on Earth all to themselves.
At first life there had been idyllic. There was plenty to eat and plenty to do. Waco and Taylor discovered that most of the rides were connected to backup generators, to prevent accidents should the power go out while they were in operation. They hooked everything up and, soon, were enjoying themselves from morning till sunset. They considered setting off nightly fireworks, too, but decided the less attention they drew, the better. Even Paradise could lose its luster if there were too many neighbors to share it with.
They lived like that for four months. Not a care in the world. Then one Saturday morning, Paradise quickly turned into Hell.
Waco was making a security run along the outer perimeter, when motion drew his attention across the lagoon. He had trained his rifle scope toward the ticket booths and saw four big Greyhounds parked at the curb, disgorging dozens of lunatics, some still wearing hospital gowns and loosened straitjackets. Apparently, someone had emptied the cells of an asylum somewhere and they had all chosen the Happiest Place on Earth as their destination. Waco cussed under his breath as ferries and monorails full of the criminally insane made their way to the 107 acres of heaven that he and the others had claimed for themselves for so long.
Waco had rounded up the others as quickly as possible and they had barricaded themselves in the upper regions of what they now called the Fortress. Funny that something as lovely and magical as a fairy tale castle could become a fortress of defense during the most dire of circumstances.
After that, Waco and the others were pretty much prisoners in their own Utopia. When the Nutjobs had discovered their presence, there were constant attacks against the Fortress. The only advantage Waco and the others seemed to have against the lunatics was the absence of firepower in the Nutjobs ' arsenal. While they came armed only with clubs, knives, and swords, Waco met them at the door with his .44 Magnum, the Mark V, a Mossberg twelve-gauge, and a compound bow that could put an arrow completely through a man from an eighth of a mile away. It wasn't long before the Nutjobs , led by chain-smoking Annie Wilkes, knew their limits and found other ways to torment the occupants of the Fortress. One way was dressing up in the costumes of the theme park characters that had once been a fixture of their cherished memories. Another was shutting off their water supply from time to time, forcing them out into the open.
It was during Waco's last trip to the water valve beneath the train station that he discovered another gruesome fact about the Nutjobs . Not only were they lunatics, rapists, and murderers, but they were also cannibals. He and Taylor had entered the basement to find no one around and almost thought that their latest mission had gone without a hitch, when a Nutjob dressed as a cartoon spaceman stepped out of the shadows and buried an ax into Taylor's head, splitting his skull from scalp to neck bone. Soon, they were coming out of the woodwork with carving knives and forks clutched in their fists. Some reached Taylor before he could, ripping away chunks of flesh with their fingers and teeth. Waco blew them away with the Mossberg, determined that his friend wouldn't end up on a Nutjob's dinner plate. He shouldered Taylor's body and, like a medic carrying a wounded grunt, toted the big man the length of Main Street, back to the Fortress. The Nutjobs had nearly overtaken him, but had been driven back by shots from the Weatherby stationed from a tower above. It didn't matter that T.P. couldn't hit the ass-end of a killer whale. The Nutjobs didn't know that and quickly retreated to their subterranean lair… until it was time to attack again.
Lying there in the darkness, smoking a cigar he had fashioned from cured palm leaves, Waco wondered why he had let Taylor's death hit him so hard and turned him into an asshole of a redneck. After that day, his
At first life there had been idyllic. There was plenty to eat and plenty to do. Waco and Taylor discovered that most of the rides were connected to backup generators, to prevent accidents should the power go out while they were in operation. They hooked everything up and, soon, were enjoying themselves from morning till sunset. They considered setting off nightly fireworks, too, but decided the less attention they drew, the better. Even Paradise could lose its luster if there were too many neighbors to share it with.
They lived like that for four months. Not a care in the world. Then one Saturday morning, Paradise quickly turned into Hell.
Waco was making a security run along the outer perimeter, when motion drew his attention across the lagoon. He had trained his rifle scope toward the ticket booths and saw four big Greyhounds parked at the curb, disgorging dozens of lunatics, some still wearing hospital gowns and loosened straitjackets. Apparently, someone had emptied the cells of an asylum somewhere and they had all chosen the Happiest Place on Earth as their destination. Waco cussed under his breath as ferries and monorails full of the criminally insane made their way to the 107 acres of heaven that he and the others had claimed for themselves for so long.
Waco had rounded up the others as quickly as possible and they had barricaded themselves in the upper regions of what they now called the Fortress. Funny that something as lovely and magical as a fairy tale castle could become a fortress of defense during the most dire of circumstances.
After that, Waco and the others were pretty much prisoners in their own Utopia. When the Nutjobs had discovered their presence, there were constant attacks against the Fortress. The only advantage Waco and the others seemed to have against the lunatics was the absence of firepower in the Nutjobs ' arsenal. While they came armed only with clubs, knives, and swords, Waco met them at the door with his .44 Magnum, the Mark V, a Mossberg twelve-gauge, and a compound bow that could put an arrow completely through a man from an eighth of a mile away. It wasn't long before the Nutjobs , led by chain-smoking Annie Wilkes, knew their limits and found other ways to torment the occupants of the Fortress. One way was dressing up in the costumes of the theme park characters that had once been a fixture of their cherished memories. Another was shutting off their water supply from time to time, forcing them out into the open.
It was during Waco's last trip to the water valve beneath the train station that he discovered another gruesome fact about the Nutjobs . Not only were they lunatics, rapists, and murderers, but they were also cannibals. He and Taylor had entered the basement to find no one around and almost thought that their latest mission had gone without a hitch, when a Nutjob dressed as a cartoon spaceman stepped out of the shadows and buried an ax into Taylor's head, splitting his skull from scalp to neck bone. Soon, they were coming out of the woodwork with carving knives and forks clutched in their fists. Some reached Taylor before he could, ripping away chunks of flesh with their fingers and teeth. Waco blew them away with the Mossberg, determined that his friend wouldn't end up on a Nutjob's dinner plate. He shouldered Taylor's body and, like a medic carrying a wounded grunt, toted the big man the length of Main Street, back to the Fortress. The Nutjobs had nearly overtaken him, but had been driven back by shots from the Weatherby stationed from a tower above. It didn't matter that T.P. couldn't hit the ass-end of a killer whale. The Nutjobs didn't know that and quickly retreated to their subterranean lair… until it was time to attack again.
Lying there in the darkness, smoking a cigar he had fashioned from cured palm leaves, Waco wondered why he had let Taylor's death hit him so hard and turned him into an asshole of a redneck. After that day, his
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