Scary Rednecks and Other Inbred Horrors by David Whitman & Weston Ochse

Author:David Whitman & Weston Ochse [Whitman, David & Ochse, Weston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Fiction, Short Stories (Single Author), Horror tales; American
ISBN: 9780967202938
Publisher: Darktales Publications
Published: 1999-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Greta huddled in the bush. She was going to finish what she had started. Inside, the meeting had already begun. She heard them, laughing and drinking. Their very frivolity made her throb with anger.

She wore her battle rattle again, one of the only things she’d kept from her four-year stay in the Army. This time, there were no blanks. She carried enough ammo to kill a hundred pregnant men.

Greta slid from the bush and followed the shadows along the side of the clubhouse. She reached the corner and peaked around. When she saw that it was all clear, she sprinted around the back. With bolt cutters, she removed the lock from the basement door. She slipped the bolt cutters back into her rucksack and opened the door upward. She stared onto the depths of the basement and trained the Mossberg into the darkness.

After a few seconds of listening, she descended the stairs and tugged the door shut behind her. From atop her head, she pulled down the AN-PVS 7 night vision goggles. Flicking the switch, she was greeted with a small whine. She blinked twice to get used to the eerie sensation and the darkness of the basement came to life in green and white. She stepped quickly to the fuse box.

It was less than a minute from when she shut off the power until she burst into the upstairs room.

While she’d been waiting, she’d counted twenty-seven pregnant men and three who appeared normal. She scanned the room quickly. White shaped figures milled in confusion. When her vision reached the small stage at the other end of the room she stopped. Atop the stage were three white shapes. Two stood, and one knelt, his head bobbing in a familiar rhythm.

Concentrating, She finally made out, not a white figure, but a figure made of complete darkness standing in front of the kneeling figure. Even the technology of the goggles could not illuminate the form, and that fact told her much.

A man bumped into her and she spun, catching him on the side of the head with the butt of the shotgun. He screamed as he went down and the sound stilled the milling men. A moment later, they were running blindly, adding their screams to the increasing din.

Greta fired mechanically. Although each flash of the barrel temporarily blinded her enhanced sight, with so many targets, she hardly needed to aim. When the shotgun was empty, she let it clatter to the floor rather than reloading. She snatched up her Colt AR-15 that a Good Old Boy over in Sweetwater had modified to automatic for her. The staccato sounds of supersonic death thundered over the screams as she raked the barrel from side to side. She reloaded five times, sending one hundred and eighty rounds of 5.56 millimeter murder into the crazy harem that had been an Elks Lodge.

She dropped the smoking rifle and drew two nine-millimeter pistols. Greta stalked among the bodies. Where she saw movement, she placed a round into a head.

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