Highway To Armageddon Read online

  “How far is it?” Arrow asks.

  “Only a couple hundred miles, and it’s on the way to Vegas. We can head there tomorrow.”

  “Alright, we’ve flown far enough for one night,” Machete says. “Prepare for landing.”

  Machete doesn’t give us much time to prepare because a split-second later she takes us into a nosedive. We zoom down toward another meadow. Machete pulls up just before we crash into the ground and glides to a somewhat smooth landing.

  Machete hops out of the car, opens her trunk, and tosses us pillows and blankets.

  “You kids get some sleep. I’ll stand guard for a few hours. We shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else dropping in on us, but you can never be too safe.”

  Machete walks off into the distance, until all I can see is the orange tip of her cigar. Soon even that vanishes from sight. Machete is a lone wolf if I ever saw one.

  Pretty soon everyone is snoring up a storm. Krystal is the worst one. She sounds like a pig with a bad case of asthma. I almost barf when I notice Boom Boom curled up in Arrow’s arms. I turn around so I don’t have to see them cuddling.

  I have trouble falling asleep. When I do occasionally drift off, it’s not too deep, so I keep having dreams. They range from Pitbull strangling me with his cyborg arm, to Caesar torturing me, to Yin and Yang chucking throwing stars into my skull, to Rasputin zapping me with lightning, to General Kang gutting me like a fish while Empress Xing watches from her throne of human skulls. The first thing I think when I wake up the next morning is, ‘Damn, we sure do have a lot of enemies.’

  Chapter Eight: Boom Boom

  I wake at the crack of dawn. It’s not voluntary, either. Machete feels the need to turn up the radio full blast, jolting me out of a deep slumber.

  I yawn and stretch. Arrow wraps his arms around me.

  “Hello, gorgeous. How do you look so amazing first thing in the morning?”

  I should know better than to fall for Arrows’ cheesy one-liners, but it does feel nice being complimented about my appearance when I haven’t put any effort into it.

  “You look pretty good yourself,” I say.

  “You guys are going to make me puke, and I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet,” Lance says as he climbs out of the car.

  “If that’s all it takes to get him to go away, then I’m going to start sweet talking you more often,” Arrow remarks.

  I playfully punch Arrow in the stomach. “Be nice.”

  After we all wash up in a nearby stream and eat a quick breakfast of dried fruit and trail mix, we squeeze back into the car and head toward the Wild West Settlement. To kill time I slide on my goggles and do a little research on the settlement’s founder, Geronimo Blackbird. Blackbird is a billionaire who owns several casinos and high-rise condos in Sanctuary 41. He also owns several major sports teams. He’s an ardent Klaxton supporter who’s donated millions of dollars to her campaigns over the years. His bio says he’s in his 60s, but in his most recent pics he doesn’t look a day over 50. He must use one hell of a plastic surgeon.

  The articles I come across all say the same thing. Blackbird has always been fascinated with the Wild West, ever since he learned as a young child that one of his ancestors was an outlaw cowboy who terrorized authorities in the late 1800s. (He is also of Cherokee descent, which makes his infatuation with cowboys somewhat ironic.) 30 years ago he decided to use his massive fortune to create a city that resembled the Wild West towns he grew up daydreaming about. The Wild West Settlement is now one of the most popular tourist destinations in America.

  It’s not just an amusement park, either. People actually come to live there so they can live like real cowboys. The place is so authentic that historians claim it’s like traveling in a time machine. It’s also dangerous. Dozens of tourists get killed or wounded every year from saloon brawls and wild shootouts. I personally don’t like the idea of us going somewhere so anarchist, but we do need weapons. And the Wild West Settlement has the closest gun shop for hundreds of miles.

  After a few hours of flying we finally reach the settlement. No flying cars are allowed inside the settlement fence (I guess so as not to ruin the historic atmosphere), so we park in a nearby lot. We then climb out of the car and make our way to the park entrance.

  The line to the entrance is so long it takes us half an hour to get to the gate. While we wait I admire all the crazy getups. All the guys are dressed as cowboys, with Wild West style hats, vests, gun holders, belts with huge buckles, and boots with spurs. Some of the women dress as cowboys, too, but most wear dresses that make them look like they have big cabooses. All the kids look especially cute in their Wild West gear.

  We finally reach the front entrance, where an older cowboy is taking money and handing out tickets. The cowboy scowls when he sees us.

  “You got a problem, buster?” Machete asks.

  “My problem, lady, is your indecent attire. We don’t like outsiders in these here parts.”

  “You’re a damn theme park! The whole place is crawling with outsiders!”

  “It’s all part of the act, Mom,” Arrow whispers. “Chill out.”

  “Oh, my bad,” Machete says.

  The cowboy adjusts his jacket and gruffly says, “I highly recommend you visit one of our shops and buy new clothes. That is, if you want to avoid trouble.”

  “Oh, I like trouble,” Machete says.

  “Hmm,” says the cowboy. “Now then, how many in your party?”

  “Five,” Machete replies.

  The cowboy waves five tickets in the air. “$500, please.”

  Machete grumbles something about being robbed, but she does fork over the money. The cowboy hands us the tickets and gestures toward the open gate. “Have fun!”

  The instant I step foot into the Wild West Settlement, I’m overwhelmed by all the vivid sights, sounds, and smells. The settlement is massive, with tons of Wild West-esque stores and shops. Hundreds of people walk along the town square’s dirt road. Everyone is dressed up… everyone but us. I’m reminded of this when we receive dirty stares.

  I’m most intrigued by all the horse-drawn carriages that rattle past us. I love horses, and this is the first time I’ve seen so many. The smell of the settlement, though, leaves a bit to be desired. I immediately detect the unmistakable scent of dung… lots and lots of dung. The piles of brown crap that litter the streets imply people in the Wild West don’t think to clean up after their four-legged friends.

  I stare in wonder at all the stores and shops. There are restaurants with names like ‘Momma’s Country Cooking’ and ‘Auntie Marie’s Fried Chicken Café’. The delicious aroma of fried chicken, cornbread, and biscuits wafts over us, making my mouth water. I can tell from the saliva dribbling down Krystal’s chin I’m not the only one who finds the smells intoxicating. There are also old-style pharmacies, clothing stores, saloons, and even a place to purchase tombstones. If you look past all the filth, dirt, grime, and horse crap, it’s quite a charming little town.

  I’m forced to reconsider that assumption seconds later when shots ring out. All the tourists scream and duck for cover. The horses neigh and take off, sending a few people tumbling out of the back of their carriages.

  I duck under the porch of a nearby restaurant with Machete and Arrow. I have no idea where Krystal and Lance went.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, peering out from under the porch.

  My question is answered when the door of a bank across the street flies open. Four rugged, grimy-looking cowboys burst out of the bank with large burlap sacks I assume hold money.

  “It’s a wild west bank robbery,” Machete exclaims gleefully. “Awesome!”

  Arrow and I stare at Machete like she’s lost her ever-loving mind.

  The cowboys run drunkenly down the street, hooting and hollering and firing their pistols into the air.

  “Should we do something?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Arrow mumbles. “Something about this seems---”

&n
bsp; “Look!” Machete shouts, cutting Arrow off. “The coppers have arrived.”

  I look back out into the street and sure enough, the sheriff and two of his deputies have arrived on horseback.

  The sheriff aims his rifle at the bad guys. “Put em up, Mad Dog Baxter! You and yer cronies have been terrorizin’ these here parts for far too long. The gig is up!”

  One of the robbers (I assume Mad Dog Baxter) staggers forward and slurs, “No, our gig isn’t up. Yer gig is up, Sherriff!”

  Mad Dog aims his pistol at the Sheriff and fires a shot. The Sherriff topples off of his horse and collapses to the ground.

  Gasps and shrieks of horror ring out through the street. A few kids start crying.

  I pull out a blade. “We gotta do something, guys.”

  Arrow reaches for my arm. “Red, wait!”

  He’s too late. I’m already scrambling out from under the porch and dashing toward Mad Dog.

  Mad Dog’s eyes widen in horror when he sees me barreling toward him. He holds out his hand and shouts, “Girlie, wait, you’ve got the wrong ide-aaaaah!”

  I tackle Mad Dog to the ground, sending his pistol clattering under a saloon. I place my blade against his throat and glare at his cronies, who are rapidly backing away.

  “Drop your guns or I slit his neck!”

  The robbers shrug at each other, like they don’t know what to do.

  Mad Dog stammers, “What are you buffoons waiting for? Drop the dang guns!”

  The robbers drop their weapons and bags of loot. I’m astonished at how easily they cave. I ‘m even more astonished to find Mad Dog trembling in fear.

  Mad Dog closes his eyes and begs, “Please, crazy lady, don’t kill me! I have a wife and kids! And two dogs!”

  Someone clears their throat and taps my shoulder. I spin around and point my knife at… the Sherriff?? I slowly stand up.

  “I… I thought you were dead.”

  The Sherriff sighs and wipes dust off of his pants. “Lady, this was all an act. You’re visiting a damn tourist attraction, for crying out loud. We do live theater.”

  My cheeks flush. I feel like the stupidest person on the face of the Earth.

  Arrow and Machete walk over with huge grins.

  “I tried to stop you, Red,” Arrow says. “I thought the whole robbery thing looked a little staged.”

  “You are such an idiot,” Machete cackles.

  I hold my hand out to Mad Dog and sheepishly say, “Er, sorry Mr. Bad Dog, sir.”

  Mad Dog scoots away from me. “Get away from me, you red-haired freak!”

  Mad Dog’s cronies help him to his feet. They proceed to grumble about how dumb some tourists are.

  The Sheriff sighs. “C’mon, guys, let’s get a drink. First round’s on me.”

  The Sheriff grabs the reins on his horse and leads his deputies and the robbers to a saloon down the street. All the tourists emerge from their hiding places. Most of them scowl at me for ruining a good show. One little girl runs up to me and shouts, “I hate you!” before dashing back to her perturbed mother.

  Arrow and Machete don’t hide their amusement at my public humiliation. Lance and Krystal climb out from behind the tombstone place and run over, laughing.

  “Good job, Firecracker,” Lance chortles. “We’ve only been here half an hour and you’ve already pissed off the entire town.”

  “Excuse me for trying to be a good Samaritan,” I say irritably.

  We continue our journey into town. We pass more saloons, restaurants, and even a mock county jail with inmates peering out at us from behind bars. We pass through a little carnival with acrobats doing tricks and midgets and bearded women chasing each other. Machete seems to enjoy the midgets even more than the shootout. Arrow buys a thing of cotton candy for him and me to share.

  The cotton candy melts in my mouth the instant I take a bite. My taste buds become awash in a tantalizing ocean of flavor. My knees literally buckle, it’s that good.

  Machete and Krystal buy home-made ice cream cones while Lance gets a pretzel. We then leave the carnival and go even deeper into the ‘lost in time’ city. Off in the distance a locomotive barrels along a track, shooting thick smoke into the sky. Some of the smoke drifts over to us, making me cough.

  I notice the further in town we go, the more dirty looks we get. It dawns on me that most of the people in the center of the settlement are the regulars, the ones who live here year-round. They must be the ones who don’t like outsiders.

  “Anybody else notice the evil glares we’re getting?” Lance asks.

  “They’re probably just jealous of my hot bod,” Krystal says, slurping down the rest of her ice cream.

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s the case,” Arrow says.

  We walk by a shop where an older cowboy leans against the door. He has a gray handlebar mustache, and a pipe protrudes from his mouth, sending smoke spiraling into the air.

  The handlebar-mustache dude jabs his pipe at us and says, “The reason everyone’s gawkin’ at ya is cuz ya look mighty foolish in yer ridiculous outfits. Come inta my store and I’ll make ya look right.”

  “That’s okay,” I start to say. “We really don’t time to---”

  “Oh, I always wanted to be a cowgirl,” Machete says, sweeping past me into the store.

  “I bet I’d make one sexy ass cowgirl,” Krystal says, following her. Lance shrugs at me and goes inside as well. The cowboy dude with the mustache greedily rubs his hands and snickers. I can’t blame him for being happy. He just found three suckers he can squeeze money out of.

  Arrow leans in so close his breath tickles my neck. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make the sexiest cowgirl in the world.”

  “And you’d make one fine cowboy,” I say with a smirk.

  Arrow grabs my hand and leads me into the store. The inside of the shop is dark and dank. Dozens of floral dresses hang from racks, as well as jeans, shirts, jackets, boots, and cowboy hats. The mustache dude (who I soon learn is called Cletus) follows us around, offering us all of his most expensive products. He seems surprised when Machete, Krystal, and I turn down his floral dresses and instead pick clothing meant for men. He doesn’t argue with us, though, probably because he realizes money is money no matter what you spend it on.

  Pretty soon we’re all dressed like cowboys and cowgirls. We place our cowboy gear over our Kevlar vests and armor. Krystal admires her ‘sexy self’ in the mirror while Machete practices whipping out her pistol as if she were in a duel.

  Lance saunters up to me and tips his hat. In a horrible cowboy accent he says, “Hello pretty lady. You’re lookin’ might fine today.”

  I giggle and imitate a southern belle. “Why thank you, kind sir. May I ask what you’re doing in these here parts?”

  “Just tryin’ ta stop a madman, ma’am,” Lance says with a grin.

  Arrow walks over and says, “You guys are lame.”

  “Not as lame as you,” Lance retorts.

  I know things will escalate into a full-fledged brawl if I don’t step in now, so I say, “Alright hotheads, let’s pay for our clothes and go do what we came her to do… get armed.”

  We head over to the register where Cletus rings us up. We then head outside.

  “So where’s that giant gun store?” I ask.

  “I think it’s over here,” Lance says, heading down a dusty alley. We all follow him and sure enough, right around the corner is a humongous, two-story building with the words ‘Geronimo’s Armory’ emblazoned across the front.

  “Holy Mother of God,” Machete utters, her cigar dropping out of her gaping mouth. She looks like she’s having a religious experience

  “You okay, Mom?” Arrow asks.

  “Yeah… never been better,” she mutters. She pushes us aside and barges through the store’s swinging front door.

  Arrow turns to me and says, “My mother’s infatuation with guns is disturbing.”

  “She’s disturbing period,” Lance mutters as he and Kryst
al walk inside. Arrow and I bring up the rear.

  To say the inside of Geronimo’s Armory is a gun lover’s paradise would be an understatement of truly epic proportions. There are more guns and weapons than I’ve ever seen in my entire life (and as a bounty hunter I’ve seen lots of impressive armories). The place is massive, with every kind of weapon you can imagine. The glass cases and racks are filled with handguns, machine guns, Uzis, submachine guns, rifles, knives, daggers, tear gas canisters, tasers, crossbows, grenades, and even electric guns and UFOs (like the one I used on Caesar’s goons in their factory hideout). I even think about buying the UFO since it’s such an effective weapon, but then I notice the price: $30,000! That’s double what I paid for mine. I’m starting to see how Blackbird made his billions: by ripping people off.

  Pretty soon we go our separate ways. I pick out a few small weapons like handguns, knives, and mace. I also load up on ammunition cartridges. There’s no use in me buying a big gun since we’re going undercover soon. I highly doubt we’ll be able to infiltrate Mikhail’s inner circle if we’re carrying around bazookas and missile launchers.

  I buy my weapons and attach them to my utility belt. I instantly feel safer.

  We all eventually meet up in the front of the store. I’m pleased to find everyone heavily armed. Machete is wearing a shoulder strap containing ammo cartridges, which I have to admit looks pretty bad ass. She, Krystal, and Lance all have several handguns dangling from their utility belts, as well as tasers, daggers, and canisters of tear gas. Arrow has a shiny, brand new bow slung over his shoulder, along with a quiver full of pointy arrows.

  “Wow, nice bow,” I say, running my fingers along the gleaming metallic handle.

  “Check out the arrows,” he says, whipping one out of his quiver.

  I shrug. “Looks like a regular old arrow to me.”

  “But it’s not,” Arrow says excitedly. “The head is filled with a lethal dose of rattlesnake poison that shoots out of the tip when it punctures flesh. If you get hit with one of these bad boys, you’re done.”

  Lance blows raspberries. “Please. I can take down ten Russian gangsters with my pistol in the time it takes you to fire one arrow.”