cop!”

Again the crowd
cheered as Cop bowed slowly and waved like a drugged automaton.

“And now for the
part everyone has been waiting for…just in case you have forgotten why you are
here.
The prizes.
Oh, the wonderful, wonderful prizes.
You may or may not have heard there has been a historical milestone down south
off the coast of Atlantic City.
Something timeless and quite beautiful has risen from the depths of the ocean.
Those who know their history may know about
R’lyeh
,
the beautiful city, an ageless paradise. It is your home if you win the race.
You’ll have to share it with me, of course. You will become my business partner
in a sense, helping to organize future races and all that. I need the best
racer, the one with the most expertise, one willing to risk their life for me.
The winner will be crucial in the rebuilding of this, the new age of our civilization.
Oh, the fun we’ll have!” Silver laughed and so did the audience. “And in
addition to that, you’ll get all the gas, food, and water you’ll ever need.”

Samson heard the
other racers cheer but he stayed silent.

“To keep the
audience abreast of the race, my man
Enzo
will be
acting as announcer and will be giving a play by play.
Enzo
,
are you ready?” Silver’s face on the video screen made mock movements as if he
could really see through the screen.

A short man in a
white suit ran out from behind the cars. “Right here, boss!”
Enzo
said into a microphone. His voice boomed through the
arena. “I’m ready.” He waved at the audience. “Are YOU ready?”

The crowd roared.

Silver clapped his
hands. “Then let’s introduce the drivers!”

CHAPTER
TWO

Now let’s take a
look as most of the racers are getting ready, revving their engines, and
getting prepared for the race of their lives…..and possibly their deaths!

First up we
have the beautiful but dangerous Gabby Peppermint in her equally beautiful
Camaro
.
Yowzah
! What a looker!
I’m sure it’s well-equipped with all sorts of nasty things for her competitors.
And yes, that was her showing up a tad late but you know: beauty takes time!

Next we have
Mama Hell who comes to us all the way from the Bible
Belt
Wasteland. Don’t let her motherly looks fool you…she’s a vicious driver! That
also goes for her minivan. Looks can be deceiving. Watch out!

And then we
have the mysterious Samson in his custom built
Ligotti
Turbo Z-23, one of the fastest cars around. And you young ladies out there,
doncha
think he’s pretty handsome for an older man?
Yowzah
! But hands off…he doesn’t strike me as the sort of
guy who lets anyone get too close!

Speaking of
ladies….next is Junko, a cute little he/she in a
souped
-up
1987 Honda Civic
Si
. What a classic! Now Junko
himself (or herself!) is a little firecracker who’ll burn you just as soon as
look at you.

Lastly but
certainly not least is the legend himself,
Drac
Dunwich
, hailing from the Bronx where for the last year has
made a name for himself in the small circuit races. Now, with that glass skull
of his,
Drac
is quite the spectacle.
Yowzah
! And don’t get too close to him.....he’s a thirsty
fella
! You’ll see…
hehehe
…

*

Samson revved his
engine and hoped they’d just get on with it. He wasn’t interested in all the
pomp and ceremony. His stomach was in knots. He wanted to start the race. He
needed
to start the race.

While the audience
chanted Silver’s name, Samson wondered about that
Drac
Dunwich
guy. He had heard the name before, heard some
of the stories, but had no idea he was participating in the race. The
nervousness Samson had felt bumped up a notch. Was it true
Drac
had won a race against Navajo Willie and then slaughtered him after the race
much to the pleasure of the bloodthirsty audience? Rumor had it
Drac
still had Willie’s teeth in the glove compartment of
his car. Samson wondered how much of it was true and thought that if he ever
had the chance he might ask
Drac
about it.

He heard
Enzo’s
voice echo through the arena, giving a short rundown
of the general route they were to take. Then
Enzo
said, “Drivers! On your marks! This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.
Yowzah
! Get ready!”

The crowd
screamed. Samson thought they looked ready to riot, to tear up the whole
compound in an orgy of excitement. Were they going to be satisfied with just a
race? Sooner or later Silver would have to provide them with something else,
something more than fast cars and faster death.

But what else was
there?

Dressed in a white
tuxedo and wearing a pencil-thin mustache,
Enzo
stepped onto a stage and danced around in front of the video screen that now
displayed a still shot of Silver’s face.
Enzo
pointed
wildly at the drivers.

“Go!”

Then
Enzo
pulled down his white pants and defecated on the stage
amid the cheers of the audience.

CHAPTER
THREE

Samson’s car shot
out from the starting line like an angry bullet.

In his rearview he
kept an eye on the other cars as they followed.
Drac
was the first one to tail him and then come up along the side.

Samson looked over
at the man, this legend he’s heard so much about, and tried to get a look at
his car. All cars now were custom-equipped with weaponry and that weaponry was
varied. It paid to know what kind of attacks the competition would be bringing
with them.

The smell of dust
and exhaust made Samson think of his time in the Wastelands but he shook those
memories from his head and concentrated on the race. It was a clear road of
asphalt and trash in front of him while
Drac
stayed alongside,
not attempting to speed up and pass Samson.

“What are you up
to,
Dunwich
?” Samson said. He sped up and
Drac
did the same. He looked over again and saw two eyes
looking back at him, suspended in gasoline in a translucent skull in front of a
brain that looked slightly smaller than normal.

Samson let up on
the gas and fell back a few feet. He expected
Drac
to
follow suit but was surprised when he accelerated.

“Son of a bitch,”
Samson said, speeding up to tail
Drac
.

Junko and Mama
Hell passed him on the left, veering off to enter
Mouthville
instead of riding into the Gears. It might be a smart move because despite
Mouthville’s
unpredictable environment, it wasn’t nearly as
dangerous. However, Samson decided not to follow them. In his rearview mirror
he saw Gabby on his ass, chatting on her cell phone, looking oblivious to the
race.

As he tried to
move up front,
Drac
zigzagged to prevent him from
doing so. The sides of the road were blocked with blocks of concrete but Samson
could see he’d have a chance to pass him up the road….if he was careful.