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911 had e through； after all。
〃NO！〃 Bernie screamed as the dead cop descended。 〃NO！〃 as the shadows pulled back to reveal Hal's full green open…skulled glory。 One last full…throated 〃NOOOOOOH！〃 as he slipped in the widening pool of thickly coagulant family…style sauce。
And then no mean old kids could ever bother poor old Bernie again。
Thirty…Five
Bill Teague had to admit： he liked being his own boss。
He lit a smoke and reflected on that fact as they rolled down the twisty roads； en route to number two。 Bill and Ted loved their job。 Not the killing； especially； although Bill would confess a craftsman's appreciation of a job well executed； pardon the pun。 They just liked the hours； the freedom； the excellent adventures。
What they hated were the boonies。
Travel was a given； which meant a lot of runs down a lot of secondary highways and back roads； where brain…dead rubes bred like rabbits and lived in nasty little cracker…boxes with concrete jockeys by the driveways or little propeller…ducks whizzing on their squalid little lawns。 Give Bill and Ted a city any day： New York； Pittsburgh； Philly。 Even Baltimore； if it came down to it。 Anywhere but here。
Oh； well。 Bill sucked smoke and fiddled with the radio。 Came with the territory。 〃Fuckin' radio wasteland；〃 he muttered to Ted； who manned the wheel。
〃Fuckin' worthless radio；〃 Ted addended； and Bill agreed。 The Impala's radio sucked。 At the moment； the only tune ing through on the dial was the loathsome Terry Jacks； crooning 〃Seasons in the Sun。〃 Then even that was lost； overwhelmed in a loud wash of static。
And that was when they heard it。 From below； around the bend and unseen； rose a crazed industrial clamor。 Clanging； smashing。
Roaring to life。
〃What the fuck is that？〃 he asked。 They'd been apprised that Pusser ran a scrap and salvage yard； but this sounded more like a demolition derby； minus the roar of the crowds。
Ted Ames and Bill Teague were a team。 They'd been in the business for eleven years； which was a remarkably long lifespan for their line of work。 They'd seen some pretty strange shit in their day： lots of death and brutality； too many dark pockets of the soul to fill； and muchisimo weirdness of every stripe。 That came with the territory； too。
But he had to admit that； in all his travels； they'd never seen anything so flat…out deranged as what lay down the Dark Hollow Road。
They rounded the bend and Ted slammed on the brakes。 The Impala swerved and jackknifed nose…down off the shoulder and half into a ditch。 〃Fuck me；〃 Ted gasped； incredulous。
〃Jesus；〃 Bill croaked。 They couldn't believe what they were seeing； accept the evidence of their eyes。 Bill could only shake his head； seeing his own worst nightmare breeding before him。
There were easily a hundred of them； skittering little forms in concrete and plaster and wood； a frenzied fantasyland of warped animate copulating kitsch。 It was a lawn ornament orgy by Bosch； leprechauns in motion； mounting fleeced； bleating plywood lambs。 Jockeys sploshing through the mud； riding pink flamingos from behind。 Little Dutch girls with their butts in the air； humping the heads of their little Dutch boys。
And at the center of it all was the fountain： pumping up black rank jetties of noxious antilife…giving sludge that slicked and sluiced and enveloped the yard 。。。
〃Look at the house；〃 Ted said； his voice high and thin as a razor。
Bill craned； searchlighting his gaze。 〃Omigod 。。。 〃
It was a regular rural tract house； like a large brick trailer。 Every single window was broken； a dozen black holes like wounds in the walls。 Cement squirrels scurried up one wall and down another； burrowed furiously into the asphalt…shingled roof。 A hundred lawn ornaments surrounded the house； pounding on the walls； the doors。 The air filled with the clicking and snapping of brittle little limbs。
Then； from beneath； came a roiling rumbling sound。
〃Jesus！〃 Bill hissed。 The earth around the house was turning lividly liquid； sucking the structure down greedily； swallowing it。 The house creaked and crumbled as beams gave way and walls buckled； something inside crackled and sparked into flame。
From inside； Bill could hear screaming。
〃GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE！〃 he yelled。 〃NOW！〃
Ted ratcheted the shifter into reverse and hit the gas。 The rear tires spun wildly； sinking into the mushy shoulder。 Mud and gravel sprayed every which way； spattering the windows。
〃GO！ GO！ GO！ GO！〃 Bill chanted； pounding the dash。 The tires caught on something solid； squealed and yanked the Impala out of its rut； tires smoking onto the road。
And at that moment； something heavy thudded onto the hood of the car。 A neon…green lantern ignited； klieg…light bright； less than a foot from his eyes。 He blinked back the glare； instantly blinded； tried to see through the pain and the puke…green floating dots。
The light swung away； and Bill stared into the black…faced rictus of the little concrete jockey with the lantern。
It showed him its teeth。
〃YAHH！！〃 Bill screamed as the jockey rode the hood like a miniature concrete Terminator； smashing through the window with one lantern…fisted blow； spraying the interior of the car with glass and liquid fire。 A dollop of molten incandescence spattered against his face。 He screamed again。 His right eye blew apart and ignited。 In the hollow of his skull； Bill's brain began to sizzle like fatty bacon slabs。
Ted floored it。 The g…force flung Bill back in his seat； howling as he ground his palm into his socket； trying to put out his face。
He was blind as the car screeched and gunned away from the suburban inferno； blind as it sawed into a hairpin turn； flinging the jockey off the hood and into the woods； blind to the cause of the screee and the spin as the brakes locked up seconds later and hurtled him forward。 His forehead slammed into the already shattered windshield and it gave way entirely； showering them with glass。
Bill blacked out。 The harsh industrial din roared before them。
And it was Ted's turn to scream 。。。
The road to Pusser's was pletely blockaded by the procession that clattered and spilled from its gate。
They were not machines in any readily prehensible sense。 No fuel source。 No logically moving parts。 Where they had wheels or rims； they used them。 Where they did not； they simply threw themselves forward in utter defiance of natural law： scuttling crablike on bent metal legs； spinning on drums； shambling stiltlike or dragging loose cable behind like tails； like useless vestigial limbs。
Still…twitching bits of dog and rabbit and junkyard rat crowned them like riders on a Rose Bowl float； impaled in places of honor on the gigantic amalgamations of sentient scrap and salvage。 Thousands more swarmed lemminglike beneath them； red eyes gleaming with the wisdom of the hive。
They were impossible juggernauts of destruction； spitting out shrapnel and flame； throwing stray parts like seeds。
And they were heading for town。
As the first great jet of projectile fire blistered the hood； Ted slammed the car into reverse； the speedometer needling up and up as they careened back the way they'd e。 Ted was a professional driver； he was prepared to run ass…backwards and full…throttle out of this hellhole and all the way back to Philly； if need be。 He could handle that。
But he wasn't prepared for what was behind them。
The lawn ornaments had swarmed into the road； blocking it pletely。
〃Sonofabitch！〃 Ted barked a hard burst of laughter； neck craned back as he drove。 Nothing else in this world made a bit of sense； but he knew a squeeze play when he saw one。 Ahead； the juggernauts chugged forward； chewing up the road。
Ted laughed madly。 There was nothing else to do。
He punched it。
The Impala reached eighty in the space it took to close the distance。 When it rammed the front line； it was like hitting a concrete abutment。 The Impala went airborne； ass…end in the breeze； rear wheels angrily raking at nothing。 It came down hard。 The gas tank ruptured and spewed its contents onto the animated rubble beneath。
Ted blacked out； came to quickly； found himself pinned beneath the shattered steering column： his right femur crushed； his big body still strapped into place。 He looked over to Bill Teague。 Judging from the position of his neck； the partnership was officially over。
Ted sniffed the air。 Gas。 Shit。 He wrestled desperately with his seat belt。 It only took seconds。
Unfortunately； they were the last ones he had。
The first blind leviathan rolled over the hood； thrusting a lance through the windshield that skewered his septum； sawed down through his heart。 His mouth jetted blood and bellyflesh。
There came a pause in the din； a fleeting moment of silence； as the Impala crunched and buckled like a tin can in a trash masher。 The last thing Ted heard was the muted whump of flame kissing fuel。
When the gas tank blew； their identities vanished in fiery fleshmetal merger。 Then the leviathans bowled them over entirely； grinding both car and cargo into sizzling gristle。
The pieces that stuck got to join th