Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

XXXVIII

What kind of man would leave his wife in the evil clutches of somebody called the Red Czar?

I would, damn it. I had an epiphany. Doesn’t anyone respect my goddamn epiphany?

Nobody respected his epiphany.

Joey Armageddon and his gay general were right. They had Mortimer’s number. He had to try to help Anne. Mortimer waffled. But eventually he agreed to do it. He’d see this thing through to the end. He would find Anne. For better or for worse.

“If I’m going to do this,” Mortimer said, “then I’m going to do it my way. And I’m going to need some things. Get a pen and paper.”

Mortimer told them what he needed, and the general briefed him on how it would work.

“We’ll arrange a contact who will guide you when you get there. He’s trustworthy.”

“How will I know him?” Mortimer asked.

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm told him. “He’ll know you.”

Armageddon took Mortimer’s hand, shook it firmly, looked him straight in the eye. “I know you’re not crazy about this, probably even feel somewhat coerced, but you’re going to do some good. Frankly, you’ll be a hero.”

Mortimer returned the handshake, could only nod and smile weakly. Hooray for me.

“We can’t take him back to his cell like this,” Malcolm said. “He looks too good.”

“You’re right,” Armageddon said. “We’re supposed to have interrogated him to get our defense plans back.”

“What?” Mortimer didn’t like where this was headed.

Malcolm came up behind him. “I’ll hold his arms. Work over his face a bit.”

Back in his cell, Mortimer prodded at his puffy eye with his fingertips.

They enjoyed that. Assholes.

A black eye and a swollen lip. He could live with it. He’d had worse. Mortimer rubbed the stump where the Beast had taken his little finger. It seemed an eternity since he’d come down the mountain. Events had swept him along, pushed him forward. Fate was a terrified horse dragging him over rocky ground.

Take it easy, man. It’ll be okay. All you have to do is bust out of Armageddon’s prison, meet up with the mysterious guide, foil the Red Czar, assassinate him if possible while fighting off hordes of Red Stripes (no problem, since they seem to have only one bullet each). Oh, yeah, find your wife and tell her where the hell you ran off to nine years ago.

Child’s play.

Mortimer waited patiently until finally the expected controlled explosion blew back the cell door, ripping it partway off the hinges. Smoke filled the cell and the hallway beyond. Shouting. Confusion.

Buffalo Bill leapt through the smoke and landed in the cell. “Come on, man. They’re waiting for us.”

Mortimer followed him out of the cell, down the smoky hall. They burst out of the bunker, where Mortimer spotted Sheila behind the wheel of a golf cart. That surprised him. Mortimer had told Armageddon he wasn’t going anywhere without his partner, Bill, but he hadn’t said a thing about the girl. No time to wonder about it now. They hopped into the cart, the sound of machine-gun fire cracking behind them.

“Drive!” shouted Mortimer.

Sheila stomped the accelerator, and they shot down the narrow path, twisted in and out of the trees until the bunker was well behind them.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Mortimer asked.

“Sort of,” Sheila said.

“We were told where to drive the cart,” Bill said. “After that we don’t have a fucking clue. I was hoping you’d fill us in. We were instructed to bust you out of jail, and the rest is a mystery.”

“I got us a gig,” Mortimer said.

“Say what?”

“You said we should be partners, right? I’ll tell you all about it when we’re in the clear.”

Sheila turned off the road and headed into the forest. They soon came to a ring of stones, some kind of long-unused camping area. Sheila parked the cart. They held their breath and listened. A moment later, they heard footsteps through dry leaves. Lars stepped into view. He’d been hiding behind a stand of trees and wore a camouflage poncho over his black suit.

“This way,” Lars said. “It’s all here.”

They crowded around and Lars directed them to a pile of luggage hidden among the shrubs, six backpacks. They were mismatched but all of good quality and stuffed with supplies.

“We’ll need to put on a bit of a show as if we’re looking for you,” Lars told them. “But the pursuit won’t make it this way for a while, and they won’t look for you very hard. Still, I would advise you not to linger.” He handed Mortimer a folded map. “We’ve marked the best route on here, but you might have to improvise as events dictate.” He shook Mortimer’s hand. “I wish you luck, sir.”

“Thanks, Lars. It’s been grand.”

Mortimer, Bill and Sheila slung the backpacks over their shoulders, headed south into the woods.

“Back on the road again. I’m going to miss that soft bed,” Bill said. “Where we headed anyway?”