Posted by dolungridge on February 03, 2007 at 12:02:51:
JOCELIN'S CHEERLEADING DAYS - PART THREE
PACKARD PANDEMONIUM
The 3-2-1 pyramid is one of cheerleading's most difficult stunts, requiring almost superhuman stamina and concentration to pull off. To do it without spotters looking out to catch any girl who lost her balance was asking for serious injury. But Cherrill had goaded the Hagen Pagans into trying it, and the girls were not about to let their captain down.
It was this discipline, more than anything, which kept the Hagen girls in position as the Packards driven by the Meyers girls suddenly tore onto the field.
Jocelin stood up in her seat, hair flaring out like a banner behind her, and led the Meyers cheerleaders in a savage war-whoop. As they bore down with sickening speed on the Pagans, the Meyers girls opened fire with everything they had.
The Hagen girls' cheers, which had transformed into gasps of horror at the unforgivable sacrilege of car tires ripping up Hagen's hallowed field of football glory, now pitch-shifted to agonized screams as ugly red holes burst open across their out-thrust breasts and stomachs. The girls on the second layer of the pyramids got it worst, taking intense concentrations of gunfire at crotch-level, their skirts blown to ragged bloody scraps in an instant.
The Hagen pyramids wobbled and collapsed as the dead and wounded girls tumbled over. The top girl of one pyramid died in mid-air, screaming, stitched up the length of her torso as she fell through a stream of bullets from Tonya's machine gun.
As the wall of women loomed before her, Linda found herself strangely exhilarated. How often when she had been stuck in traffic she had wanted to ram her way through the cars in front of her--well, now she was doing it, but with people. And the shocked looks on those girls' faces were so funny!
Still, when they hit there was an incredibly loud THUMP THUDDA THUMP THUMP as Hagen bodies with smashed legs redounded off the fenders. Linda hoped they hadn't scratched the wax finish too much.
For an instant, a rain of screaming, tumbling bodies surrounded Jocelin, some spurting blood, others with limbs bent at freakish angles. The adrenaline rush made everything preternaturally clear; she could see every bruise and every jagged wound puncture on each girl spinning past her. It was like sailing through the midst of some bizarre Grand Guignol aerial ballet.
A Hagen cheerleader ended up plastered like a fly to the chrome grill of Ariel's Packard. Ariel watched as the bug-eyed brunette's manicured fingernails scrabbled for purchase, her breasts mashed against the hood. She lost her grip, and there came a muffled cry from under the Packard's floorboards as the left front tire rolled over her.
Ariel braked and the car dragged to a stop, the Hagen girl still pinned beneath the back tires. Slamming the transmission into park, she was startled to find the car still rocking wildly.
She turned, to find a full-blown cat-fight going on in the back seat. The top girl from the second Hagen pyramid had actually tumbled onto Erica, Jessika and Sinead--hard enough to knock Jessika out of the vehicle.
"Get her! Hold her down, goddammit!"
The Hagen girl was a lithe Hispanic spitfire, kicking and squealing as Erica and Sinead wrestled with her. Ariel's squirmed with excitement as she watched the writhing forms of the struggling girls--the hair pulled, the clothing torn, breasts pawed and viciously twisted. The Meyers girls couldn't get in a close-range shot with their guns--not without the threat of injuring themselves--but they were prepared: Both carried switchblades tucked into the decorative leg-garters of their uniforms. Pinning the Hagen bitch with one arm each, Erica and Sinead drew their knives.
Snick! Snick!
Ariel's heart leapt as the glinting blades sprang out. The Hagen girl struggled ferociously, screeching like a Harpy. Her sweater pulled up in the melee, exposing her soft brown belly to the knives. Over and over again Erica and Sinead plunged their shivs into the Hagen hell-cat's guts. The Hagen girl's screeching became a pained--almost sexual--mewling. Even then, she fought valiantly, bucking and kicking like a bronco in a paddock. Finally, Erica and Sinead got her by the arms and legs and heaved her bodily out of the car, where Jessika waited patiently to put the kill-shot in her throat.
Linda slammed her Packard to a halt, jolting Jocelin out of her adrenaline reverie. Jocelin stared down, astounded.
Sprawled before her was the most incredible hood ornament ever: A six-foot tall cheerleader with legs like a gazelle, demure pouty lips, full, perfect breasts and curled blonde tresses in a disheveled spray around her head. Her pleats had blown up around her waist, exposing the milky skin of her thighs. She lay with her back arched across the hood, the HAGEN school letters stretched delectably over the firm smooth curves of her tits thrust up under her white sweater. Her eyes stared at the heavens with the same stunned expression that had no doubt drawn scores of men to her. She was a Barbie doll, a Vargas pin-up come to life. She was so close, Jocelin could read the name embroidered neatly on the side of her sweater, just above the elastic band of her skirt: Mabelle.
Jocelin found herself giggling. "Oh heavens, how unfortunate," she tsked. She pointed the Uzi down and obliterated both Mabelle's name and her life.
The destructive power of the Uzi at close range was awesome. Mabelle's body danced like a Mexican jumping bean as Jocelin strafed her belly and chest. Her sweater erupted with vicious swaths of tiny volcanoes that sprayed a fine red mist across the Packard's windshield.
Jocelin whooped like a savage, continuing to fire into the juddering corpse before her. She imagined trading places with the maid she was killing, imagined herself an innocent all-American good-girl being raped by gunfire, bullets smashing her ribs, destroying the uniform that fetishized her, shredding the silken bra that cradled her breasts, pulping those breasts in an instant and bursting her pounding, passionate heart--
The Uzi clicked empty. She'd expended the entire clip.
"Are you happy now?" Linda griped. "You probably damaged the engine!"
Furious, Jocelin shouted, "Shut the fuck up, bitch, and pass me a magazine!"
Cowed, Linda obeyed.
Behind them, the Hagen squad lay scattered on the field, dead, injured or dazed. The few still alive were either screaming in pain from gunshot wounds or broken bones, or weeping in horror and struggling to their feet to flee.
"Did these girls show Lori mercy?" Jocelin shouted.
The collective cry went up: "NO!"
Jocelin drove the fresh clip into her Uzi. "What are we going to show these bitches?"
"NO MERCY!"
"Kill 'em all!"
TO BE CONTINUED...