Die! Humanity! Die!: Die! Humanity! Die!, #1

By Kelly Logue

HAVE YOUR ONE WAY TICKETS READY, KIDDIES...
Gathered together from the furthest corners of imagination, comes four of the greatest spine-tiling tales ever assembled. A menacing jungle adventure, a city gone feral, an imagination run wild, and a young girl's initiation into insanity. Each tale has been carefully curated—by your favorite horror host, Mr. Barker—to ensure that it's a thrill-ride of terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NEW PLANET PRESS
• Release date: May 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393556176

Kelly Logue

Hailing from the frozen tundra of Alaska, Kelly Logue keeps warm by writing potboilers, while plotting the destruction of humanity as we know it.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Welcome kiddies, to our little carnival of nightmares. I'm Mr. Barker, your tour guide for this excursion in thrills and chills. Step lively but mind the shattered glass. There was an unfortunate incident at the Murder Manson... someone survived...

But never fear, we have four new spine-tiling attractions to lure you into our little trap...er, I mean to entertain you... sorry little slip of the tongue. Better than a slip of the knife, though, eh...

Right this way! Don't be shy! Our main attraction lies just ahead. A warning, this ride is not for the faint of heart, despite its innocent facade. First up, we have a nice jungle adventure to get your blood pumping. But, be careful not to step off the beaten path, for danger lurks at every turn, in this roller coaster of a ride we like to call...

DOBSON’S FIGHTING LEGION

I

Paradise is easy to find, but hard to get to...

Conceived, at a time when the free world lay in the grip of a crippling depression, Paradise had born bad.

At first it had no name. It was simply one of the many islands that separated the old world from the new. But the island’s innocent facade held a dark secret: a secret that set it apart from its more hospitable brothers. A coral reef lay just under the water, surrounding the island on all sides with a row of jagged little teeth.

The island offered few pleasures on its tropical shore, but it held many terrors. And, more than a handful of the local wildlife fell prey to the island’s charms. Their screams could be heard for miles, as they impaled themselves repeatedly on the jagged coral. Those that did escape did not last long, as the life drained out of them and onto the sandy beach.

At first, the island contented itself with these small scarifies, little dreaming of the monumental destiny that lay ahead.

Then came the artist.

The artist was a man of great vision, who had made his fortune in the newly formed animation industry. But for all his greatness, the artist had many flaws, and could at times be cruel and ruthless.  He was also shortsighted, especially when it came to his creations.

His creations were, to put it kindly, abominations. They were beasts made men, put through a series of endless misfortunes, all for the amusement of children. While the artist, himself, cackled madly all the way to the bank.

Paradise Island, the artist declared as he stepped on the island’s shore. This shall be my masterpiece.

The island liked this man almost immediately.

The artist began to set plans in motion, ruthlessly pushing his way through any obstacle.

Many men died, as they set to work bringing the artist’s grand design to life. But, their deaths were quickly hushed up. After all, the artist reasoned, what were a few deaths, when you sought to create the happiest place on earth!

The island, for its part, contended itself with these small sacrifices. 

Driven, the artist pressed on: his divine hand shaping the world around, as men continued to build at his command. These commands, of course, were given from the safety and comfort of his office back home on the mainland. For the artist was not one to sully his hands with the mundane details of creation.

Sometimes the artist would step back and admire his handiwork, as he studied pictures sent from the worksite. More often than not, he would berate his men, for getting everything wrong. Report after report would follow, as the artist ordered his men to tear everything down and start again: for nothing less than absolute perfection would do.

More men died, but they were easily replaced. The world lay in the grip of a crippling depression, and the artist paid well. So well, that he had an abundance of desperate and starving men at his disposal.

The newly christened Paradise, meanwhile, contended itself with these small sacrifices.

But as the work continued, the artist began to hear more and more rumors that called his very sanity into question.

After all, who in his right mind would build an amusement park in the middle of nowhere?

To these rumors, the artist would simply smile, and shake his head.

This had not been the first time his critics had questioned his sanity.

Sight unseen, these same critics had dubbed his first animated film his greatest folly.

But the artist had proved them wrong, and that animated film became his greatest success.

And with a certain pride, the artist had no doubt that this latest folly would prove to be an even greater financial windfall.

As fate would have it, the artist would never see that success come to pass.

War broke out in Europe, and the means of production came to a grinding halt. The artist joined the fight, and to his credit fought for the side of the angels. The war ended, and soon went cold. Good had triumphed over evil. And, just like in the movies, everything was right with the world again.

Sadly, the artist’s greatest masterpiece would remain forever unfinished and forgotten.

But Paradise continued on. Its patience’s immune to the passage of time.

Enter, Captain Arthur Holedecker, a man who discovered Paradise completely by accident.

Though, some could point to a divine hand that had led him there. Or, perhaps, to an even crueler fate that had cast him down.

Paradise offered few pleasures for the young airman but held many terrors.

Help me! Help me please! I’m still alive!

Captain Holedecker screamed these words over and over again, until his radio went silent.

II

You guys are dead, the Lieutenant thunders.

His Sergeant sighs. Luther Lou Gale may have had the patience of a saint, but not even Jesus Christ could have endured this torture. The Lieutenant is not a jolly fellow. Though, he has a gut that resembles that saint who liked to break into people’s homes every Christmas eve. And, the prospect of having to spend at least three days trapped on a deserted island with a man like Lt. Jay Walker, didn’t exactly fill Lou with Christmas cheer or good will toward men.

Christ, Lou thinks. He makes a silent wish that he was back in Afghanistan right now. At least there a man knew where he stood. There were clearly defined good guys and bad guys. The guys wearing the Camo Gear and carrying guns were the good guys. The bad were the local populace. At least that’s how Uncle Sam told it, and Uncle Sam’s word is good enough for Lou.

Sgt. Luther Gale is trying his best to play the part of the good little soldier, but right now the part isn’t agreeing with him. Still he had better not screw this up. One more mistake—especially like the one back in Afghanistan—and he’ll be booted out. And, Master Sergeant Luther Gale isn’t cut out for civilian life.

Lou scans his surroundings. This might be a tropical paradise to some, but Lou hates it almost immediately. It’s hot, but not the good kind hot. Not the hot of the desert that is light and dry. No, this hot is heavy and wet. Even if it didn’t rain— and Lou suspects it rains quite a bit here given how green the vegetation is— they were going to soaked to the bone in sweat by this afternoon.

Lou is only half listening to his Commanding Officer. From what he can gather, he’s not missing much. Most of it is just his Lieutenant balling out the junior officer. The Lieutenant peppers his speech with a large amount of swearing— so much swearing.

Lou is not one to swear. His friends back home used to give him no end of crap about that. But Lou feared his grandmother more, than any sort of peer pressure.

Cursing is the language of stupid people, she once told him, and you’re not stupid.

No, Lou thinks now, I’m not stupid. I’m just a damn fool.

Up until this point, the kid has taken the dressing down remarkably well—hoping perhaps his senior officer will simply talk himself out. But Lou can already see the cracks starting to show.

Don’t do it kid, Lou thinks, just hold on. Lou likes the kid. Hector Guzman was the kid’s real name. They’d done a short hitch together back in Afghanistan. Like a lot fresh-faced kids who came to the Army green, the kid has absolutely no respect for authority and is completely undisciplined. Things, basic training should have weeded out, but the kid was either too stubborn or too proud to lose that streak of anarchy. Lou found if he just treated the kid square, and kept the kid focused, the kid would always surprise you. Underneath all the attitude and bravado there was a good soldier there.

Frankly, the Army could use more soldiers like the kid, and less like Walker.

Walker had been promoted the wrong way: he had brown nosed his way through the ranks. Walker commanded the way a drunk drives a car: slow and cautious when someone in authority is watching; carefree and reckless when left to his own devices. 

The kid is ready to snap. Lou can see the rage in the kid’s eyes. Lou shakes his head. Don’t do it kid, he thinks again. It’s only going to make things worse.

But, the kid’s still green, and can’t read a C.O. the way Lou can. And, everything about Walker right now tells Lou that now is not the time to challenge the Lieutenant’s authority—or call him out on his BS.

We’re still alive aren’t we, the kid snaps, so what the hell is your problem, man?

The LT screams a few choice words in response. And from this point on, Lou decides, for own sanity, he’ll censor out the Lieutenant’s more colorful word choices.

Lou can’t fault the kid. In fact, the kid had shown remarkable restraint in not punching his C.O. in the face. And, if the kid had lashed out, Lou had to admit that he wouldn’t have done much to stop him.

In truth Lou blames himself. He should have put his foot down back on the boat. If he had, then maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. He remembers that the kid drove the boat like a pro. That really wasn’t much of a surprise. After all, the kid had been born and bred in Miami, and had practically grown up on the open water. Things had been smooth sailing for a while, until the Lieutenant panicked. Men like Walker always panic. The Lieutenant suddenly realized he hadn’t given any orders for almost the entire ride, and that realization led the C.O. to overcompensate.

To the kid’s credit, he tried to follow his C.O.’s orders as best he could. The kid sped up when told to speed up. He slowed down when told to slow down. He rounded right. He rounded left.

Embolden by a sense of power, Walker became the ultimate back seat driver, and his orders became even more confused and muddled. So, the