sHe: THE RISE OF THE NEW BREEDS [Book 1]

Chapter 15

A glimpse at the headless Graves...

"So, you wanna put your words on paper, you cunting puta bitch? Hah! I rather will put my freedom in your own puta blood!"

Crimson thick blood from the machete dribbled down, and Ramirez was still cursing in Spanish — recalling his years in paying the price of bartering sexual favors with the woman of authority who held him captive — bartering sex to the 'Cougar' for the saccharine privileges given to him and his people; ever since the age of eleven.

He stepped out from that office, gripping the woman's severed head by the hair — it swung like a pendulum — leaving behind a dripping trail of worming red scintilla bloodspots on the floor.

*

They remained hidden in a locked windowless pantry room. The wall clock was pointing way pass their lunchtime — the Wesleyans were normally the early-birds lining up in the prison mess hall during all their meals — but anyway, nobody expected that today was the Redemption Day — with the crazy Preacher starting his promised revolution in Tombscradle, without any prior warning to them or anyone...

But, it was not a wasted day either...

The three Intersexuals had devoured slovenly with the sop of food from the refrigerator, satisfying their sweet-tooth with real candies, cookies and pastries at the pantry.

It was something they had not indulged for a long time since they left Wesleyan — it was where the meals were finer over there, prepared by European chefs — compared to — the mysterious processed meat patty that was served in the prison's chow menu — that tasted the same, whether it was poultry or bovine.

They could hear the faint skirmish outside the locked door in the IMU administration building — but. they remained seated on the floor — waiting for the ordeal to settle down on its own — but, Joe was restive and he suggested out to Kiki-boy and Hank...

"We can't stay here, let's go now."

"Then what, face those Jamaicans coons out there again? They almost fuckin' killed us just now, right? I say that once all the fighting is over, we then go out — are you with me, Hankster?"

Kiki-boy looked at his gang-mate who normally concurred to almost anything he advocated, which were normally mere specious and unavailing based excuses...

But, Hank was silent in thoughts and Kiki spoke out...

"What are you thinking, bro? I am thinking, that this Fat-fuck here is gonna get shot dead, the moment he walks out that door!"

Joe felt it was even more unsafe to remain there because the guards may walk in and probably put a bullet each into them — so he voiced his gravity out at Kiki for remaining inaction, after enthusiastically volunteering in the prison yard earlier, to participate in the Preacher's reinforcement calling.

Big-Joe then made a splenetic remark...

"Do you know, you just monkey-mouth, and you only good at bragging in a lot of shit, Kiki — but deep inside, you are just a real fucking pussy?"

"Fuck, you fat-assed ding! How do you expect us to fight out there without any damn weapons!!? Even that fuckin' bitch Reeves Jensen had on lying to us that the Preacher is getting us guns — and look at us now, we are fucking cornered in here!

"Use the little brains of yours, Joe, it is wiser to hide in here, than we risking our lives out there!"

Kiki became defensive, and was still untenable...

It had been half an hour since the craven Wesleyans locked themselves up in the pantry — so Joe finally stood up and exasperated...

"Fine, you stay, I am out of here..."

Joe started walking to the door. Kiki-boy was bowled over for a second, when his buddy Hank also stood up saying...

"I am going too Boy, what is the fucking use of hiding in here?"

Kiki-boy now made a snide remark out to him, with remonstration...

'Hank, so, are you also a stupid moron like that goofy-fat 'J Cat'? You follow his ass now, you are gonna get yourself ki-killed out there we-without a gun, you f-fool!"

"Then remain here in the Enterprise, Captain Kiki-Kirk."

Hank smug back — it baffled Kiki more, who was now left alone in the pantry room...

"Hank, fuck you! You-ki-ki-kunt!"

Kiki-boy's actual name was Kirk — with last name unknown...

He used to stammer a lot when he was excited and panicked when he was younger in Wesleyan — and he usually went stuttering 'ki-ki-ki' — before he started uttering any sentence, and even to his own real name — so, the nickname stuck.

The annoyed Kiki was left alone, threw the half carton of orange juice that he earlier had slaked. He got on his feet and left the room to join them. Kiki trailed alone on the elongated hallway until he spotted Hank and Joe ahead, staring inside a separate room. When he reached them, he shared the spectacle which they both were peculiarly looking at...

It hung above, from the ceiling.

The trio froze in shock awhile, viewing in horrid at a sanguinary sight of the naked Capt. Olsen strung up to a slow rotating ceiling fan...

All her four limbs were severed off at the joints — her face was bleeding with pencils impelled into her eyeballs and earlobes — two soda bottles were inside both of her sexual orifices.

The Black Jamaicans had left behind their spite message, for their growing hatred at the thriving Aryan-Pride movement among the guards in Tombscradle — where many guards rococo hate-tattoos on their arms emulating Capt. Olsen — Walking-Tall like some 'Buford-Pusser' figure, and they whipped anyone in their way with their rotangs.

Joe switched off the slow rotating fan which had caused the blood drips in circular motion, forming bloody scintilla rings on the outer floor...

The severed limbs of Capt. Olsen's tattooed arms and legs too were in the middle of the room — bent and displayed in the likeness shape of a Nazi Swastika on the floor — inside in rings of splats of her own blood.

"Is she dead?"

The wide-eyed Kiki-boy murmured, standing behind the two bigger Wesleyan boys who then stepped closer, to check the moribund and motionless hanging body of the blinded Olsen. The Captain of Guards' limbless body then gave a sudden jolting jerk-like movement — her erected head, screaming out defensively...

"You fucking Niggers!"

The 'Billies' trio soon scrambled out of the room — shrieking in fright — into the hallway.

*

Only a dozen of the surviving Elite soldiers stood the ground, fighting back the advancing hordes of armed Intersexuals in the prison yard. The rabble numbers had been significantly reduced in the ghastly battle with the shooting Blacks, Whites and Asians.

A frightened e-SWAT member pleaded to Commander Petersburg...

"Sir, we have to retreat, we have to run — there are too many of them!"

It was a wise measure before the mission's e-SWAT platoon amounted to none — but, the conceited Commander barked her spleen out...

"No soldier! We stay put and we fight back! The backup is coming any moment — just hold on and fight!"

The livid Petersburg had refused to yield to the untenable defeat of her military-trained troop to a mob of uprising teenage guerillas — led by a proletarian cursed monk who was going to ruin her career again if he won...

Reeves from the rooftop looked over his shoulder, to approaching rotor sound — and he spotted the twin combat Blackhawk helicopters soaring into the horizon, coming towards Tombscradle...

Hajja heard it too, he mottled susceptible at afar, of what was emerging from the late afternoon sun.

"Fuck, what now?"