Diseased Libido - Oddities (Collecting Issues 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 & 11)

DISEASED LIBIDO

ODDITIES

Collecting Books 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 & 11

by

Carter Rydyr

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Diseased Libido - Oddities

Copyright 1987, 2012 by Carter Rydyr

http://www.weirdwildart.com/

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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DISEASED LIBIDO - ODDITIES

Table of Contents

DEATH ON THE HIGHWAY

EARTH ENSLAVED

ENDANGERED SPECIES

A SAFE PLACE

CANVAS OF FLESH

VERTICAL VIPER

NEXT APPOINTMENT

CRASH AND BURN

THE MISTER POTATO HEAD INCIDENT

MOVING HOUSE

JUST DESSERTS

THE INTERVIEW

THE RESTROOM

THE QUEST FOR THE GREAT WHITE QUEEN

UNSAFE SEX

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DEATH ON THE HIGHWAY

It was only early autumn but when the sun went behind the clouds it got chilly. Low and heavy, moisture laden clouds blanketed two thirds of the sky. The rest of it was splattered with drifting fluffy patches and a gossamer haze. Fred Morton suppressed a mild shiver, ground his cigarette out under a worn heel and lumbered over to the back of the ute. With a dirty, pudgy hand he undid the petrol cap, put it aside, then opened the vehicle’s tailgate.

Better fill ‘er up now. Don’t wanna be caught doin’ it when it’s rainin’. And it’s gunna be rainin’ soon, he muttered.

Yeah, said Ted Roley as he sauntered up from the ute’s passenger side and climbed onto the vehicle’s back compartment. He wrapped wiry arms around a large jerry can full of petrol and with great effort, nudged it over towards Morton, unscrewed the lid. The wafting fumes of petroleum were strong.

That’ll do yer. Morton grumbled as he shoved one end of a plastic hose deep within the container and began siphoning. Presently, he spat distastefully onto the dirt and ran his end of the hose into the ute’s petrol tank. Leaton’s still a coupla days off yet.

He eyed their surroundings; a mildly hilly expanse of drab bushland and a deteriorating pock-marked road that led into a wide band of distant, hazy hills. He coughed, hacked loudly onto the dirt and cocked his head northward, indicating the hills. We’ll spend tonight up there. Know a cozy little alcove where we can hole up for the night, cook some grub.

Roley nodded his shaven head.

Droplets of rain drifted from the sky as the two men got back into the cabin. Morton turned the key and after a few sputters the ute lurched back onto the road. A steady drizzle set in and rolling veils of mist reduced visibility.

Ever think about havin’ a family? Morton asked his friend as the ute rolled along the unchanging road. It can really change a man. Despite the hardships, it’s worth it in the end. Brings a new meaning to your life. Gives you a proper sense of values.

Roley gazed out the window.

A man matures somewhat with the added responsibility of a family. I believe every man needs something like that.

Nah! It’s just so much bullshit. Too many things can go wrong. Most married couples I’ve ever seen are the most miserable people in the world.

I won’t deny there’s hardships and problems, but the benefits outweigh the trying times. There’s nothin’ in yer life that quite compares with having children.

Not for me.

You’d change your mind, I’ll bet. If you had any.

Don’t plan on havin’ any, buddy. An’ don’t ever wanna be stuck with some tart I can’t relate to. Wind up hatin’ her guts. No percentage in that.

"Well, I’ll give you one there. Miriam was a pain in the arse. Turned out she was nuthin’ but a selfish, naggin’ slut, the brainless bitch. But she gave me a wonderful boy...

It was worth every bit of shit I put up with for that boy.

Whatever ya’ reckon, Fred.

For a person who felt so much contempt for his ex-wife, Roley noticed, Morton sure waffled on about the deep and meaningful value of the family unit. The last thing he wanted to talk about was families and kids. It was such a drag, prattling on about all that shit. Bored him stupid.

He cast a glance into the rear view mirror, just to break the monotony as much as anything else.

Shit! Take a look out back, Fred. We got company.

The riders were almost upon them. There were three. Roley fingered his automatic rifle, checked the mag and placed his finger on the safety catch, ready for action. He held the gun out of sight, below the level of the window and watched the riders approach in the rear vision mirror, squinting, trying to make out details.

What are they? Just bikers? Morton asked.

"Don’t know. They’re riding choppers. The guy in front looks a bit fucked-up. Think we got ourselves some contaminants."

Shit!

Roley squinted some more, turned, looked out the rear window. The closest rider was only two car-lengths away. He wore what appeared to be ragged leathers and had a mohawk haircut, long, lank and flapping in the wind and drizzle like a clump of drenched weeds. They don’t look human...

The rider’s eyes glowered. They were like an animal’s eyes and threw little red reflections. His features were all uneven and mottled. The teeth in his snarling mouth were an unclean yellow, large and jagged.

You sure you can handle that weapon?

Of course I can! Roley snapped.

He released the safety catch, tensed himself.

The rider was closing the gap fast and his friends were right behind him. One was almost riding abreast of him. They wielded long metal staves and chains. The rear rider had no hair. His face was a screwed up, haywire mingling of human and animal, with a third eye that flickered in the knotty folds of his left cheek.

They don’t have guns that I can see, Roley said, but they’ve got some real nasty hardware and they mean business.

Morton pulled his revolver from the holster under his lumber jacket, cocked it. He kept driving at a moderate speed.

One of the bikes left the road and rolled up along side of the ute on the dirt. Another swung out wide into the oncoming lane and the third remained at the rear.

Roley poked his weapon out the window and squeezed off two rounds. One hit the rider in the thigh with a red, bloody flash. The other blew out his front tyre. His machine flipped, broke up and plummeted into the bushes lining the shoulder of the road. It and its rider were gone instantly.

At the same moment, the rider on Morton’s side slammed the ute with his chain. Morton screamed and the vehicle lurched wildly. Roley thought, for a nightmare second, that they were going to crash. But the ute straightened out and Morton’s revolver cracked loudly. Roley watched the bike slide erratically along the pitted bitumen through the back window. Its rider tumbled and flipped in a bloody heap of breaking bones and shredding flesh.

The third rider skidded to a halt. He remained where he stopped, in the middle of the road near his fallen comrade, and snarled at the ute.

Jesus! breathed Roley. That was close.

Been closer, said Morton, a smug grin on his face.

Ted Roley just hoped they didn’t run into more of them. He’d heard stories of a huge clan of bike riding contaminants who cultivated the toxic mould on which they fed on the corpses of their victims.

They drove on, swallowing up the miles, ever so gradually approaching the distant northern hills. It continued to rain.

Roley slotted a tape into the ute’s cassette player, set the volume just loud enough to give the bass some body, adjusted the balance and cut the treble. Music filled the cabin. It was relentless in tone and incredibly rapid-paced with driving double bass drums working a frantic rhythm of staccato triplets. Over the top were grinding fuzzy guitars which raked a rhythm that paced the drums. Morton cast a smarmy disapproving look in his direction, grimaced, and quickly returned his attention to the road ahead.

Ignoring him, Roley relaxed, drinking in the sound and the ominous mood of the music. He especially liked the vocals; barely recognizable as a human sound, growling and snarling and swept up in a miasma of electronic effects. They complimented the aggressive music perfectly, creating a weird mixture of speeding chaos and horrific alien sounds. To Ted Roley the music painted a picture of a terrifying, bleak and hellish world; the world he and Morton inhabited.

Somewhere near the end of the first track Morton cocked his head at his companion and out of the corner of his mouth said, If this crap’s meant to impress me, it don’t.

Roley was somewhat surprised by the overt contempt in his friend’s comment. It left him wondering whether the remark was directed at him rather than the music. Whatever the case, Morton appeared to be easily offended these days.

Before