Political Humor

Mild Max, the Radioactive Liberty post-apocalyptic dime store satirical on-going novel about a man in a future world wracked by an Ice Age returns with an all-new chapter. (Want to write a chapter of Mild Max? Find out after the story. Missed a chapter or all of them? Links down at the bottom as well.)

Chapter 11: The Best Laid Plans…

It was day two of the journey to New Brazil.

While traveling through the solar panel farms in the mountains, we stopped at one of them to rest. Well, what used to be farms. In this messed-up world people took everything that wasn’t nailed down, and then everything that was.

The hippies wanted everyone to recycle and they finally got their wish. Every last bit of glass, plastic, metal has been stripped away, taken to who the hell knows where. Nothing left here but pavement.

I’m surprised someone hasn’t taken that too.

But the scavengers are long gone. And the old farms go on for another couple hundred miles or so. We should be able to make some good time without being seen or bothered. No sign of the Off Roaders or the Roaders.

I picked up the solar-powered walkie-talkie that was sitting on top of the dash. There wasn’t a lot of sunlight in California but enough to power small devices. I radioed to the other Humvee parked ten feet ahead of us.

“Hey, Steven. You guys done yet?”

“Almost.” Steven replied back, sighing.

I looked at Simon, one of the four men from the other vehicle sitting in the passenger’s seat. “So, why aren’t you over there partaking in the flitter love fest?”

“I’m not one of them.” Simon replied. “I was hired for this like you were.”

I laughed. “Kid, you look way too young to be security detail. How old are you, fifteen?”

“I’m twenty and I’m a mechanic.” Simon smiled back at me. “And aren’t you so old you remember what it was like before the ice age?”

Cynthia chuckled from the back seat. “He’s got you there Max.”

“Don’t encourage him.”

Suddenly, there was a howl that sounded close by.

“UNknown!” Cynthia yelled.

I turned the engine over and grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Steven! We got company!” There was no response.

“Where the hell is it?” Simon exclaimed.

“Steven! UNknown!” I yelled into the walkie-talkie.

BAM!

The UNknown landed on the roof of the other Humvee with a loud bang, crumpling it like a tomato can and crushing the flitter orgy inside. Giving off an ear-piercing shriek, it charged in our direction. I threw the Humvee into reverse and floored it, then spun it around in a 180, jammed it into drive and took off.

“It’s gaining on us!” Cynthia yelled.

“Well, get the hell up top and take that damn thing down!” I shouted.

“I can’t!” She replied, her fist slamming on the hatch door. “It must be frozen shut!”

Son of a bitch. We had an equalizer but no way to get to it unless we stopped. The only option was to try and outrun the damn mutant thing. I steered us towards some woods, hoping we could use the trees to trip up the UNknown. It caught up to us and kept slamming into the Humvee’s side, trying to run us off the road like in one of those old car chase movies.

It hit us so hard one time the two wheels on the driver’s side went off the ground for a few seconds. Then it hit us again. The Humvee tumbled over on its roof and slid along the ground until our momentum gave out and we came to a stop. Cynthia and Simon were out cold. I wasn’t much better.

Looking out the cracked windshield I could see the UNknown a few yards away, approaching us as if it was anxious.

Pew!

The mutant stammered after it was hit. Was that a laser beam?

Pew! Pew!

Two more blasts took the beast down, its crazed body landing with a noticeable thud that shook the Humvee.

As I faded out of consciousness a hairy person wearing furs came into view. I swear it was a caveman.

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Links to all chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

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Chapter 10: I’m Just a Business Man

“So how do you propose we travel the thousands of miles to our new paradise?” I asked as if anything this flitter could say would surprise me at this point.

“Follow me, Max. Let me show you what years of running a nightclub geared towards alternative lifestyles can bring you. You don’t think I put up with all that drama, and glitter for the money, do you?”

We walked through a no-shit Scooby Doo wall. This was one resourceful flitter. This son of a bitch pulled a book on a bookshelf that opened a panel in the wall. The wall hid a large cement corridor leading to an underground garage, and armory. As I entered the dimly lit facility, I could think only of double o seven meeting Q to get his latest Aston Martin DB5 and shoe phone.

“What the hell is all this?” I asked with all the bewilderment of a child going to Disneyland for the first time. Well, that is to say, before Disneyland was left to rot, and taken over by politically correct, ambiguously sexed, meth-fiend prostitutes. Nothing like Cinderella with tattoos, a hot pink mohawk, and an adam’s apple.

Steven raised his arms like a bad Bond villain and said, “Max, haven’t you noticed, I am a thinker? Haven’t you noticed, I plan ahead? Anybody with any sense saw this scenario coming back in the early 2000′s. The only people with the power to stop it were making millions off the global warming stuff. Those of us who were smart began to stockpile things, and get our ducks in a row so to speak. We weren’t sure what was coming, but we knew things were going down hill.”

Seemed a rather glib answer, that. Well, at least an insufficient answer. “Dude, you’ve got two Humvees with mounted fifties, you’ve got a cache of weapons like I haven’t seen since before the cooling, Drums of what appears to be fuel, and an underground-freakin’-lair! That shit don’t come from running a night club.”

Steven said, “Well, let’s just say there have been many people that have been in need of my services, and silence. Neither comes cheap. You know what goes on in VIP rooms. Maybe there are some…” he made those stupid airquote gestures with his fingers, “…surveillance cameras to make sure things don’t get too out of hand in those private rooms. Those images don’t come cheap either.”

I so wanted throw a sarcastic barb in at this point, but frankly, I was too shocked by all this to think of one. I always knew Steven was a bit above the rest of flitters he serviced, but I always chalked that up to megalomania.

“Feel free to restock your favorite jacket with whatever you want. As soon as you gear up, we’re rolling out.” Barked Steven who had somehow managed to find a command presence. I’m not sure if I was listening because of Steven’s new found command presence, or more out of shock like a person in a car wreck does as the first responders tell them what to do.

Something ain’t right. There is something I am not being told. I am feeling like one of those mushroom fuckers Cynthia blew all to hell a while back: I am being fed bullshit and being kept in the dark. I don’t like it, but I am trapped like a small animal that gets trapped a lot. What? You were expecting Shakespeare?

At this point I have no choice. I peruse the racks of long guns. This guy has some sweet equipment. Wait, that didn’t come out right, I mean he has guns that are cool. FN-FALs are good guns. I like the simplicity, and reliability of the AKs. You can call me old fashioned, but I don’t carry commie guns.

When I moved to the next rifle rack, I saw it. I know we were underground, and it was dark out, but I could swear a shaft of sunlight was shining on my Excaliber. I don’t know how Steven was able to get his hands on a rack full of M-14s, but by God, I was liking this cock-sucker more with every passing minute. And I mean that in a purely heterosexual sense.

I grabbed Excaliber, and all the M-14 mags and cases of 7.62 ammo I could find, and loaded them onto the Humvee. I also grabbed a couple flashbangs, and hand grenades for my jacket. Then I snagged a sweet Benchmade auto-folding knife, and a length of rope. I am not really sure why I grabbed the rope, but it looked like it may come in handy at some point in the future.

Cynthia walked over, and asked, “What are you going to do with the rope? You’re not Charles Bronson.”

Again, the shock of the situation prevented me from firing off a pithy come back. Here I am gearing up like I am about follow the homosexual nephew of George Patton into North Africa. It was more than a tad overwhelming.

“Alright, I’m ready when you are.” I said.

Steven, Cynthia, Sergio, and I loaded into one Humvee, and four guys I had yet to meet got into the other. Cynthia got up, and took control of the world killer mounted to the top of the vehicle. We eased our way out the other side of the underground bunker, and started on what I was sure would be a futuristic trail of tears.

Interested in writing a chapter for our on-line political satire novel, or maybe another one? Head on over to Mild Max to get the low-down on how you can do just that.

Chapter 9: Escort Service

by Chris Cameron

“Et Tu Cynthia?” I said as she closed the cabin door behind us.

“It’s not what you think.” Cynthia replied and sat down on one of the couches across from Steven and his new boyfriend. “Sit Max.”

I obeyed her command having no choice of course, especially since my old boss was brandishing a shotgun in my direction. Guns aimed at me seem to be a common thing these days. “So are you going to kill me now or later?”

“Neither.” Steven replied, squeezing his companion’s thigh with his hand. “I have a better idea.”

If what they were implying was what I thought it was then I’d rather be dead. I felt like telling them to give me the shotgun and I’d kill myself.

“Max this is Sergio.” Steven said as the boyfriend leaned across and shook my hand in a limp-wristed fashion. “He was the one you overheard talk about a paradise to the south.”

“Really.” I replied. I knew he looked familiar.

“Your arrival here is not by chance.” Steven stood up. “We share the same desires for a better place to live.”

“Well I don’t see my Shangri La dreams matching up with yours there Twinkletoes.” I was confused but I didn’t want to let on. What the hell was he talking about? Is this some kind of sermon before he blows my head off like I did with Bruce?

“Let me see if I can clear things up for you.” Steven said, and talked about his plan. Sergio saw my interest in his conversation about a better life in the tropics. Bruce was a sacrifice to get me to run. Cutter put me on the path to meet Cynthia who brought me here.

“So you set me up.” I said as thoughts about Cutter and my fist in his face the next time we crossed paths raced through my mind. “Why?”

“Two words Max…New Brazil.” Steven reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of wadded-up paper, and unfolded it on the floor into its original shape. It was a crudely-drawn map of what used to be South America.

He told me that where Venezuela and Colombia once existed was now New Brazil. Crops grew outdoors. People worked and lived like they did before the cooling happened. It might not be paradise but it was normalcy.

“We want you to be our security, along with Cynthia and escort us there.” Sergio said, finally breaking his silence. “You used to be a cop, you know how to handle a gun, and Steven tells me you were one of his best bouncers.”

“Are you serious?” I laughed. I was never into geography but I knew that the old Brazil was thousands of miles away and years back in the history books. In the way were the Roaders and Off-Roaders and who knows whatever other groups or gangs were between here and there. Even if this place was real, the four of us would be dead in no time flat .

And these flitters wanted to hoof it there walking funny all the way.

“What if I say no?”

“You are free to go, but you will be left to the angry mob of flitters, as you like to call us.” Steven said. “They will be arriving soon by the way because I told them you were here.”

I had to hand it to the creampuff. Unlike the clothing he wore, Steven covered his ass in the planning department. Was I suddenly feeling a sense of respect towards a fag?

No matter what, it was either take my chances with flitters who wanted to kill me, or two who wanted me to be their bodyguard on a trip to the promised land. “So when do we leave?”

“Immediately.” Steven smiled and threw a gun at me. “It’s the same one Cynthia uses and as you have seen quite capable of taking down those awful UNknowns.”

“What makes you think I won’t kill you now that I’m armed?” I said as the thought crossed my mind.

“Again Max, we share that desire for paradise.”

The flitter had a point there. Not like I haven’t dreamed of the same things they want-a normal place to frikkin’ live.

Well, normal as can be in this crazy world.

Interested in writing a chapter for our on-line political satire novel, or maybe another one? Head on over to Mild Max to get the low-down on how you can do just that.