Read Online A New Day in America by Theo Black Gangi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theo Black Gangi
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with yellow dilated eyes, not Yvette’s any longer—not even
his
, but the daughter of the hollowed out skull-faced ski mask. Then the demons come and fill the bleak spaces—ox and horse-head demons like hieroglyphics with AK’s and AR15’s and belts of rounds strapped across their chests laughing with teeth like flames. Then Saks Fifth Avenue when the white blast consumed the city and Yvette and Jay and Mikey were sifting through racks of clothing and suddenly all flesh incinerated into black howling skeletons without even enough time to scream. The magnificent Rockefeller Center Christmas tree adorned with dead babies dangling with bald heads like holiday bulbs. Hyenas like mutant dogs with painted clown faces with cocks and cunts dangling and fucking each other and cackling. The matriarch hyena pregnant above her long cock and crying and smiling through labor pains and giving birth to the serene and beautiful Naomi, still-born, effortless face and high cheeks and tiny teeth quickly devoured by a thousand maggots.
The morning is an epic hangover. Nos stirs and opens his eyes and sees Naomi’s chin, her head leaning against the back of the front seat. She rustles awake along with him. Nos is numb to his fingertips, but he gets up anyway, feeling the creak of his joints. He blinks away the visions.
Fuckin’ PTSD bullshit
.
Nay clings to his jeans, and he picks her up and looks in her eyes, trying to see the horror of last night.
“You’re OK,” she says, half statement, half question.
“I’m OK. You took good care of me.”
“I tried, yeah.”
She presses her head to his chest.
What did that mad scientist give him? He’s never heard of a drug so potent, so fast. Was the opiate mixed with arsenic? It’s not possible to get a physical dependence after one to two days. Those savages violated him. Doc shot him up and pumped him full of poison—
shit, he injected Nay
…
He can only guess what concoction is now running inside Nay’s veins, but he is going to find out.
Nos climbs in the back of the van and empties out the pack. He cuts two holes in the bottom and assembles the Barrett sniper rifle.
“Nay, come here hon.”
He slides her legs into the two holes in the bottom of the pack and straps her onto his back.
“How’s that?”
“OK” she says, holding onto his shoulders.
He picks up the ski mask and wears it rolled up on his head like a skullcap.
“We’re going for a ride,” he says.
“Where?”
“Central Park. We’re going to see the doctor.”
“Why are you bringing the big gun?”
“We need some answers, hon. About why your pa got so sick. And they may not be so friendly this time. And frankly, neither will I.”
Naomi is only slightly heavier than the pack was when full of supplies. The Barrett .50-caliber is slung over one shoulder, and the bullet belt is strapped over the other, just lighter than Nay. He sits on the Suzuki bike and revs the motor.
Nos cuts west at 59 th and manages a route to the park that allows them to stay on the bike. At the mouth of the park shapes of men rustle.
Two cops in unbuttoned uniforms take turns driving their boots into some wretched dude on the ground. Nos slows and stares at the men, ready to kill every last one.
They stop chuckling and stare back. The man on the ground is the creature from last night that had followed him, now taking a beating. Nos rides on, satisfied that there is balance in the food chain.
The highest hill point he can find is about seven hundred yards from the castle. He tucks the bike at the bottom of the hill behind a boulder. He climbs the hill and surveys with his scope 360 to make sure no one can see him. A few cops make rounds here or there. He digs a ditch with his knife and lays the sniper rifle inside and covers it with a pile of leaves.
He marches with Nay in his arms back to the castle. They reach the station outside the tents and the hound dog cop recognizes him and says nothing, as his return was
his
, but the daughter of the hollowed out skull-faced ski mask. Then the demons come and fill the bleak spaces—ox and horse-head demons like hieroglyphics with AK’s and AR15’s and belts of rounds strapped across their chests laughing with teeth like flames. Then Saks Fifth Avenue when the white blast consumed the city and Yvette and Jay and Mikey were sifting through racks of clothing and suddenly all flesh incinerated into black howling skeletons without even enough time to scream. The magnificent Rockefeller Center Christmas tree adorned with dead babies dangling with bald heads like holiday bulbs. Hyenas like mutant dogs with painted clown faces with cocks and cunts dangling and fucking each other and cackling. The matriarch hyena pregnant above her long cock and crying and smiling through labor pains and giving birth to the serene and beautiful Naomi, still-born, effortless face and high cheeks and tiny teeth quickly devoured by a thousand maggots.
The morning is an epic hangover. Nos stirs and opens his eyes and sees Naomi’s chin, her head leaning against the back of the front seat. She rustles awake along with him. Nos is numb to his fingertips, but he gets up anyway, feeling the creak of his joints. He blinks away the visions.
Fuckin’ PTSD bullshit
.
Nay clings to his jeans, and he picks her up and looks in her eyes, trying to see the horror of last night.
“You’re OK,” she says, half statement, half question.
“I’m OK. You took good care of me.”
“I tried, yeah.”
She presses her head to his chest.
What did that mad scientist give him? He’s never heard of a drug so potent, so fast. Was the opiate mixed with arsenic? It’s not possible to get a physical dependence after one to two days. Those savages violated him. Doc shot him up and pumped him full of poison—
shit, he injected Nay
…
He can only guess what concoction is now running inside Nay’s veins, but he is going to find out.
Nos climbs in the back of the van and empties out the pack. He cuts two holes in the bottom and assembles the Barrett sniper rifle.
“Nay, come here hon.”
He slides her legs into the two holes in the bottom of the pack and straps her onto his back.
“How’s that?”
“OK” she says, holding onto his shoulders.
He picks up the ski mask and wears it rolled up on his head like a skullcap.
“We’re going for a ride,” he says.
“Where?”
“Central Park. We’re going to see the doctor.”
“Why are you bringing the big gun?”
“We need some answers, hon. About why your pa got so sick. And they may not be so friendly this time. And frankly, neither will I.”
Naomi is only slightly heavier than the pack was when full of supplies. The Barrett .50-caliber is slung over one shoulder, and the bullet belt is strapped over the other, just lighter than Nay. He sits on the Suzuki bike and revs the motor.
Nos cuts west at 59 th and manages a route to the park that allows them to stay on the bike. At the mouth of the park shapes of men rustle.
Two cops in unbuttoned uniforms take turns driving their boots into some wretched dude on the ground. Nos slows and stares at the men, ready to kill every last one.
They stop chuckling and stare back. The man on the ground is the creature from last night that had followed him, now taking a beating. Nos rides on, satisfied that there is balance in the food chain.
The highest hill point he can find is about seven hundred yards from the castle. He tucks the bike at the bottom of the hill behind a boulder. He climbs the hill and surveys with his scope 360 to make sure no one can see him. A few cops make rounds here or there. He digs a ditch with his knife and lays the sniper rifle inside and covers it with a pile of leaves.
He marches with Nay in his arms back to the castle. They reach the station outside the tents and the hound dog cop recognizes him and says nothing, as his return was
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