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The Beast

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since my car broke down and I had to start catching the bus. I was having terrible withdrawal symptoms. I was longing to be back behind the wheel of a powerful car. I longed for the sound of a roaring engine being controlled by my right foot - I felt the need for speed.

I reached over and switched off my alarm clock, showered and had some breakfast before setting off to catch a bus into town. It was a lovely morning the sun was shining and the birds were singing. As I walked round the corner onto Shakespeare Avenue I saw a huge shiny black car that was for sale, parked by a thatched cottage. Strange as it seems in the four years that I'd lived there I'd never noticed that cottage before - shows what you miss when you're driving.

I couldn't resist taking a look at her. She seemed to draw me, pulling me to her. Even though the fuel bill a lone would be colossal for a car that size, I couldn't help hoping, wishing! I'd never seen a car like her before. There were no identifying badges on her like Ford or Vauxhall. However she resembled the old 1950's American Cadillac with its twin headlamps, large bumper, long bonnet and large fins at the rear. You could have fit the average family car in the boot. Flames had been painted onto the coach-work starting at the front wheel arches and extending along the doors. Along the bottom of the doors were the words 'The Beast'. All the glass was heavily tinted making it impossible to see into the interior.

Just then a woman of about thirty-five came out of the cottage and down the steps. Her breasts bounced freely under her black silky dress. Her long shapely legs carried her slender body towards me. Her long golden brown hair cascaded over her shoulders.
"Like it?" she asked. It took me a moment to realise she was talking about the car.
"Yes," I said. "What's under the bonnet?" She smiled as she unlocked the passenger door and pulled the bonnet catch. I lifted the heavy steel lid.

The engine was massive it disappeared under the bulkhead at the far end of the engine bay. It was spotlessly clean with a chromed cylinder head that glinted in the morning sun. I counted twelve cylinders with two spark plug per each. Each cylinder had its own carburettor with chromed air filter. Two large turbo chargers were seated at each side of the engine. The front of the engine bay was completely taken up with the radiator which had a highly polished brass top. Behind it was the oil cooler. As the sun glinted off the chrome work the engine seemed to fade and in its place was a large blood red beating heart. I blinked and the engine was back. Did I see that, or was it merely a figment of my imagination.

"Get in," called the woman. I closed the lid and slid into the driver’s seat beside her - she gave a smile. I felt a little uneasy. There was something about this woman that wasn't quite right. What was she doing with a car like this? Although she looked a million dollars there was something about her eyes - they seemed to have a greenish glow.
"Take her for a spin if you like."
"Why not," I thought, as I fastened the seat belt and started the car.

The engine roared into life like a waking pride of lions. Each time I gunned the engine the car rocked, the windows in the cottage rattled as the rev counter rose and fell. The rev counters red line was set at 12000 RPM.
"That can't be right," I thought, "only racing engines will rev that high."
"You've got 900 break horse under your right foot," the woman informed me, above the sound of the roaring engine.

"Ballocks," I thought, "there hadn't been a car engine made with that sort of power." It was now that I was able to take a look at the interior with its rally type bucket seats and black leather trim. The dashboard was out of this world and wouldn't have looked out of place in a modern jet. Separating me from this gorgeous woman was a consul with the 6-speed gear shift lever protruding from it along with an assortment of dials and switches.

It felt good to be behind the wheel again, especially the wheel of such a powerful motor, and to have a beautiful woman beside me was a bonus. I slipped the gear lever into first and set off. The car had more power than I'd ever known the slightest touch on the fuel peddle sent the rev's racing towards the red line. The rear tyres squealed as they lost traction with the road, the front rose as she surged forwards. I longed to floor the big steel pedal that would allow the maximum mount of fuel to be drawn into the engine - longed to see what The Beast could do.

"Take her on the motor way, see what she can do" said the owner of this wonderful machine, as if she'd read my mind. I felt I was already becoming attached. Attached to The Beast - becoming part of her.
"Where did you get The Beast," I asked.
"I drover her up from hell," came her mocking reply, with her eyes glinting evermore greenish. She now looked twenty years older in the darkened interior of The Beast. We were now roaring up the slip road and onto the motor way.

I floored the fuel pedal only letting it rise momentarily to change gear. The Beast accelerated like a rocket on rails, pinning us to the back of our seats - such was the power of The Beast. It felt good. Really good. The speedometer was passing 180 MPH and was climbing fast. The fastest I'd driven before was 160 in a mate's highly modified Jag years ago, but The Beast was something else. The world flowed by like a speeded up film. Other cars came into view and were past seconds later. I felt The Beast could take me anywhere. I felt unstoppable - I was unstoppable.

We were gaining fast on a Ford Coswerth doing around 140. I flashed my lights. I saw his two fingers go up as he refused to move over.
"Ram the fucker," crocked my companion.
"What!!" I said as I tried to raise my right foot but it wouldn't move, it seemed to be pinned to the floor. We rammed the Coswerth at over 200 MPH. The Coswerth somersaulted over The Beast, smashing into the windscreen and bouncing over the roof. The sound was horrendous. The whole car shook but didn't slow down and miraculously was undamaged - she was indestructible.

The woman was laughing hideously. I looked across at her.
"My god," she now looked 200 years old, and her eyes shone vivid green. She looked at me and laughed some more. I looked in the rear view mirror to survey the damage but all I could see was fog, yet in front it was crystal clear. Something wrapped round my wrist I looked down and saw slimy talons coming from the steering column and then they pushed their way into my veins. My lifes blood began to drain into The Beast - I was becoming part of her. She needed me to run; she needed me for fuel.

The speedometer was now showing 320 MPH. The rev counter had gone past the red line and was registering 15000 RPM. The engine was screaming. The Beast was shaking from the wheels up. All I could see was the road whizzing by in a vibrating blur. The Beast smashed through all other cars that were in her path, totally annihilating them. I glanced over at the woman who was still laughing hideously. She was beginning to decompose with bits of her wrinkled skin falling off her. She was crumbling into her seat. Sickened by the sight I looked forward. The sky had darkened and ahead of me was a swirling black hole, with the road disappearing into it, getting nearer and nearer by the second as we hurtled towards it.
"My God. What's that?" I stammered.
"God my dear - there is no God. Hell's where I'm from and hell's where we're going." The remains of the woman hissed.

"NO," I screamed. The only reply was the hideous laughter. I noticed the mileometer was going backwards. There were only 20 miles on the clock 17, 12. The black hole was almost on top of us now - the gateway to hell. 8, 5. Above the screaming engine came the sound 'BEEP BEEP'. 'BEEP BEEP'. All the warning lights in the car started to flash; the gauges went haywire. 'BEEP BEEP'. The engine began to shut down. The rev counter began to fall. 'BEEP BEEP'.
"Next time Fucker. I'll have you next time," croaked the decayed body before it faded away. 'BEEP BEEP'. The Beast became transparent - unreal. I caught a fading glimpse of the mileometer - it read 0000000.1

'BEEP BEEP'. I reached over and switched off my alarm clock. Never before had I been so pleased to be wakened by it. I showered and had some breakfast before setting off to catch a bus into town. It was a lovely morning, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. As I walked round the corner onto Shakespeare Avenue I saw a huge shiny black car that was for sale.....

The End

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The Dare

Something bright was shining in Sally's eyes, she half opened them; the sun was shining through her thin bedroom curtains - waking her from a deep sleep. She stumbled out of bed glancing at her bedside clock.
"Oh only eleven o' clock," she thought as she stumped her toe on an empty cider bottle beside her bed.

"Ha, I really must get round to tidying this room ," the thought was unenthusiastically. She showered, put on her short black skirt and tight thin yellow knitted sleeveless top, and brushed her long blond hair until it shone like a well groomed pony. On arriving down stairs she saw her mother was still in her dressing gown, with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, and her hair a tangled mass with the gray roots plainly showing. She was in her usual position, sprawled in front of the TV. Sally glanced at the pathetic thing that had given birth to her. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and who could blame him. Not that he was an oil painting with his huge beer belly, unwashed body and round fat face that he only shaved once a week. He'd cash his giro and spend it in the pub and betting shop then when it was gone he'd spend his time sponging off the few friend he had.

Sally hated her father and had done ever since he'd come into her room in the middle of the night when she was eleven. She'd woken with his rough hands all over her and his whiskers scorching her soft delicate skin. His breath - she'd never forget his foul breath smelling of drink and stale cigarettes. She'd screamed, scratched and bitten at the filthy thing on top of her - but it was no use. When it was over he'd left her room and she had cried the night away. Now four years on she hated him more than ever and a day never went by that she didn't wish him dead.

The door bell rang Sally answered it.
"Hi Wendy,"
Wendy and Sally had been best friends since they were ten and lovers since they were thirteen, now at fifteen they were inseparable. Sally marvelled at how good her friend looked so early in the morning, with her dark brown straight hair. Her make up looked like it had been put on by a beautician and her white blouse so neatly pressed. A gray knee length skirt, matching hand bag and black stockings finished off her outfit.
"Fancy coming in to town," asked Wendy.
"Ye why not, there's nowt doin' in this dump, I'll just get my bag,"

It was a hot July day and the school holidays were well under way, not that they attended school much these. days anyway. They started walking in to town discussing which shops to go shop lifting from in order to be able to buy their daily supply of cocaine, when they saw David Johnson polishing his black convertible BMW. The top was down and the radio was playing.

When Wendy and Sally were in the first form Johnson was in the top form and was the local pusher. He used to supply them with anything they wanted drugs, cigarette, drink.
"Ha, look at Johnson looks like he's doin' o'right for him self don' it," said Wendy.
"Ye I heard he's dealing in a big way now, lucky bastard."
As they approached Wendy had an idea.
"Lets nick his car," she said, excitedly.
"What, are you crazy,"
"Ye you know I am; go on I dare you,"
"Why not, the radios playing that means the keys must be in,"
"Hi Dave got any coke," asked Sally.

"For pities sake girls keep your voice down will you; how much do you want?" he said with anger in his voice.
"Oh ten quids worth,"
"Sounds about right for you two. You always were big spenders," he replied sarcastically. "Wait there I'll be two minutes."
He disappeared into his flat.

Sally jumped into the driver's seat and turned the key; Wendy was in the passenger seat in a flash. Sally slipped the automatic gear stick in to drive; and they were off. Wendy turned round just in time to see Johnson come out shaking his fast; she blew him a kiss. They drove through the town, with the wind in their hair getting envious looks from the local boys. Wendy watched her friend handle the powerful BMW like she'd been driving for twenty years; she stroked her golden hair.
"Love you," she said softly.
"Oh, don't get all sentimental on me," joked Sally, putting a hand on her friends thigh.
"Tell you watt, lets go up to the coast."
"Can't," replied Sally.
"Why not."
"Not enough petrol, see if there's any money in the glove box."

Wendy opened it. There was a bag containing a kilo of coke and a nine millimetre Smith and Western automatic pistol. Wendy released the clip and saw it contained nine rounds; there were four more fully loaded clips at the back of the glove box. However there was no money in the car.
"Well it looks like Dave was prepared for trouble," Wendy said.
"Ye but he wasn't prepared for us though - was he!" Sally laughed.
Then Sally's face changed. She looked angry and full of rage.
"What's wrong?" Asked her friend.
"Oh it's ok, but I need to do something. Something I should have done years ago. They pulled onto a piece of waste land and snorted some of the high grade coke.

Sally's father was in the betting shop placing yet another bet when he realised people had stopped talking. He turned round.
"Sally, love. My God no. NO." BANG, BANG, BANG. Then there was only silence except for the bullet casings bouncing on the hard wood floor. He fell back against the counter, a disbelieving look on his dead face, and slid to the ground. Sally was disappointed at the lack of blood that poured out of the thing that had raped her all those years ago. She jumped back in the car and fired the remaining rounds through the shop window, glass shattered to the floor, punters dived for cover, before she drove off at high speed.

She passed the weapon to Wendy.
"Reload and we'll get some petrol and something to eat and drink." Wendy obeyed wondering at how her friend could keep so cool. They pulled into a quiet filling station on the outskirts of town and filled up. Jim Patel the young Asian cashier eyed them up.
"Not bad for white'is," he thought.
He watched them walk into the garage and couldn't believe his eyes when the two girls started to fill their bags with pop and crisps.
"Hi there watt you silly white bitches a doin' " he said. Wendy pulled the pistol from her bag and pointed it at Patel.
"Money from the till now, please," she ordered.
"WO ladies there be no need for that. Put that think away and get the hell out before I calls the fuzz."
"MONEY NOW"
"Come on now, give us a break, if me boss sees I've been robbed by a couple of chicks - I'll be sacked!"
"Look if it makes you feel any better tell him you were robbed by two Arnold Scwhzenger look a likes, we won't say any different," laughed Wendy.
"Sorry girls can't do that," he said pointing at the security camera, " you see's big brothers a watching.
Wendy fired four rounds at the camera before it shattered.
"He sure as hell isn't now!"
"Give us the money or she'll do to you what she’s done to your stupid camera,"
Sally informed him. With shaking hands he handed over the contents of the cash register. The girls reached the door.
"WHITE BITCHES!"
"Ye you better believe it," replied Sally pointing the gun at him. Jim ducked behind the counter as the cans of coke nearby exploded showering him with their sticky liquid.

They sped off, leaving Jim quaking behind his counter. Through towns, villages and then along the coast road they went. The BMW held the road like a subway train as Wendy threw it round the tight curves and over sharp rises and falls in the road. Finally Wendy pulled off the road and drove some nine hundred meters along the grass and stopped at the top of the cliff; they could hear the waves exploding comfortably against the rocks hundreds of meters below.

"Time to party!" Wendy announced snorting some more of the white powder. The girls were in high spirits as they scoffed their crisps, snorted the coke and drank the pop; soon they were kissing and cuddling.

"ARMED POLICE. PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM AND STEP OUT OF THE CAR," ordered inspector Frost through his megaphone. The girls turned round to see around twenty armed police in a semicircle just off the road. A police helicopter came up from below the cliff. Sally's hand grasped the Smith and Western - she fired at it until the clip was empty; black smoke began the bellow from its side and it disappeared below the cliff from which it had came; a few seconds later there was a loud explosion, followed by a column of smoke.

Wendy started the car as Sally pushed another clip in to the butt of the Smith and Western.
"We can do without this! Can you get round then?" Sally asked looking worried.
"I don't know but there's only one way to find out."
Wendy slipped the gear selector into reverse and floored the fuel pedal; at the same time as spinning the wheels to full luck - the car spun round to face the army of police.

"ARMED POLICE. PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM AND STEP OUT OF THE CAR." Wendy's foot was already pushing the accelerator through the floor; the engine roared, the turbo kicked in and the car rocketed forwards. Inspector Frost threw his megaphone down and ducked behind a police car; other officers trained their weapons on the fast approaching car.

Sally opened fire; so did the police. Bullets buzzed by, whilst others smashed into the BMW. Clouds of steam and oil cascaded from under the bonnet as several rounds penetrated the radiator and oil cooler. A police officer fell to the ground, clutching his stomach, his car burst into flames. Sally felt slightly disappointed that it hadn't blown up like they do on television. The gun fell silent; she reloaded it with the last clip. Bullets shattered the windscreen into hundreds of fragment; Wendy smashed her fist through it in order to see where she was going. They were sixty meters away from the wall of police all firing their guns when Sally screamed. A bullet had smashed into her right arm - breaking it; the gun fell from her grip. Wendy could see it was hopeless. She swung the wheel hard left and pulled the hand break up spinning the car through ninety degrees, as the car went side on to the police she felt a sharp crippling pain at the bottom of her back even so she managed to keep the accelerator buried in the carpet and release the hand break. They were now heading back towards the cliff top; Wendy managed to pull up some fifty meters from the edge. The BMW bled on to the grass - staining it black. Beyond was a drop of hundreds of meters to the rocks below; behind were the armed police.

"Bloody pigs, trust them to spoil a good day out," Sally complained, holding her arm, blood pouring into the foot well.
"Ye, now we know how Bonny and Clide felt. Not to mention Butch Casaddy and the Sun dance Kid," said Wendy.
Her seat was by now soaked in blood and she could no longer feel her legs. Wendy reached over and stroked her friends by now tangled hair.
"Love you, sorry I got you in this mess."
Sally took her friends hand .
"You didn't it was me who dared you, remember?"
"YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO GO. GIVE YOUR SELVES UP," bellowed Frost
Both girls looked forwards; each knowing what the other was thinking. They sat quietly for a few moments. Finally Sally spoke
"Lets finish the game"
"I 'd love to, but I can't move my legs," Wendy replied, the pain showing in her voice as she put her arm around her friend.
Sally swung her leg over the gear selector, and floored the gas pedal.

The End

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Future World

Sadam Hussain, frustrated at the west - they’d foiled his super gun project. The sanctions were crippling his country. He’d pushed the button, he’d actually pushed the God dam button. His silos opened; his missiles launched.

The rest of the world’s computers kicked in. Took over. We were in the hands of the machines. And in ten days the world was reduced to a huge wasteland.

Millions died in those first days. Then the deadly fallout rained down like snow on Christmas day. And we died in our billions our fragile frames unable to withstand the deadly dust. Now some ten years on there are just a handful of survivors. Immune to the fallout. All of them men. The fairer sex didn’t fair so well, those that didn’t die from radiation poisoning, suffered a more horrible death at the hands of cannibalistic men.

Those that remained roamed the land in gangs of leather clad motor bikers, scavenging for food, animal or human, and their never ending search for gas. But not I. I had no time of men like them. I was a loner. I drove the M6 like a single surviving blood molecule in a jugular vein that lay in a rotting corps. My Steel Lady was a twelve-cylinder, turbo charged, diesel powered army truck, with big fat tyres and armour plated body. My only companion was Ben, a black and brown scruffy mongrel dog, that I’d found lost and alone in this huge rotting graveyard. Strapped to my side was my none living companion, my PK nine millimetre automatic pistol, with eighteen round clip. In the late nineties this gun would have taken me anywhere, but now, I wasn’t so sure. Never more than an arms length away was my DSX rapid fire machine gun.

After the bombs. After my wife and children died of radiation sickness, I left the suburbs of Blackburn and set up home in Lords Hall, an eighteenth century mansion set on the edge of Darwen moors. Despite opposition in the late nineties, the greedy wind power company had got permission and erected a wind turbine on the moor. Although initially clogged with fallout I’d managed to overhaul her and now she powers Lords Hall. My ivory tower, with just one narrow approach road that snaked along the bottom of the moor. She would be easy to defend.

It was around twelve months ago. I was on the M65 returning from the army barrack where I’d been doing repairs on my Steel Lady, when the gang struck. All dressed in black they came screaming off the slip road on their two wheeled war machines, Suzuki Honda and Kawasaki all riding as one. I guess they thought I’d be an easy meal. But their bullets ricocheted off my steel cocoon like hailstone off concrete. I glanced in my mirrors and saw two black clad Barry Sheen’s coming up on my side. I swung the heavy guide wheel hard right, knocking one unfortunate into the centre reservation crash barrier. He went sliding down the opposite carriageway, screaming as his face wore away. The other disappeared under the truck and the rear right wheel bounced violently over him. Ben yelped and jumped into the foot well as the passenger door flew open. A black clad, gun in hand, was riding on the foot plate. I grabbed the DSX, and one and a half seconds later thirty rounds had passed through his body. Blood sprayed all over the cab before he fell away.

I was passing the Rishton turn off, although it wasn’t my intended exit, I decided to take it in an attempt to lose my pursuers. I waited until I was well past the exit then swung the wheel hard left. The engine screamed as the truck became air born, leaving the top of the banking at over seventy MPH. Two of the black clads had anticipated my move and were on the slip road. But they probably wished they hadn’t when the seven ton truck crashed down on top of them. The truck bounced up the opposite banking and then back down on to the slip road as I fought to gain control. Ben was thrown from his hideaway down in the foot well to the blood splattered cab roof, and came to rest on his seat. He gave me such a look as if to say.
"For Christ sake."
"Sorry Ben," I muttered.
I regained control and looked in the rear view mirror - no sign of the two remaining black clads.

I was going too fast to negotiate the roundabout at the bottom of the slip road so I drove straight over it, clipping a rusting Rover, spinning it round. The driver’s door jolted open and the long since dead woman driver flew out, her decaying body breaking in three pieces - the head bouncing down the road, breaking into smaller and smaller pieces, until it was just dust. I decided not to go straight home incase the black clads were still following. Instead I headed for The Royal Ordinance Factory, on the outskirts of Blackburn, where I could hide, until I was sure the coast was clear.

Once there I hid the Steel Lady in the loading bay and decided to have a look round. Before the bombs there were always rumours that this factory was working on all sorts of secret projects. Maybe there’d be some weapons there that I could use. Deep in the heart of the old decaying factory I came across a box or should I say a coffin, about six foot long by three foot deep and three foot wide. I tried lifting the lid with the pitted brass handles. But to no avail. Ben was scratching and sniffing at the foot of the box.
"What you found boy," I inquired.

His head tilted to the left, a puzzled look on his sweet little face. On investigation I saw a small handle protruding from the bottom of the box. I gripped the handle then thought for a moment.
"Do I really want to know what’s in this coffin?"
The answer came back clear and sharp. YES.

I tried to turn the handle and at first it wouldn’t budge. Then slowly, ever so slowly it began to rotate. I heard a sharp crack from behind, followed by the sound of a bullet, buzzing passed my left ear. Grabbing the machine gun off the top of the box I spun round to face the two black clads, just as one of them got off another shot. I felt the sharp pain as the bullet grazed my left arm. Then I depressed the DSX’s trigger. The gun belched smoke and flames as she sprayed her disciples of death. As the DSX fell silent one black clad fell to the ground vomiting his life away. Realizing he was out gunned the remaining one was already heading back the way he’d come as fast as his legs would carry him. I pulled the nine millimetre from her hip holster, my thumb instantly slipped the safety. I fired three shots a milli-second apart at the fast depleting target - blowing part of his heart through his chest. He fell to the ground, groaning. A few seconds later I was standing over him. Death, for him was a heartbeat away. Even so I pumped two more round through the back of his head. Then there was complete silence, apart from the bullet casings bouncing on the hard factory floor. Ben looked on, a disgusted look in his eyes. And he was right, ammunition was hard to come by. Something caught Ben’s eye and he barked excitedly. I swung the nine millimetre in the direction of his gaze. And my mouth fell open. Something I thought I’d never see again was standing by the now open coffin. A women, a beautiful women, of around thirty or so.

She was around five foot ten inches tall and dressed in amy type clothing. She was really beautiful with shoulder length brown hair, sparkling eyes and lips that looked so inviting.
"Where, where did you come from?," I stammered.
She seemed disorientated and unsteady on her feet. She was incapable of speech. I guessed she was in shock. I couldn’t understand how she could have survived down there in that gloomy factory for all those years. I took her back to Lords Hall.

She was a quick learner, within days she was talking. She couldn’t remember her name so I called her Susan, no special reason - I just like the name Susan. I taught her to shoot, and before long she was making tin cans dance just like in those old Western movies. Soon she was a better shot then me. But I didn’t mind. It was good to have a partner again. Life seemed worth living once more. Each day we’d go for long walks over the moor, hand in hand, watching the few birds soaring high in the sky. A sure sign that life was returning to the planet. The heather was starting to display bright purple buds and occasionally we’d see a rabbit and Ben would scamper after it, to try and make friends. But he never did they always scampered down their little holes before he got close. Ever day we'd go up Darwen tower to watch for advancing black clads. But they never came.

One awful day Susan wasn’t well. She hadn’t the strength to get out of bed. I dabbed her fevered brow with damp towels. But it was no use. She opened her eyes one last time.
Good bye my love, is all she said.
Then her eyes closed, forever. My tears blurred my vision until the morning came. When I looked at my Susan again her skin had gone plastic-like and in her stomach there seem to be a flap which I’d never noticed before. I carefully lifted it up. And to my horror saw four old leaking Ever Ready batteries. I don’t know why, but I removed them, maybe I thought I could replace them and bring her back to life - I just don’t know. But under the dead batteries amongst the wires and computer chips, something stirred. I pulled it out. It was full of a reddish gooey stuff. Ben by instinct, licked it clean. And I stared in disbelief at my child.

The End

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