The QUEEN SONG

Part 2

(24) Scenes 53-56

09/07/2019
Mike W McCoy

Version 1.0

<>53<>  Erratic erotic ecstasy.  

The early morning night had morphed into a starless canvas painted a crimson-tinted grayness which was the shadow of Death itself.  It was a tone that smeared the Grand California Resort so quietly and completely, as to be a living thing.  The Death Valley desert air felt abnormally humid, and the faint whisper of a breeze smelled of dried blood and wet cactus.

The patio alongside the Olympic-size pool, was littered with layers of sand, forgotten furniture, and the decomposing corpses of cultists.  Some were fresh, color still in their thin malnourished limbs, others were long dead, skeletal remains inside bright rags of touristy summer clothes.  Their chalky-white bones added an involuntary gag reflex to the ‘Grim and Spooky’ vibe.

Inside the sand slopped sides of the pool, a dull mentally piercing throb wormed forth.  The low moaning audio alternately assaulted with repetitive rhythms that were each accented by cringe inducing animalistic yells of pain and death.  ‘Despair’ had chased off ‘Laughter’, but ‘Regret’ lingered like a bad smell.

Over 4 score followers of Mother were pawing, and fumbling, in various grotesque satires of sex.  Blood flowed and flesh bruised, but that didn’t stop these disciples from performing while under the overwhelming trance of the Queen Song.

Special agent Boris wiped sand from his eyes, trying to clear a mind now trapped inside delusion.  The Queen Song had completely altered his awareness of reality.  Weird visual and sensual sensations squirmed at the edges.  Vague vibes of visceral violence veered violently across his floating frame of reference.  Boris slowly slid down a sand mound piled against the deep end of the pool, and stopped only a few streps from the newly made corpse laying at the feet of Mother.

Similar to a feline in heat, Mother arched her back, and uncoiled from devouring the internal organs of the fresh kill.  Muscle, tissue, and entrails dripped down to the rags of the victim’s short summer dress.  Mother’s dark, non-human colored skin, glistened with sweat and wet crimson splotches.  A thick slobber of blood from her clicking jaw splattered the sand, and tiles of the pool, leaving behind a sticky tail of gore.

“Come to me,” Boris thought he heard her say. 

Fighting against the mental pull of the Song, he wasn’t sure if it was real or illusion.  “I…I can’t.”

“Come to me now,” he undeniably heard her hiss from a throat that was definitively no longer completely human.

Boris tightened his fingers into fists, trying to resist, and immediately felt pain.  It was from the triad knife, hidden in his slacks, slicing into his hand. 

“How?” he wondered, having forgot about the concealed blade. 

Then as the warm crimson oozed, “Wha…why again?”

“Because you are strong,” the Mother snarled as her long fingered hand caressed his quivering chest.

With a paralyzing slowness, Boris turned into his Queen’s blood dripping mouth.

“I am yours,” he murmured kissing hard and fast.

“You were always mine.”

She pulled Boris on top, and the sexual foreplay began rough and hard.  The mutilated man was heavy handed and aggressive, rubbing across the misshapen aspects, the non-human contours, and the unfamiliar textures of the Queen’s body.  The grotesque alien features had no effect of his willingness to perform passionless perversion.

They rolled together across the sand layered inside the broken pool.  Boris opened his eyes, and saw past her mass of wild, cactus-needle adorned blue-black hair.

Closest to them were the pair of ponytailed Courtesans.  Their deep-blue maid uniforms were now caked with clumps of fresh, blood-dampened sand.  The shorter Hispanic girl’s blouse had been ripped open past the shoulder, revealing wide gashes, and fresh bite marks on her sunburned flesh.  Both followers raised their wildly scratched arms, and flayed about in synch to crowd’s audio bursts of erratic erotic ecstasy.

Close behind them, undulating groans escaped the parched throats of the human wreckage, and the shambling wretches of degradation.  The distant glow of the approaching dawn displayed the disciples in painful attitudes of abandonment, terror, and twisted joy.  The mental trap of the Queen Song had removed all traces of individuality, turning them into hypnotized believers in the Cult of Mother.

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<>54<>  Clutching at his head.

Staggering and stumbling, Jax collapsed to his knees.  His inherited Alien acuity was painfully connected to Mother.  Clutching at his head, the Firstborn tried to push away the emotional waves of the Queen Song crashing into his skull. 

Behind him, Mr. Sumo halted the clique of cultists who had followed him since retrieving Boris.  They too were experiencing the effects of the Queen Song, but their excited rage and devotion to the Firstborn reduced its effects dramatically. 

“I’m good, brah,” Jax assured the naked big man helping him to stand.

“Is there any-”

“No, no brah.  She is with a strong one,” the tall young man answered, smoothing back his black hair, and adjusting his wild colored shirt. 

“Sec…secure the throne room,” Jax added louder for all around them to hear.

“Um, for Mother.” Mr. Sumo finished dramatically, then led the disciples off the patio and thru the crumbling back wall.

“For Mother,” the Firstborn repeated, still rubbing his pounding head.

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<>55<>  Trying to find Mother.

“What the hell,” underboss Xais cursed from his seat in the cruising triad helicopter.  Outside the window, the late night still hid the Pacific Ocean, but across the aisle, the eldest Twin was crying a fit.  Mei Liun tried to sooth the infant, but her efforts were having little effect.

“I don’t understand,” the Vulture added looking about in fear.

Xais quickly changed seats, and tried to sooth the crying child with softly mumbled words, and a belly rub.  The Twin would have none of it.  Her own Alien acuity was reaching out, trying to find Mother, who was singing the Queen Song from 100’s of miles away, back in the Death Valley desert. 

Mei Liun felt the mental stress and grabbed at her own head, as if an icepick had been slowly inserted deep into the gray matter.  Xais immediately embraced the small girl in his arms, and rocked back and forth in the seat.

“Hush, little one.  Daddy is here.”

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<>56<>  ‘Hysteria’ pulled ‘Laughter’ back.

Agent Yoshi slinked slow and stealthy, closer to the open fire-door along the back side of the main theater.  She paused a few strides from the dead body wedging it open.  Behind her, were Mr. Takaoka and Mr. Hiedo.

Both Japanese men were stronger and younger than their leader.  They held their katana swords low and tight to their bodies.  Mr. Hiedo had recovered a sawed-down 12 gauge shotgun from somewhere, and had it strapped to his back, above his last remaining 9mm pistol.  His eyes constantly roamed the field of broken concrete chunks, and other assorted rubble scattered behind the 4 story building’s East wall.

By contrast, Mr. Takaoka breathed fast and excited.  The arms holding his sword trembled with surging adrenalin.  He was glad the mask covering his face only showed his eyes.

“Hey, focus,” agent Yoshi harshly whisper to the nervous acting Ninja.  “We got this,” she followed up with a softer tone. 

Her twisted scar accented face was as hard as stone.  Mr. Takaoka tried, but he was more afraid of her, that whatever was making the horrible random noises beyond the fire-exit door. 

“Yes ma’am,” he answered reluctantly, then watching her smile back, he believed she had become an angel of death.

Yoshi pulled off the grimy blanket/shawl she wore, and draped it over the dead Chinese man, with the crushed skull, weding the door open.  The Ninja watched her graceful, sure steps into the back room of the Resort’s main theater.  She held her razor sharp blade ready to slice at the twitch of a fly’s wing.

Her body flowed in and out of shadow, closing the distance to the stage like a hunting cat.  Yoshi paused, a rapid exchange of large caliber gun shots erupted from near the crumbled back wall.  After a nod of encouragement to the men beside her, Yoshi advanced, and got a look at the Hell playing out inside the carcass-like chamber.

The full light of dawn was less than an hour away, and the sky reflected the changing mood.  The heavy oppressive shadow of night was now a lighter, almost blue shade of gray, which seemed to have chased ‘Hysteria’ away and pulled ‘Laughter’ back in.  The mob of cultists was thin inside the theater, most having been drawn to the pool’s patio by the irresistible call of the Queen Song. 

Those that remained were attempting to reach the theater’s chessboard stage set, or converging on the 2 groups of Chinese.  The closest was a crew of yellow headband wearing criminals in business suits and black sarapes.  Yoshi could see the sweat-dripping brows above their frightened eyes, which mirrored the madness of the moment.  They wielded bits of broken rubble, as melee weapons, in the close hand to hand combat with roughly 17 wide eyed shirtless cultists. 

The other set, by the broken back wall, was of 3 petite Birds in tattered evening gowns, and a duel pistol firing fanatic.  The Snake delivered head shots into the crowding crush of cultists with ease.  His maniacal laughter was loud and contagious as he called out something in Chinese after each death blow.

Yoshi pulled up short, a bowling lane distance from the blood smeared stage, and the altar of gore and death.  Mutilated corpses and severed body parts, were piled near the thing she had hoped to never see, a fully exposed Alien egg.  It was worse than what special agent Boris had described. 

It was an oval about the size of a trashcan, dark gray like concrete, but black streaked, by what appeared to be mold or blood.  The top had 4 petals pinned closed by a thick brass ring.  But the near side was dented, and a milky dark yellow goo dripped, burning the stage floor with a hiss and smoke.

“Yoshi,” Mr. Hiedo said urgently pulling her back to the moment.

The woman shook her head, breaking off any lingering tingle of the Queen Song from her psyche.  “What?” she snapped at the Ninja creeping past her.

“Is that your brother?” he responded by pointing with his sword.

“That it is,” Yoshi smiled back.

Mahn was backpedaling towards the stage, with another T-glass wearing Chinese man, costumed in a blood spattered brown suit.  A fresh looking wave of cultists perused them without hesitation.  Near the front, next to a large naked man, was he who she came to kill, Jax the Firstborn.

Her target strode triumphantly across the debris littered theater floor.  He walked around a nearly exhausted fire pit, and crazy eyed woman saw that the Guayabera shirt was gone, and his greasy black hair was a wild mess.  However his medium muscled dark skinned build looked as strong as a horse.

Smiling inward to herself, Yoshi took a risk, and exposed herself.

“Onisan, my brother.”

The words stopped Mahn cold, “Hello Cookie.”

Mr. Takaoka took up a defensive stance before her, as Mahn and the other Snake continued to close the gap.  A dozen strides farther past them, Mr. Sumo and a few others, suddenly rushed forward.  Mr. Hiedo pushed past Yoshi and stood with Mr. Takaoka, prepared to meet the rushing cultists with upraised katanas.

Manh and his fellow triad man passed the Ninjas, and stopped only a handful of steps from agent Yoshi, who was still ginning her twisted smile. 

“Fong,” Mahn said between pants.  “Meet my little sister, Miako Yoshi.”

“Shangwu hao,” Fong greeted after a formal Chinese bow.  “Were you on that roof?”

She just grinned, and they both knew the answer was yes.

It was during the short awkward moment, as Mahn punched Fong good-naturally on the shoulder, that Yoshi noticed both men were bleeding.  Mahn’s left hand dripped a steady stream of crimson, which had wet his sleeve, and thigh.  Fong was worse off.  A deep gash across his midriff was bleeding copiously, and had soaked all across his dress shirt and tie.

A simultaneous yell-of-attack burst from both Ninja’s as they advanced on the charging cultists.  Mr. Takaoka, with a single swing, severed the head of his target.  It rolled away to the side, leaving behind a spurt of blood.  Mr. Hiedo pierced his opponent thru the heart like a fish in a barrel. 

“Sister, I am happy you are alive, but sad you have joined me in this madness,” Mahn said curtly, indicating the Alien egg.

Suddenly, rapid gun shots, and a Chinese woman’s scream, sounded from across the theater.  Everyone’s attention, except the Ninja duo, still stalking forward to defend against Mr. Sumo and friends, looked towards the sounds. 

The Snake who was defending the trio of Birds, delivered another touch close gunshot to a longhaired disciple’s chest.  He was then immediately pummeled by several more cultists, who beat at him with clubs and rocks.

Yoshi’s vision refocused a heartbeat later, as Mr. Hiedo yelled and leapt forward.  His initial sword strike sliced open the gut of a tall Hispanic cultist, draped only in filthy dark rags.  As the man’s internal organs spilled to the dirt floor, Mr. Sumo lunged.  Mr. Hiedo drew back his sword and thrust.  His blade skewered the big bruiser, but it didn’t stop his rush, which continued and collided into the Ninja.

Mr. Takaoka saw the action, but he was busy dispatching a pair fanatic followers.  The triad Snake Fong growled, then charged forward to thrust his own knife into the back of Mr. Sumo.  Yoshi also started a step forward, but her bother Mahn restrained her with his own outstretched arm.

“No, we have a bigger problem,” he grunted into her ear, as she watched Mr. Hiedo fall under the crushing grip of the cult enforcer. 

Mr. Takaoka, breathing heavy, reached Fong’s side, and together they rolled the dying fat Enforcer off Mr. Hiedo, whose neck was broke at a grotesque angle. 

“Damn it.” Yoshi cursed, and hard eyed the craziness inside the theater.

The last triad Birds, on the far side, struggled to hold off 4 or 5 half-heartedly aggressive devotees.  Wun Chou waved a bent length of iron rebar, and Chi Hu reversed one of the Shen’s big pistols, using it as a club.  9 or more cultists clustered near Jax, as he approached the altar of death, at the center of the stage.

“I’m going to end this now,” Yoshi confirmed over the din of cultists increased yips of excitement.  She locked eyes with the furious Firstborn, and sliced the air with her knife, as if to say I’m coming for you.

“Wait,” Fong quickly grunted, stepping closer.  “Use this.  He has acid for blood.”

“What?” she asked, looking confused at the offered shotgun.  “Acid blood?”

“It is true.  A demon,” Mahn smirked assuredly.  “But we can end it.”

“I agree brother,” Yoshi smiled back.  ‘Laughter’ rejoiced, alerting ‘Vengeance’.

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