Blood, Bullets, and Broccoli: Issue# 19

No weapons, no parachute, no problem.

Photo by Dibya Jyoti Ghosh on Unsplash

…continued

29, 28, 27…

Remington shoots out from a cloud like a missile. The plane changes its flight pattern with an aggressive wide turn, its wings slicing through a white fluffy dinosaur, a house, a kangaroo. Remington spins onto his back as the nose of the plane splats him like a fly. Remington hugs the nose of the plane while a hurricane of wind tries to throw him into the engines. The jagged hole on the side of the fuselage is shooting out cushions and service carts and chairs. Doc Hologram waves at him through the cockpit window and Remington gives him the middle finger.

The force would snap a normal mans back but Remington is man-plus-plus-plus.

23, 22, 21, 20…

“Remington,” Judith says. “You have to take back control. I need all resources to protect us from the blast.” Remington snaps back to life and screams, “Lord suffrin’ Jesus, Judith. What have you done you crazy bitch?”

“Steady, Ian,” Judith says. “Now’s not the time to go on tilt.”

The airplane pulls up toward the Stratosphere. With space to his back, Remington hugs the shiny white snout and watches his home disappear below.

“We’re picking up speed,” Judith says.

“No shit Sherlock,” Remington shouts into the rushing wind.

“When I say so, let go. The plane will blast right past you,” Judith says.

15, 14, 13, 12…

Remington says, “There’s not enough time to get out of the blast radius. It was a valiant effort and a pleasure to have you as my partner, Judith. I have always lov-”

“Shut your pie hole. Go! Go! Go!”

7, 6, 5, 4…

Remington slides off the nose like a gooey insect and slams into the side one of the engines, but he’s picked up by the wind velocity and spat out the back of the plane into the jet stream.

“Whatever you do,” Judith says, “keep your eyes closed. Keep those eyes closed Ian unless you want them burnt out of your head. Think ark of the covenant. Don’t look at the demons when the sky opens up.”

3, 2, 1.

Remington races toward the ground, his body the shape of a missile, but it’s not enough to outrun a fireball straight from the devil’s arsehole. Remington closes his eyes and waits. A golden shield surrounds him, and then the plane detonates.

A blinding white light erupts and then a new sun blots out our own. The sky rips open and a golden mushroom, a fiery god rises a thousand feet demanding our worship. Black smoke curls off its round head turning day into night. The blast shrieks like a million demons crawling out from hell’s arsehole looking for a fight. A force capable of turning buildings into dust races after Remington. The golden shield absorbs the blast but Remington, the human meteorite is now blasted back to the Earth at 400 miles per hour.

Remington struggles to stay conscious from the g-force trying to crush his skull. He stutters, “J-judith?”

There’s no reply.

“J-judith,” Remington stutters, “c-can you hear me?”

Silence.

From out of the thick, black fog, strange objects fall from the sky, a trail of fire spiraling from behind. The Horseman of the Apocalypses gallop from the heavens kickstarting End Times, or could be half a dozen satellites affected by the electro magnetic blast from the explosion malfunctioned and are falling back to Earth.

The golden shield disappears, and now a shirtless Remington heats up, the force from the wind tearing back his flesh as he races toward the Earth.

“Judith,” Remington whispers, “help.”

Remington passes out. His lifeless body plummets back to Earth like a dead astronaut. Remington snaps back to life and says, “Holy shit this is still going on?”

“Judith, report. A little help here.”

Nothing.

“You treacherous bitch, I’m outa…”

The golden shield reappears around Remington and Judith says, “I’m back Ian. The EMP blast knocked out my internal systems and I had to reboot. I had to use most of my backup power to keep the shield up but it didn’t last long. Sorry, I didn’t catch what you were saying just now.”

Remington says, “Welcome back, Judith.”

“We’re at twenty thousand feet and dropping, Ian. We need a plan. First, we’re close to our destination but you need to go East. Let me do a quick scan.”

“There’s no TGI Fridays in the area, I’ve looked.”

Judith says, “By the way, where are your pants? You’re only wearing very white and very tight underwear.”

“My pants blew off in the wind.”

“Of course they did,” Judith says.

“Judith,” Remington says. “Can you do me a little favor, if it’s not too much trouble and get me out of this mess, please and thank you? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Think 33 000 000 000 to 1, Ian. “Oh, wait a minute,” Judith says. “Well, well, well, we’ve caught up to our friends, Killbot-3000. I think we may have found a way out. Looks like they’re heading for that mountain, and scans show that it is in fact hollowed out with an enormous amount of tech inside. No doubt that corrupt malware will lead us right to the Doc.”

Remington says, “How about slowing me down so I don’t explode on impact. I need to commandeer one of those parachutes.”

Judith says, “I’ll juice you up into man-plus-plus-plus.”

Remington says, “Better add another plus.”

The chemistry makeup inside Remington changes. His heart races past 180BPM sending blood to expanding muscles flooding his system with adrenaline that’s being manufactured ten times the normal acceptable amount for a human.

Remington grunts, “More juice, Judith.”

“For crying out loud, Ian,” Judith says, “you’ll go insane. It’s too much testosterone. You’ll devolve into a jabbering Neanderthal.”

“Me smash robots,” Remington snaps back.

“Ok, Ian. You go smash robots,” Judith says.

Wrapped up like one of God’s cosmic pool balls, Remington blasts from the sky smashing the first Killbot-3000 at 200mph. The robot explodes into 3451 random pieces and then blows away in the wind. Judith says, “You might want to commandeer one of those parachutes, Ian, we’re at ten thousand feet and dropping. You’re running out of options.”

“Smash Robots,” Remington grunts. Remington snaps open into a star fish, his rippling muscles manipulated by the wind like clay. He slows himself down to terminal velocity of 120mph and lands on the back of the second Killbot-3000 like a puma attacking its prey. The force collapses the parachute. Lost inside the nylon pouch they wrestle at a rate of 53 meters per second. Remington wraps his legs around the robot’s waist and slides his tree trunk arms around the robot’s throat. The parachute is a wind tunnel, screaming and snapping, the fabric possessed and pissed off. When the parachute finally breaks free, Remington reaches around and pulls off the silicon face from the robotic flight attendant. The robot’s silver skeletal face screeches like feedback from a microphone, and then changes to maniacal laughter. Its teeth, chattering like one of those chattering teeth toys, and where eyebrows would be, jump up and down. Crimson lasers shoot out from the robot’s eyes trying to sear off Remington’s head but the laser is blocked by the golden shield. The golden glow disappears and Judith says, “Over-shield is gone Ian. It demands a substantial number of resources to run it. I was stealing power from the International Space Station and the Redacted Space Station, but now we’re too far away. You are a squishy little bug flying in a giant sky waiting to be swatted.” Remington grunts, “Smash robots.”

Remington rips the head from the robot’s shoulders and tosses it, lasers still shooting in different directions as the head spins in the wind. Black liquid squirts out from the robot’s neck hole, the body pissing out hot fluids bathing Remington in its blood. Remington pulls each leg from the robotic body while hydraulic oil sprays out from the joints. Remington holds out the legs like wings and then starts flapping like a bird. “Me, fly like birdy,” Remington says.

“Oh, boy,” Judith says. “I’ve juiced you up too much. Your IQ has plummeted Ian. You are currently classified as Dull, bordering on Borderline with Moron hanging on standby.”

“Remington, fly like penguin,” Remington says.”

“We’re at 2000 feet and dropping, Ian.”

“Me have four feet,” Remington says flapping the robotic legs.

“Yes, you do have four feet,” Judith says, like she’s talking to a child. “Good Remington. Good boy. You go sleepy time now.”

A lush green field spills out from the base of a snow-tipped jagged mountain. A Shepherd looks up and ushers his flock away from the point of impact. An army of fluffy soldiers scatter across a landscape fit to be painted. The last Killbot-3000 is already on the ground and running toward the behemoth rock base where that sonofabitch Doc hides.

Remington’s head flops to the side and Judith takes control. There’s no time for authorization while he’s a jabbering idiot. She scans the legs, turns them over and caresses the bottom of the plain white sneaker. Judith says, “Internal scans show a booster with its own power supply in the ankle. Subroutine lists an audible trigger. I hope this works. Remington, wake up.”

Remington snaps back to life the wind slapping his face as he races toward his imminent death and screams, “Holy shit, am I not dead yet?” Judith says, “No time to explain Ian, say this phrase.” Remington is low enough he can hear sheep scream, “Baaaaaa, baaaaaaaa.” The Shepherd yells, “Run my little darlings.” Holding the robot legs by his side so it looks like he has an extra set of legs, Remington closes his eyes and shouts, “Go, go gadget jet legs.” A fiery blast erupts from the souls of the white sneakers and Remington is propelled up like a Nike swoosh changing his trajectory. He does a loop-de-loop and comes back around so now he’s grazing just above the grass, the Shepherd looking back running away from Remington’s flight path. “Prepare for landing,” Judith says. “This is going to be a messy one.” Remington plows through the sheep, blood splashing turning the white herd crimson. Each cotton ball explodes flesh and bone, the wet slap of bloody wool against Remington’s face blinds him. A wave of hot liquid, then a cool wind as he passes through each plump, soft body. With each sheep Remington torpedo’s through, he slows down, the furry beasts softening his crash, slowing him down until he finally comes to a stop. One arm inside a stomach, a fist lodged deep in a sheep’s mouth, the poor animal gagging out a, “Ba-aaa-ba-aa-aaa-aa. The warpath behind is a red streak cut through the lush green field with a berm of bodies piled on either side of the landing strip. It’s a Jackson Pollock painting.

The Sheppard blesses himself with the sign of the cross and in a Swedish accent says, “What have you done, you Devil?” To the Sheppard Remington is naked, stained red, his underwear soaked through with sheep’s blood.

“Yes, Judith,” Remington says, “what have I done?”

“Any landing you can walk away from is a good one, Ian.”

Remington sits up, peals back the wet bloody fur from his face and says, “That’s it, Judith. I’m done eating meat.” Remington flicks the thick sopping wet pelt and gags. “It pains me to say it, but I’m officially Vegan.”