The referee threw a yellow flag down on the field. Several players, including some of Danny’s teammates, had not gotten up after he scored. Evidently, when he surged through the line and plowed across the field, he’d killed a few people.
The referee ran to the fifty yard line and signaled for the head coach of each team to congregate there. He spoke with Coach Doom and Old Time’s coach for a few minutes. The cheerleaders on each side attempted to ease the nervous crowd with little success. The midfield conference ended with Coach Doom exploding in a fit of fury, dropped to the grass, flailing his arms and kicking his legs.
He yelled profanities so loudly that Danny figured everyone within a mile of the stadium must have heard.
“Premature killing,” the referee said, “against Heavy Metal. Obligatory sacrifice of the offending player.”
About half of the fans, parents, and friends of the Death Crusaders booed. The other half cheered. Danny wondered if his imminent slaughter made them happy, or if it was the prospect of a bloody game that they cheered for.
In the cab of Danny’s truck-body, the chainsaw yowled like a cat that was just stepped on. It seized control of the truck and blasted Holy Diver, singing along with its grinding steel voice.
Chapter Eighteen
In the Commentary Booth:
Biff Bifferson: You’re married. Tell me, does your wife’s cunt stink? I think it was the fumes. The fumes wafting from my wife’s cunt made me what I am. Every night it was like sleeping beside a rotten sushi roll. No wonder I drank. Ever hear of a douche? That’s what I’d tell her. Ever hear of a douche?
Beelzebub: By divorcing you, Biff Bifferson, your wife left a very big douche. Indeed, the biggest douche of all.
Biff Bifferson: Hey, where do you get off calling me a douche? Just because my head is floppy doesn’t make me a douche.
Beelzebub: We’ve got bloodshed on the field!
Biff Bifferson: Who gives a shit about those steroid-addled, privileged adolescents anyway?
Beelzebub: On a long run that brings the score to 55-17, Danny the werewolf has gone insane! I bet the refs are calling this one back.
Biff Bifferson: You can go to Hell.
Beelzebub: Danny is rampaging across the field. Now he’s run over both refs and half of the Country Vampires.
He’s even killing his own teammates! Folks, withhold your urge to pray as we bear witness to the biggest massacre in Heavy Metal’s history. Surely God is not around to hear your sniveling last gasp.
Biff Bifferson: Don’t bring God into this.
Beelzebub: I’m trying to keep him out.
Biff Bifferson: (Muttered.) Fucking evangelist insect.
Beelzebub: I heard that.
Biff Bifferson: Cocksucker.
Beelzebub: Can’t you see what’s happening on the field? Call the skelecops! Call somebody! This is a gross violation of league rules!
Biff Bifferson: My wife took my cell phone.
Beelzebub: There’s a phone on the wall, over by the door.
Biff Bifferson: Not anymore. My wife took that one too.
She left me with nothin’ but a toothbrush. Not even a farewell note that said Fuck off and die, Biff Bifferson. I would’ve appreciated that.
Beelzebub: Biff Bifferson, I can see the phone from here.
Your wife did not steal the telephone. Now get up and call the police. Danny the Psycho’s already run over most of the cheerleaders. Oh, shit! He’s coming our way!
(The commentary booth fills with blood.)
Chapter Nineteen
Danny yelped each time the crunch of another run-over player or cheerleader jolted the truck. He racked his brain for some way to halt the insane chainsaw’s hit-and-run riot, but the voice of Ronnie Dio overpowered his thoughts.
“Time to hit the dirt, kid,” the chainsaw said. “Don’t worry, you’ll live through this.”
The shriek of a blade cutting through glass accompanied Ronnie for a brief demoniac harmony before a river of blood swept Danny out of his own truck-body.
Danny hit the grass. His arms scuttled over to him and reattached themselves. He remained legless.
Despite losing the gargantuan body he’d temporarily controlled, he felt thankful to be himself again, even if he was a cripple.
From where he sat on the fiftieth yard line, Danny scanned the field and sidelines. Without legs, there was no hope of running after Skeletor and his father, but at least his father escaped the massacre.
Having slaughtered virtually every Heavy Metal cheerleader, the chainsaw-driven truck zoomed straight at the fleeing Country Vampire cheer squad. Danny thought of nothing except Barbetta. The memory of her fleshless face was like a beautiful insect squirming between the teeth of his mind.
And then he saw her. She was not dead yet.
Barbetta’s belly gaped open. Even at a distance, Danny thought her coiled insides looked very surprised to see him.
He swore to the metal gods. Her intestines had smiled at him!
Let me suck your liver, he might have said, if he’d stood within hearing range. Instead, he raised his arms to the autumn sky and howled her name.
Barbetta somersaulted across the field, her beatific face curling into her long, slender legs. During each roll, Danny forgot that her ruined midsection existed. On the upturn, it reappeared, a brutal reminder of what he’d done. Her blood sprayed across the field like a powerful sprinkler, nourishing the corpses.
She somersaulted and collapsed on top of Danny, her belly-gore warming the stubs of his legs. He moved his hands over her face. He dug into her cheeks and ran his fingers over her white teeth.
“I love you, Barbetta!”
“I love you, Danny!”
All around, people screamed. An engine’s roar mocked them all. Sirens wailed in the distance. It felt good to be in love. Barbetta stroked his hair and cooed soft words into his ears. “I am roadkill like you, Danny. I have always been just roadkill.”
“What do you mean, Barbetta?”
“I have secretly always loved Dio.”
Danny opened his mouth to respond when a honking at midfield tore his attention away from her. The driver-side door of his father’s truck flung open and the chainsaw surfed out on a wave of blood.
The chainsaw grew larger.
It grew arms.
It grew legs.
It grew a head.
It grew fucking awesome jet-black heavy metal hair.
And it sang with the voice of the holy savior, Ronnie James Dio.
“Holy Diver!”
“What’s happening, Danny? How come that chainsaw looks like Dio? And sounds like Dio?”
Danny could tell Barbetta was nervous. Hell, he was nervous too.
“Stay cool. He’s a friend of mine,” he said, his calm voice and smooth choice of words a surprise even to himself.
Dio stopped in front of Danny and Barbetta.
“I’ve come to collect the hero,” Dio said.
“You mean me?” Danny asked.
“Yes, Danny, you’re a hero now. You’re the hero you’ve always dreamed of becoming. Congratulations. Do you want to claim your prize?”