Posted by dolungbridge on February 04, 2007 at 09:15:20:
JOCELIN'S CHEERLEADING DAYS - PART EIGHT - PLEAT-SKIRT INFERNO
Alexis felt the thrill, the almost sexual excitement, coursing through her. She hadn't felt this enthralled since the first time she'd cradled an MP-5, at a shooting range where Cherrill had brought the senior Hagen girls for some "team bonding".
"We are cheerleaders," Cherrill had intoned as the girls loaded their magazines and prepared to fire at paper targets. "A lot of idiots out there look down their nose at us. They think we're nothing but frivolous sideline entertainment, flashing our panties to keep the crowds pumped up.
But we're much more than that. We are a squad. We wear a uniform. When we cheer, we are not individuals. We are a team sacrificing ourselves in a group effort to achieve total victory! There can be no higher purpose to our lives than this, our devotion to our team, our squad, our fight for victory! The guns you hold are our spirit sticks. They represent our warrior code, our willingness to fight and to never surrender!"
The Hagen seniors had gone on to shred the hell out of the paper targets while the unofficial Hagen fight-song "Eye of the Tiger" pumped over the PA. It was that song's pounding beat stomping through Alexis' head as she attempted to spray the Meyers squad with hot lead.
Cherrill tsk-tsked to herself. Alexis never had been very disciplined. In fact, she'd only been kept on the squad because she was a useful lightening rod for fan-abuse at away-games; she'd loved taunting the Meyers crowds, squealing in delight as they hurled beer, spittle and terms of endearment such as "Hagen whore!" at her. But as a stunter, and now as a shooter, she just wasn't very good. Her shots hit the turf, the Packards, and the occasional dead Paganette, but nothing else. Pretty soon, those fucking Meyers girls were going to get smart and figure out Alexis couldn't aim worth a shit.
"You want something done right, you gotta do it yourself," Cherrill sighed.
She tugged the grenade that dangled on her right hip, freeing it from her mesh equipment belt. The pin popped with a flick of her thumb, and she casually lobbed the tiny green ball of death into Ariel's Packard.
It landed square in Amber's lap. Gazing down through a haze of pain, Amber's failing brain dimly apprehended the seriousness of her situation. With agonizing slowness, she took a hand from the pumping wounds in her ventilated belly and nudged the grenade along her leg. It rolled off the hem of her blood-spattered pleats and dropped with a muffled thud to the floor.
The Packard exploded, doors blowing off, the gas in the ruptured fuel tank combusting with a huge, billowing fireball.
At the instant of her death, Amber actually perceived the whoosh of flame under her skirt, a mighty tornado that sheared off her panties and torched her pubic mound before neatly blowing her apart. Amber was a dismembered ember by the time the force of the blast flipped the car over forwards. Her decapitated head, blond locks merrily aflame, bounced down the length of the twenty-yard line. It came to rest between the waiting thighs of a Paganette corpse.
Ariel wasn't so lucky. Her position in the driver's seat protected her from the initial explosion, but now her legs were pinned beneath the up-ended burning wreckage. She could only scream and writhe as burning gas dribbled over her, crisping the polyester of her body-shell.
Erica had been thrown almost ten yards by the force of the blast. Now she stumbled to her feet, dazed and ablaze, a halo of fire licking at her hair and back. In shock, she staggered forward, blindly beating at the hellish flames consuming her perm.
Cherrill flipped her MP-5 to three-shot bursts and fired straight into Erica's gut. This intestinal stapling got Erica's attention; she stopped short and clutched at her riddled belly, whimpering in anguish.
"Stop, drop and roll, bitch!" Cherrill shouted. She fired again.
Erica's left breast burst like an over-ripe tomato. The bullets left tracer streaks as they tore out her body through the inferno on her back. Erica dropped, rolling over with a final muscular twitch as she died. This wasn't enough to put out the fire; soon, her remains were smoldering brightly again on the turf.
"And you! Shut the fuck up!" Cherrill sent a quick burst Ariel's way. Like some miniature version of a fountain at the local mall, spurts of blood did a beguiling pixie-dance across the hapless girl’s chest. Ariel shuddered and fell silent.
For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of flames and the hiss of blood sizzling on Ariel's tits.
“WHOOEEE!” Alexis whooped. “Hagen fuckin’ rules!” Bench-pressing her machine-gun over her head, she launched into a bizarre victory shimmy.
Cherrill booted her in the rump. “Find that bitch Jocelin! She’s not dead yet!”
“Looking for me?” Jocelin shouted as she popped up from behind the remaining Packard. Aiming over Mabelle’s mangled corpse, she opened fire on Cherrill.
Cherrill had always been lucky, Jocelin had to admit. The bitch was practically indestructible--and she proved so now, for her butt-kick of Alexis had coincidentally knocked her prancing underling right into Jocelin’s line of fire.
Jocelin’s first burst caught Alexis in the left hip, spinning her sideways. She continued this pirouette, dancing a literal bullet ballet as shot after shot tore through her, leaving a spiral pattern of spattered wounds up her twirling torso. Her gun flew from her out-flung arms and her mouth dropped open in a surprised ‘O’ as a she stuttered out a syncopated squawk of pain and secret delight. She imagined herself as Kate Winslet in “Titanic”, standing erect on the prow of the mighty ship, her heaving bosom cosseted by salt spray from the bow slicing the waters at her feet and the gentle zephyrs that played over the waves...
Jocelin’s gunfire pulped the firm curves of the Hagen girl’s sweater-puppies, leaving the school letters spattered with gore. Alexis spun to a stop facing Cherrill. Her face wore the gape-mouthed expression of a saint in the midst of ecstatic communion with God.
Cherrill opened fire on Jocelin. But Alexis was in her line of fire, too. Cherrill's burst caught Alexis low on the right hip, spinning her back around the way she had come. Cherrill’s MP-5 chattered like an old-fashioned Underwood typewriter, printing a second spiral line of ragged wounds down the whirling girl’s lithe contours. Alexis’ skirt flew up, and Cherrill’s fusillade stapled a neat row of crimson rosettes across the circumference of the girl’s silken panties. Alexis sank to her knees and the pleats came down, hiding her bloody, bullet-riddled ass under the curtain of her virginal white skirt.
Jocelin dove for cover behind the Packard, firing as she went. One of her shots caught Alexis square in the forehead, leaving a perfect round red entrance wound like some sort of obscene caste mark. The Hagen blonde’s pony-tail bucked as the shot left her brain, her soul following after. Her body, looking like it had been pelted with some particularly chunky rotten tomatoes, collapsed to the grass.
Cherrill continued spraying the Packard as Jocelin dove and Alexis died. She loved watching the bullets thwack into the Meyers bodies pinned to the car doors. The dead cheer-girls bucked and shook as if they were re-animated zombies still trying to keep their team’s spirits up.
A bullet from Cherrill caught Jocelin in the right side as she leapt behind the car. How it burned! Jo had never been shot before, and the intense pain was a startling reality check. To think that her entire squad had already experienced this piercing agony!...
At the same time, the pain sharpened her senses, heightening her state of arousal. She moaned as she clutched at the wound in her side, feeling the sticky blood around the hole punched in her uniform. She nearly came on the spot, thinking of her body penetrated over and over again by hot lead.
Instead, she rolled onto the ground and opened up, firing her Uzi under the chassis of the Packard. Cherrill felt a sudden sharp sting on her right foot that caused her to shriek inadvertently. She looked down, to find a hole blown in her shoe and her pinky toe neatly sheared away.
“Fuck!” she cried, enraged. Her blood didn’t match the color of her nail polish at all!
“That’s it, you fuckin’ bitch!” she yelled for Jocelin to hear. “Now it’s war!”
She popped the pin on her second grenade and rolled it under Linda’s Packard. It went off with a low WHUMP. This was followed by a throaty CHOOM! as the car pitched bodily into the air, two solid tons of classic American rolled steel rising on a column of exploding gas, limbs jerking and pleats flaring on the macabre human detailing pinned to the side panels.
The car came down with a tremendous crash and sat there burning, flames engulfing the leather interior, Linda and Megan’s corpses still stuck to the bent wreckage of the doors.
Mabelle’s body thudded to earth at Cherrill’s feet like some oddball paratrooper who’d been machine-gunned before she could get her chute opened. Cherrill studied the charred girl’s lifeless blue eyes, then cast her gaze over the carnage she had created.
Around her more than thirty uniformed young ladies lay contorted in postures of agonized death, their spattered corpses a mockery of their former vitality. Over the hissing roar of the burning cars came a strange quiet music, the fading gasps and muted sobs of several dying Paganettes.
Cherrill savored the moment, puffing out her breasts against the soft restraint of her uniform sweater, drawing air laden with the scent of smoke and blood into her lungs. She had done it--achieved victory at last! With the Meyers squad obliterated and that slut Jocelin out of the picture for good, nothing short of an asteroid hitting the Earth would stop Hagen from taking the Nationals trophy this year. Of course, she’d have to rebuild the squad from scratch, but there was plenty of new blood around. She threw her head back and laughed out loud in exhilaration and triumph.
That’s when the bullet took her in the shoulder...
TO, OF COURSE, BE CONTINUED...