The Death Patrol

By Thomas M. Malafarina

The once prosperous city, a testament to man’s creativity and design ingenuity, now lay in ruins, a twisted decaying maze of crumbling buildings and pitted streets that formerly overflowed with prosperity. The previously awe-inspiring skyline was now nothing more than a stark black painting in silhouette on the canvas depicting the smoldering crimson sky. This devastating backdrop served as a haunting reminder of the pure horror that had befallen this once monumental metropolis. 

The foul air was redolent with the stench of decay. The only sounds one could hear echoing through the desolate streets and alleyways were the howling of the stagnant wind blowing through the ruined streets and the distant moans and cries of the remaining savages as they preyed upon each other, struggling for survival in this pure Darwinian world, exploding with insanity. In this post-apocalyptic dung heap, where even former predators now lived in fear, where rats and other scavengers thrived on the corpses stacked high in the streets, a veritable wasteland, any sort of hope for civilization was a faded memory, replaced by a desperate struggle for survival. This was a world that had long since forgotten the meaning of peace, love, and caring and had traded for kill or be killed.

Amid the chaos and destruction, three Godless souls could count themselves among those who endured. They were survivors of the holocaust that had wiped out most of the population of the world. They banded together as like minds, albeit minds of the twisted variety. The only reason they still existed was because the three were probably the most vile, soulless people remaining on Earth. So much so that referring to them as human might be a stretch. They were all three insane beyond imagining. There was not one among them with a thread of decency or the capacity to even comprehend the sanctity of human life.

They called themselves the Death Patrol, as death was the currency they dealt with. This tribe of mobile mayhem consisted of one man and two women. The man, who called himself JP, was the de facto leader of the trio simply because of his size and strength. When asked, JP would say the initials stood for Justice Personified. His real name had been Jerome Purdy, but that was not a very intimidating moniker. Despite these threatening traits, JP knew never to push the two women further than they would allow, as he had no desire to awaken some morning with his manhood missing, only to see rats feasting on it. 

JP was a big man, just over six feet tall, with sleeve tattoos on both arms, accentuating the muscles bulging from his tightly fitting gray tee shirt. He wore canvas work pants, black suspenders, and brown boots. His most intimidating feature was the hideous pig mask, which he seldom removed. As frightening as the mask might be, the horribly disfigured face beneath the mask was far worse. JP carried a machine pistol for distance killing and a crowbar or pick ax for when he needed to get up close and personal.

Eva was a strong girl who fancied black boots, red, white, and blue American flag shorts, and a black tank top with an orange skull stenciled on the front. Depending upon her murderous moods, she favored either a cat mask or a clown mask. Her weapon of choice was a razor-sharp ax with a long wooden handle. Eva was by far the most angry of the crazies on the team and, as such, made sure all her kills were close. She always said she loved to see the fear in her victims’ faces and watch the light leave their eyes as they died. 

Pari was the smallest member of the Death Patrol, wearing a black dress, pink sneakers, a beaded necklace, and pigtails in her long hair. Sometimes, she wore a pumpkin mask, and other times, a white death mask with the eyes and mouth stitched shut. Pari’s main weapon was an AK-47, but she could always rely on her handy baseball bat when needed. If one were to try to pick which member of the Death Patrol was the least insane, chances are Pari would be everyone’s initial choice. That is until they saw the rotting severed head she carried with her on a rope for good luck. Once they found out the head belonged to an ex-lover, all bets would be off. 

The Death Patrol ruled the ruins of the City of the Dead, so named because more than 95% of the population had been killed. Life in the city was without rules, laws, or consequences. It was like every day was a scene from the movie The Purge. Instead of twelve hours of mayhem in the City of the Dead, it was nonstop. This Death Patrol wandered free, knowing that even the toughest of surviving lunatics were not crazy enough to take them on. A few other small gangs were struggling to survive, and on occasion, they might take a run at The Death Patrol, but that would be their fatal mistake. Being tough was one thing, but being certifiably insane was another thing entirely. How do you instill fear into someone who knows no fear? How can you threaten to kill someone for whom death has no meaning? The answer is simple, you can’t.

One day, the trio came upon a car trapped under a fallen electrical pole. There was no danger from live wires since electricity had been extinct for more than a year. JP approached the car and heard someone moaning inside. He tore open the door and saw a man trapped behind the steering wheel. The collision had pushed the wheel deep into the driver’s stomach. His innards were dribbling out from the rip the wheel had made in his guts. The man looked up from hooded, exhausted eyes and said, “Please … Help me.”

Pari laughed and said in her high-pitched, crazy voice, “Help you? Help you? There ain’t nobody in this whole damn world can help you, Honey.”

Eva looked at the injured man and said, “Ooowee. You is a dead man who don’t even know it.” Then she chuckled knowingly.

The man said weakly, “Please … Help … I have money.”

JP laughed and said, “Money? Money? What the Hell are we gonna do with money? Run down to the bank and open an account? What do ya say, ladies? Shall we open a savings account? Maybe a 401k or an IRA account is what we need.”

“How’s about we try our luck in the stock market?” Pari cackled.

Eva said, “I want me one of them black credit cards that’s got no limit.”

JP leaned into the car and screamed like the madman he was, “Your money is worthless. Money don’t mean Jack around here!” Then he turned to Pari and said, “Pari, do me righteous and put this moron out of my misery! His stinking guts are offensive to my delicate olfactory senses.”

“I’ll be happy to, JP,” Pari said, raising her AK-47.

Eva said, “Now, Pari, don’t you go wastin’ yer bullets on some dumb nobody who’s got one foot in the grave and ‘tother on a banana peel.” And without hesitating, Eva stepped forward with her ax and severed the dying man’s head from his neck. It fell out of the car and rolled across the ground to JP’s feet.

He said, “Hey, Pari. Y’all want this one? The one you’re carrying around on that rope is starting to stink to high Heaven.”

Pari laughed and said, “I don’t want no damn fool nobody’s head. If I’m gonna drag some dead head around with me, it better have some significant meaning for me, like old Henry here.”

“I know that ex-boyfriend’s head is important to you, darlin’, but it’s really getting rank, as you may have noticed,” Eva said. “Maybe it’s time to trade up to a fresher model.”

“Thanks for your concern, Eva, but I’ll just keep Henry here with me a little while longer.” Pari insisted. JP and Eva noticed that Pari was starting to get that wild look she usually got right before she wigged out. Neither of them wanted that to happen. Pari may have been the smallest, but she was by far the craziest. So, JP kicked the head over to Eva and said, “Cranial soccer, anyone?” He and Eva kicked the head around for a few minutes as Pari calmed down, returning to as close to “normal” as she ever got.

From the alleyway behind them, they heard a man’s deep voice say, “Well, what do we have here? A couple of wannabe soccer stars. I see youse two are trying to get a ‘head’ start on today’s game.” 

The three turned to see a group of ten menacingly large, muscular men armed with pistols, knives, and homemade spears surrounding them. The leader of the group was a big man with a shaved but tattooed head who had to weigh close to three hundred pounds of solid muscle. He wore a sleeveless shirt revealing his own series of prison-style tats. The rest of the band were almost as big as this man and equally as ugly and likely as dangerous.

The man pointed his pistol at JP and said, “How’s ’bout youse all put down yer weapons, so’s me and da boys kin get a closer look at these here lovely ladies. It’s been a while since any of us has had us some gen-u-ine good lovin’, and we think them two right there might suit us just fine.” Then, pointing at JP, he said, “And you, pig mask. Maybe we’ll take a turn at you as well. Ya see, us beggars can’t be too choosy. So, maybe I should say beggars might be buggers.” The group of renegades all laughed at their leader’s joke. 

There was no movement from the three members of the Death Patrol; they were studying the situation and waiting until the time was right. JP could see that Pari was getting that crazy look again and sensed the moment was just about at hand when the big bald leader said, “Well, is you gonna put down your weapons or not? We can just as easy have our way with your corpses. It wouldn’t be the first time, but we really prefer warm bodies to cold ones. Come on now, alls you have to do is …”

The leader never got to finish his sentence as Eva’s ax flew through the air and sank into the man’s skull with a sickening thwack sound. The big man stood for a second before falling face-first onto the battered asphalt street. When the ax handle hit the paving, the ax popped out of his skull, along with what little brains he had. Before the other nine men could react, Pari went into full nuclear meltdown mode and opened up on them with her AK, as JP did the same with his machine pistol.

The men who weren’t immediately gunned down returned fire. Eva ran directly into the gunfire, retrieving her ax and swinging like the mad woman she was. Having run out of ammunition, Pari joined the chaos, swinging her baseball bat and crushing skulls. With a pickax in one hand and a crowbar in the other, JP, also out of bullets, got up close and personal with the last two attackers. When the fighting was done, the ten attackers were dead, lying in a stinking river of their own blood and released bowels.

JP stood panting for a moment, looking down at the carnage they had created, and said, “Well, ladies. How did we make out today in our latest adventure?” 

Eva said, “I do believe I’m fine, JP. A few bullets grazed me, and I think I got a through-and-through in my left shoulder, but I’ve had worse.”

Pari reported, “Yep, I got me a few of them near misses, too. Hell, one of them put a new part in my hair.” Then she laughed hysterically with her patented insane cackle.

JP said, “So, all-in-all, except fer a few scrapes, we done good. Chalk it up to another successful day for the Death Patrol. What say we strip these fellas, take their guns and ammo, and see if they got anything else we can use.”

With that, the Death Patrol gathered the spoils of their battle and then returned to their hideout under one of the fallen buildings to rest, recover, and be ready for their next day of killing in a world of endless butchery.