Ever Onward by Wayne Mee Page A

shakily back to his bottle.
    On the floor, Shirley Bates was waking
up to a changed world in more ways than one. Jocco saw her wince
and smiled. “Ah, the fair princess awakes. Georgie-boy, help the
lady up.”
    George was about to complain, but one
look at Pussbag sent him scurrying over. Shirley cried out when he
lifted her, then again when he tossed her on a sofa. From the other
side of the room Lieutenant Pinkton watched in stunned silence as
Flight Lieutenant Sam Waterson slammed his glass down and stood up.
Facing Jocco, he summoned up his best officer’s voice.
    “Now listen, private, this has gone
far enough! As senior officer here, I’m taking command!”
    Still smiling, Jocco drew his .45 and
pointed it at the girl. Two shots rang out, filling the room with
rolling thunder and the smell of burnt powder. Shirley pressed
herself back into the sofa, screaming as she did so. A nice, round
hole had magically appeared on either side of her. Jocco raised the
gun and locked his wrist with his free hand.
    “One more word from you, ‘private’,
and the next one’s between her eyes.” The smile was still on his
handsome face.
    Waterson stiffened, seemed about to
respond, read the madness in Jocco’s eyes, and still glaring
hatred, slowly sat back down. Pinkton, his white face having turned
several shades whiter, kept his eyes riveted on the gun. Pussbag’s
smiling face looked adoringly at Jocco, while George the Man
giggled in the corner.
    “Man oh fucking man!”, George beamed.
“You sure as shit showed him!”
    The .45 swung in Waterson’s direction.
Jocco was still smiling. “Georgie-boy. Get the lady a drink.
Several in fact. Then strip her. These two ex-officers are going to
join you in a little gang-bang.”
    George’s eyes widened, then a smile of
his own spread over his sallow face. “Sure, Jocco! Anything you
say, man!”
    Jocco turned to Pussbag. “Help the two
‘privates’ to get in the mood, friend. Use your knife if you have
to.”
    Flowing like a scarecrow on ice,
Pussbag glided across the room and stood behind Waterson and
Pinkton. His bayonet had once again appeared in his hand. Jocco set
his gun on the table and, digging in his shirt pocket, produced a
small pillbox.
    “Georgie. Give the lady two of these.
It’ll help make her feel more romantic.”
    George caught the pillbox and giggled.
“Fucking-A, man! Fucking-A!”
    Jocco woke to the sound of rain. Water
dripped off the jagged edges of the demolished wall. Sleeping
bodies lay scattered about. His .45 lay in his lap. Picking up the
weapon, he rose from the plush armchair and walked to the opening.
Wind gusted across the tarmac. In the east a gray stain blotted out
the rising sun. It didn’t bother him though, for he had a bright,
shiny plan for the future.
    In a way, he had the strange,
bayonet-wielding idiot to thank. The pathetic creature had given
him the dark seed from which the darker rose would grow. Now,
looking out on the newly remodeled world, Jocco was anxious to put
his plan into action. The building blocks of its creation lay
scattered all about him. He breathed deep of the heady brew of
expectation and took stock of his options.
    Over three thousand souls had resided
at China Lake. All but a few were dead. He had found five survivors
so far. How many more could be found in an all out search? Another
truth was that whatever had happened here had happened everywhere
else as well. The pilot Waterson had confirmed that. The Big Bad
World had suddenly just gone belly-up.
    Yet somehow a few had survived. More
importantly, HE had survived. Now he would gather them to him. Draw
them in like fish in a net --- his net.
    Then there had been that bit about the
‘Dark Stranger’. He had liked that. Shit like that really did a
number on the weak and feeble minded, a group which, in Jocco’s
view, had always made up the majority of the world’s population.
Now, after this strange but oh-so-welcome Big Check-Out, the ratio
of