Get Outta Hell!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


In hell, a game show called 'Runners' rules TV, in which runners are pitted against demon chasers for a chance to... Get! Outta! Hell!

Submitted: May 19, 2018

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Submitted: May 19, 2018

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Get Outta Hell!


Welcome one and all to Netherworld’s number one rated television program. The game show which combines what we hellions love most: sport, brutality, and a little fornication—if we’re lucky…”


Hoots and catcalls sounded from the undead audience in the domed arena.

This is Runners!”

The deathly pale bodies took to their feet with a thunderous applause. All sported an array of wounds from their previous lives. Maggots wormed through old gashes. Eyeballs hung out of their sockets. One man even applauded using his severed arm.

“And here's your host with the most—don’t make fun of his name because he runs the game—” the voice said over the loud speakers, “Lucy Fur!”

The jasper theatre drapes opened and a man trotted out in a glimmering strapless gown, heels. He showed a wide white grin, which appeared to glow in contrast with his deep-red skin tone. A curly blonde wig set between his white goat horns. “Hello and welcome to Runners, the show where three lucky contestants from each district compete for a chance to...”

“Get! Outta! Hell!” the crowd cheered in a unified voice.

“That's right!” Lucy said into the microphone. “The object of the game is to survive thirty minutes on our gaming grounds without being caught by one of our demon chasers. If you survive the time limit without receiving a death blow, you...”

“Get! Outta! Hell!” the crowd chanted again.

“Yes, yes!” Lucy paraded down the stage with an effeminate twitch to his hips. “Let's meet our contestants from the West District, shall we? First up... This male model came to us by way of heart attack at the tender age of thirty.”

The crowd awwww’d.

“I know, I know.” Lucy looked to the oval ceiling as if to admonish God. “His pride sent him on a ride… to hell! Give a round of applause for Mike Moneymaker!”

Mike appeared from underneath the stage on an elevator platform. His face was pale with a blue hue. He placed a hand to his square chin in the ‘Thinker’ pose, grazed his palm over his blonde flattop. The tight red jumper exposed every muscle on his impressive physique. “My heart might’ve failed, but in this competition, I won’t.”

“Ohhhh snap.” Lucy shook his stuffed breasts in excitement. “The next contestant.... This tough cop is here by way of murder. After losing her partner in a shoot out, she went on a blood thirsty rampage of revenge, which took her life as well. Wrath sent her on a path... to hell! Let's hear it for Elba Ortega.”

Elba arose from the platform next to Mike, sharing his complexion. The short officer wore a black jumper with her dark hair in a ponytail. She glowered at the crowd with an unapproachable look. “You have the right to remain silent… when I get the fuck outta hell!”

“Ha! Classic.” Lucy chuckled. “And finally... This bartender arrived by way of car crash. While suck—pardon my tongue for our smaller audience…” Lucy cleared his throat. “While performing fellatio on her friend’s husband, he lost control and drove directly into an oncoming car. Lust sent her on a bus… to hell! Put your hands together for Kristin Blake.”

The third and final platform lifted Kristin. The strawberry-blonde’s face scarred with tiny scratches. She folded her arms over her purple jumper, looked away, as though wanting to be anywhere else.

Lucy motioned to her. “Well, do you have anything to say?”

Kristin smacked on a piece of gum, stretched it with her index finger. “Listen, why am I here? I wasn’t the one driving!”

“He didn’t die,” Lucy said.

“What!” Kristin’s brows slanted over her expanding eyes.

Lucy turned back to the crowd with a heightened brow. “Now the fun part...”

“Pick! The! Chasers!" the crowd shouted.

“That's right. Upon arrival, we asked you all to choose your chasers for the event.” Lucy swung to the big screen behind him. “Your choices are…” As he called out the name, he flamboyantly swung his hips with each syllable. “Pa-zu-zu!”

A picture flashed of a strange beast. The head of a lion set atop the muscular torso of a man. He flapped his giant eagle wings. His scorpion tail swished in the air. His serpentine penis perched and hissed.

Mike rolled his eyes at the image, scoffed.

Hearing the groan, Lucy wheeled around to the contestant. “Yes? Is it the muscles or the, um, trouser snake that intimidates you?”

“Pffttt!” Mike flexed his bulging biceps, which received whistles from the undead audience. He smiled wide. “That—Pah-zoo-zoo, is it?—can’t carry the weight of my jockstrap.”

“Oh. This could get interesting.” Lucy winked at Mike, then checked his cue cards. Upon reading their next choice, he flicked his eyebrows at the crowd. “This one… is on every sho—You’re all infatuated!”

The audience chuckled.

Lucy rotated back to the giant screen, cheesing. He snapped his fingers. The photo changed. “Your fave and mine too… Antichrist!”

A classically handsome man appeared in a perfectly tailored suit, shiny penny loafers. His dark Quiff haircut slicked back, a long solitary strand dangled in his face. Bright blue eyes stared just above the rim of his aviator sunglasses.

The attractive incubus weakened women’s legs. Some feinted in the aisles while others plopped back in their seats, fanning their flustered faces.

“What a dreamboat!” a man in oil stained overalls said with a country twang. With stars in his eyes, he clutched his bucket hat over his heart.

“Next!” Lucy snapped his fingers once again. “Sweet child o’ mine… Drekaval!”

On the screen, a scrawny demon kid crouched, hunched forward. He had a bald head, pointy ears, and teeth like a piranha. He appeared starved, gaunt. His knees tucked inside his ragged white shirt, which swallowed him whole. His untied combat boots also a few sizes too big.

“And last but not least...” Lucy gyrated in air. “…even in the heat of hell, she’s a co-ohhhhh-ld bitch! Pontianak!”

A pale woman materialized on screen in a long nightgown. Her straight dark hair parted and down to the small of her back. Her pure white eyes resembled two spooky moons.

“Okay! Before we let you run loose, you will need to know this…” Lucy said to the contestants. “You will meet other competitors from other districts. You can work with them, help them if need be, but be cautious. For among you will be a hidden, debuting chaser. It could be one of you here, or anyone you might run into on the gaming grounds. So, D.T.A. Don’t trust anybody!”

The challengers shared suspicious glances.

Lucy gestured to the competitors. “We've been over the rules. Are there any questions?”

They all shook their heads.

“Good luck to each of ya,” Lucy said. “And... when you are dropped off, this fast paced game begins. So, runners, be ready to…”

“Get! Outta! Hell!” the crowd screamed in unison.

***

“Okay. Let's just get this… Outta. The. Way...”

The competitors jogged down the dusky desolate street. The red sky blanketed them, grey clouds strolled by. Old burnt buildings lined each side, decorated with graffiti and broken windows. Plastic cups and wadded newspapers barreled along the sidewalks like tumbleweeds.

“...who is the hidden chaser?” Mike asked.

“Not me,” Kristin said.

Mike looked at her while keeping pace. “Wouldn't that be what a chaser would say?”

“The chaser could also be asking,” Elba grumbled, “to throw off the scent.”

“What are you saying then?” Mike raised a brow at the short brooding cop.

“I'm saying there's really no point in saying… or asking,” Elba said. “We'll find out shortly.”

“Fine...” Mike turned his attention to the dilapidated surroundings.

“Why would anyone want to be a chaser anyways?” Kristin asked through winded breaths.

“You kidding me?” Mike hopped with animation at the thought. “They’re treated like royalty here, like gladiators back in the old Roman days.”

“They get paid?” Kristin asked. “Like athletes in—”

“You haven’t been here long, have ya?” Elba asked Kristin. “You see, everything works here just like it does above, except there is no law. And uh, well, you got this Seattle haze that can drive a mother fucker crazy—”

The rumbling of an old engine cut Elba short.

“No way they found us that fast.” Kristin stopped abruptly.

Elba whipped her head to the right, to the opened door of a brick building. “Come on.” She dodged inside with Mike and Kristin on her heels. They dashed up a creaky flight of stairs, into an abandoned second story room. They hurried to the far wall and peeked out the dingy cracked window.

A cherry red Mustang convertible crept down the road. A tall, scruffy-faced blonde stood up from the passenger seat in a turquoise jumper. He searched the area with his hazel eyes. “I know you're here,” he said through a megaphone as another contestant drove. “I know you hear me! The name is Gili Pollas, but you can call me Jeep. We’re competitors from the South District, looking to join forces. We found a nice ride that can outrun any chaser. Come with us now. Save yourself the embarrassment of being caught.”

“Bullshit...” Elba turned from the window, placed her back against the dusty wall. “Could the hidden chaser be so obvious?”

“He's wearing a runner’s jumper though,” Kristin pointed out.

Mike paced the room, eyes to the grimy floor in thought. “That could be to fool us.”

“The chasers are coming,” Jeep said from outside. “This could be your last chan—” A horn sounded.

Elba jerked her head back to the window.

An old homeless man waddled across the road, out from the front of the red convertible. He hurried down the sidewalk, surrendering his palms in an apology.

“Out of the road, gramps!” Jeep shouted as the Mustang rounded the corner and out of sight.

“What about that guy,” Kristin asked of the homeless man, “could he be a chaser?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Mike said. “This place gets a lot of riffraff.”

“Come on.” Elba started toward the staircase. “Let’s go.”

“Uh... bad idea.” Kristin snatched Elba’s wrist. “Why don't we just hide out here until time expires?”

“You can’t stay still. That’s the point of the game.” Elba tugged her arm free of Kristin’s clutch. “There are cameras all around here. You can’t hide. That’s why it’s called Runners.”

“Fa sho,” Mike backed up Elba. “They’re gonna find us. We just have to evade and keep moving for thirty minutes.”

“How can Lucy just let people out of hell,” Kristin asked, “wouldn’t God have a say so?”

The question perplexed Mike. “I never thought about tha—”

“Think later. We need to move!” Elba waved for them. They made their way back down the rickety staircase, through the spider-webbed lobby. They peeked out the door.

The ghost was clear besides the elderly hobo meandering down the road. As though feeling their eyes upon him, he halted, slowly rotated around.

The competitors ducked back inside.

The homeless man shrugged and continued down his path.

“Let’s go out the back.” Elba duck-walked across the dark room, cracked open the backdoor, and stuck her head out.

The alley was cluttered with giant trash bins against the brick walls, an abandoned Volkswagen, and stranded shopping carts. Magazines deteriorated on the wet concrete. Books splayed open, the breeze flipping through the pages.

“Ready?” Elba asked.

The two competitors nodded.

Elba led the charge outside. Their shoes splashed in puddles as they hurried down the quiet alley. Elba looked back over her shoulder at them. “Let's try one of these buil—”

A loud sob echoed through the narrow alleyways.

“Dammit...” Mike skidded to a stop, tilted his head up to the rooftops. “Drekaval…”

The undead child slouched on the corner of a two-story building. His legs dangled off the side, heavy boots barely holding onto his feet. With bags under his eyes, he looked down upon the contestants with a grave expression.

“No, no, no...” Mike backpedaled but bumped into a silky surface. He froze, slowly glanced over his shoulder.

Pontianak stared the muscular contestant down with her white eyes. Her silk nightgown rippled in the breeze.

“Guys...” Blood drained from Mike’s face, eyes widened. “Run!”

Kristin and Elba didn't even turn to see Pontianak. Upon hearing Mike's command, they scrambled down a connecting alley.

Mike pivoted but slid on the wet pavement. Pontianak snatched his ankle, but he tugged his leg free, jumped up.

Drekaval crawled down the corner of the brick building like a spider. He leapt down in the middle of the alley, blocking one escape.

Mike shuffled nervously as the demons stalked him. He noticed a rusted door on the left and charged into it with his shoulder. The door flung open. He tumbled inside. As the chasers approached the threshold, he slammed the door shut and placed a chair directly underneath the doorknob, locking them out.

The door shot open before catching the backrest of the chair, jamming it. Pontianak reached her arm through the slit, flailed around in a weak attempt to snag him. Underneath Pontianak, Drekaval squeezed his head through but couldn’t manage the rest. He growled. Drool dripped from his jagged teeth.

Mike palmed his heart, caught his breath. “Sweet mother of mercy—”

There was a loud clap, the sound of shoes smacking the ground after a jump.

Mike choked on a breath. Suspended dust swarmed him. He fanned the cloud away from his face while rotating with broadened eyes.

Pazuzu stood just a step away. The lion licked his chops, rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “I believe you were saying something about me carrying your jockstrap, am I right?”

Mike tried for the staircase on his right, but Pazuzu was too quick, cutting his path off. Mike stepped back, paced, while eyeing his opponent down. “Okay… Alright.” He pumped himself up for the unavoidable fray, popped his neck. “Let’s go…”

With his chin in the air, Pazuzu folded his arms with a smirk. His scorpion's tail hovered above his wings, and his head, and moved in step with Mike—subtle teasing. His serpentine penis sat up, hood opened like a cobra. The tongue flittered, picking up Mike’s heat.

Mike pointed at the snake. “You can’t use that.”

“Alls fair in love and war, I’m afraid.” Pazuzu’s snake flinched.

Mike almost jumped out of his skin. He grabbed his heart once more. “Come on, brah.”

“What if it’s the only thing I use?” Pazuzu winked at Mike, insinuating more than fight. He thrust his hips forward. The snake became agitated.

Mike shuffled back into some foldout chairs. The legs screeched across the concrete floor, clanged against one another. Despite the noise, Mike kept his eyes on the serpentine penis. It struck. He dipped to one side. It recoiled and attacked again, but Mike dodged the bite once more. Mike licked across his sweaty upper lip, eyeing down the snake. On the third strike, Mike snatched a chair and lifted in front of his face. The fangs bit into the steel seat, poison dripped from the tips. The snake squirmed, whipped its head back and forth in an attempt to free itself. Mike tossed the chair aside with the snake’s head still attached. He then targeted Pazuzu with an overhand right that cracked the demon’s chin.

Pazuzu staggered back into the mildewed wall. He caressed his jaw, nodded to Mike, acknowledging the hefty blow. His snake continued pulling against the foldout chair, banging the steel against the floor. With a hint of frustration, Pazuzu snatched the serpentine penis, wrenched its head, and snapped the fangs from the snake’s mouth. They remained in the steel seat, oozing poison. The snake smacked its bloody gums together.

“One weapon down.” Mike showed a half-cocked grin.

Pazuzu closed his eyes and chuckled to himself, trying to trick Mike into a false sense of ease. His scorpion’s tail darted downward, but Mike dove to the side. The tip stabbed into the concrete floor. Pebbles bounced into the air. Cracks crawled through the foundation.

Mike gathered himself. He darted to Pazuzu, leapt in the air, and jump-kicked the beast back into the wall. Pazuzu bounced off the surface but quickly returned fire. Mike blocked the straight right punch, but a follow-up left hook chin-checked him. He dropped to the floor. Pazuzu stabbed with his scorpion’s tail, but once again, Mike was able to move just in the nick of time. The tip fractured the hard surface. Mike threw a right punch, but Pazuzu snagged his arm and flung him into the wall. Mike collided against the surface and crumpled to the ground. Pazuzu added a knee to his jaw, which sent Mike back into the wall. Pazuzu crouched down on top of him, delivering punch after punch to the battered contestant. After staining his knuckles with Mike’s blood, Pazuzu stood.

Mike’s face was mangled: nose flattened and leaking blood, a bone protruding through his jaw. He tried to speak through a gargle. “There’s no… winning… rigged…”

“But it was fun while it lasted,” Pazuzu said through a low growl. Like an artist finishing up with a final brush stroke, the demon whipped his scorpion tail back and forth. He paused, admired his handiwork. With the tip of his tail stained with red paint, he showed a smile of completion.

Mike’s head rolled off his shoulders and clunked against the floor. His eyes settled on the demon standing over him. He sighed. The broken bone in his jaw popped as he spoke, “Y’all… can-fix… this, right?”

***

“Well, that was qui—”

Before Kristin could finish her sentence, Elba covered her mouth, shushed her, and pointed out the window.

Two chasers crept by: Drekaval slouched, dragged his heavy boots. Behind him, Pontianak moved with effortlessness, hovering above the ground.

Once they past, Elba released Kristin and started across the dank, grimy warehouse.

“Where are we going?” Kristin asked.

“Nowhere,” a smooth voice said.

Kristin stopped. Her shoes screeched across the floor. She flexed her leg but couldn’t seem to walk. She lifted her eyes to Elba with a look of terror. “Help… I can’t move.”

Laughter bellowed from the shadows of the warehouse. Footsteps approached.

“Sorry…” Elba shrugged her shoulders while back-kicking the exit door open. “Off duty.”

Blue eyes appeared from the gloom along with a white sinister grin. “You don’t want to go anywhere, do you?”

Kristin attempted to crawl away, but her feet felt cemented to the floor.

Antichrist strode out from the darkness with his hands inside the pockets of his dress slacks, a cigar pinched between his lips. Smoke danced in the air. He puffed on the cigar, the ember glowed orange. “Why do you run from me? What did I ever do to you?”

Kristin didn't respond. Her focus remained on the backdoor. Her arms trembled as she pushed off the ground.

“You shouldn’t believe those things they say about me.” Antichrist crouched over her. “After all, He turned us into what we are, but what we are isn’t so bad.”

Kristin calmed. His voice had a soothing, genuine tone. “Wa-why are you gonna kill me th-then?”

“I’m not gonna kill you.” Antichrist stared though her with sparkling blue eyes. He brushed a blonde strand behind her ear. “Nobody dies here. You’ve already done that once.”

“Yeah…” Kristin flashed an uneasy smile. “I, uh, guess you’re right.”

“The only thing left for us…” Antichrist’s eyes searched her thin body; from her blonde hair, down her pointy chin, to her humble bust. “…is to rise again.”

“We will?” Kristin asked, panting.

“That’s exactly what I’m here for… to heal, to save.” Antichrist cradled her chin, gave her a supple kiss.

Once their lips broke apart, Kristin became enflamed with lust. She flung her arms around his neck, jerked him into another heated kiss. As his tongue grazed down her neck, she breathlessly asked, “Should we do this right here?”

“Do what exactly?”

Kristin scrunched her brows, gestured to their current position. “What is this then?”

“I don’t want your body…” Antichrist went back to kissing her neck, his hand gently groping her breast. As Kristin settled back in, he drove his knuckles through her breastplate. “…it’s your heart that belongs to me.”

Kristin’s eyes shot wide. She spat blood over Antichrist’s shoulder, convulsed in his arms.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, child.” Antichrist whispered while holding her close. After a few snaps and a pop, which jolted Kristin, he removed his hand from her chest, holding her heart in his bloody palm. “Now, now…”

Kristin looked down to the organ in his hand. She trembled, blinked. “Is that mine?”

“No, no. Not anymore. But look at this…” Antichrist tucked the heart in the inner pocket of his blazer. “…it’ll be right there next to mine. And I can promise you, you’ll never want again.”

***

Elba dashed down the alley. Her alert eyes darted every which way. She ran around a corner, ducked behind a steel trashcan. She carefully scanned the area.

Nothing.

Elba took to running again. She hopped a chain-link fence at the end of the alley, kicked open the side door of a building. She scurried through the dark garage and back out another exit. She checked both ways.

The alley appeared empty.

Elba closed the door behind her, steadied a shoulder against the wall, and caught her breath.

“There is no escaping this game,” a voice said.

“Oh yeah?” Elba dipped low. Her eyes searched the rooftops, windows. “I take it they got to your car.”

“No, no, no. We were cruising along just fine and Wham!” Across the alleyway, Jeep clapped his hands together while strolling out from behind a giant trash bin. “It ran into an invisible fuckin’ wall. There is no escape!”

“How much time do you have?” Elba asked.

Jeep checked his wristwatch. “Fifteen minutes, but its no use.”

“That’s enough time to wait it out.” Elba checked a dented door on her left. She pushed against it, and it swung open with a jarring shriek. “We can barricade ourselves in he—” Upon looking back to Jeep, her eyes grew in size. “Behind you…”

Jeep spun. The gravel crackled under his shoes.

Pontianak levitated toward them from the opposite end. Her thin silk gown dragged the ground. “Here, runner, runner, runner.”

Jeep turned to the door on his right, started toward it, but halted again.

A fire escape ladder dropped in front of him with a clang. The homeless man climbed down the rungs. “Come! I can help y’all!”

Jeep backed away to the opposite side, not knowing who to trust.

Behind him, a door banged against the brick wall. Drekaval plodded out, his arms swinging lifelessly at his sides.

The chasers, along with the homeless man, grouped together. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked down Jeep and Elba.

Jeep wheeled back to Elba and raced to her. They both dodged inside the building. Jeep slammed the door shut while Elba searched for objects to barricade themselves inside. With help from Jeep, she pushed a steel filing cabinet in front of the door, along with some chairs, and school desk.

The demons pounded on the door. It shook, but the heavy cabinet kept the chasers at bay.

Elba searched the room for a weapon. Against the far wall set broken picture frame. With her fingernails, she dug out a long shard, held it gently in her palm. “Just in case.”

Jeep looked to his watch. “Ten minutes can’t come quick enou—”

With a thud, the door inched open further.

“Shit.” Jeep picked up the wooden leg of a chair, gripped it in his shaky palm. “They’re not gonna let us win. They’re gonna get us. They’re gonna fu—”

Elba drove the shard through Jeep’s throat, sliced through his jugular.

Jeep collapsed to his knees, squeezed the wound. Blood ran through his fingers, down his chest. He tried to talk but was interrupted by a cough. He spat bloody flam on the floor.

“You don’t have to say a word. I’m here to fill you in.” Elba stood over him. Blood dripped off the sharp shard. “Yes. I’m the hidden chaser.”

Jeep tried to respond, but only blood bubbles came out of his parted lips.

“No, no, no. There you couldn’t be more wrong,” Elba said as though answering his thoughts. She knelt at his side. “This game is for more than entertainment, but Lucy can’t just release contestants for winning a stupid game. Even undead humans are gullible, blinded by wants. Not me. I saw this game for what it truly was… a training exercise, a test.”

Jeep gargled.

“Lucy is readying his army for the war to come. This is practice for his generals. And, well, for losers like yourself, I’m afraid you’re frontline grunts… which are important too.” Elba assured him.

Jeep coughed more blood upon his chest.

“You see, this game is for freedom. It is strengthening us to beat our captor and escape.” Elba wadded a fistful of Jeep’s hair in her hand, jerked his head back, and reared the shard over her shoulder. “So, smile. Our liberation is near.”


© Copyright 2018 MELEL. All rights reserved.

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