Dillweed’s hand groped to find Shane’s eye and the tee there within. He clutched the eye and the head of the tee, so the point was protruding through his fist and punched the tee into Baldy’s neck. Dillweed hooked his hand overhead repeatedly, puncturing whatever he could reach until Baldy released his sweaty grip. Dillweed ran to a golf bag on the broken back of a dead Real One and pulled out a driver. He charged Dickmeyer and brought the driver down on his skull. A jolt surged through Dillweed’s hands and wrists. The head of the club snapped off. Dickmeyer turned to face Dillweed, splattered in the blood of his friend and mentor.
“You can’t touch me,” Dickmeyer sneered, his eyes a nuclear amber. An orange web of spit dangled like a beard from his face. “I am the Brewmaster!” His voice morphed into a hellish screech. “Nothing can touch me!”
Dillweed’s phone rang from the golf cart. It must have fallen out of his pocket. His heart cranked into chaos mode when he recognized the ringtone. Bleach. A mangled Baldy reached for Dillweed from his hands and knees. Dillweed drove the shaft through the back of Baldy’s neck, into the ground. He jumped into the cart, still parked over Shane’s legs, and floored it, speeding toward the clubhouse away from Dickmeyer’s maniacal cackling.
“I’m going to eat you inside-out Dillan!” Dickmeyer screeched after him. Dillweed glanced behind him and swore he saw Dickmeyer levitating in pursuit with a body hanging from his grasp. “You forgot something!” Dickmeyer yelled. Pimpy’s corpse crashed into the cart’s front seat. Dillweed swerved in the shock. What remained of Pimpy’s head broke away from the body and rolled next to Dillweed’s leg. Dillweed steadied the cart and called Bleach, who answered.
“Dillweed, some serious shit-“
“I know! They killed Shane and Pimpy and a fuck ton of Real Ones!” said Dillweed. “I think it was the Dunkel!”
“I think you’re right.” Bleach sounded out of breath on the other end. “I had to kill off three of them straggling behind here. They were talking then they just went quiet. This yellowy orange shit started flowing from their mouths. Their eyes went fucking campfire orange, Dill. Then they just killed and started fucking eating this other cook. I had to take their asses out. I hear a couple more creeping around the clubhouse.”
“I’m coming to you,” said Dillweed. “Don’t move. Dickmeyer’s after me too. Something’s extra fucked with him though. I hit him with a club and it did nothing, Bleach! Now he’s flying and shit!”
“He’s the Brewmaster.”
“Yeah! That’s what he was saying!”
“According to these boards I’m scanning, the recipe he must’ve used for his beer was this ancient fucking warlock potion. Then we desecrated it, which made it uhh. Yeah.”
“Well, what do we do?” Dillweed pulled up to the clubhouse, keeping an eye out for the other stragglers Bleach mentioned. He took the bag of clubs from the passenger seat and opened the door.
“Something about the ‘seed of the desecrator,’ wait, did you just pull up?”
“Yeah.” Dillweed opened the door. “Where are you?”
“Kitchen.” Bleach hung up her phone. Dillweed met her back in the kitchen.
“Duck!” she yelled. Dillweed ducked and Bleach launched a meat cleaver over his head. The cleaver sliced off the ear of the rabid golfer who’d snuck in behind Dillweed. Dillweed pulled out a putter and swung it at the golfer’s face, burying the head in his mouth. The gofer stumbled back, spitting out his tongue and bottom teeth. Dillweed slammed the kitchen door and shoved the fridge in front of it.
“Yo, gimme one of those clubs,” said Bleach. Dillweed did. Bleach taped a huge knife to the head of the club, making a small scythe. Dillweed followed suit.
“We gotta get to the watershed, where the sprinkler tank is,” said Dillweed. “If
we activate the sprinklers, we might be able to end this shit.”
“Seed of the desecrator. I’ve cum in that tank more times than I can remember.”
Bleach crinkled her nose. “That’s fucking… awesome.” The refrigerator exploded away from the kitchen door as the door and surrounding wall burst open.
Dickmeyer stood in the opening, screeching and steaming. The two straggling golfers slithered around him into the kitchen. The earless one dove at Bleach who brought her scythe down on his clavicle. She kicked him off the blade onto the tile. The other straggler threw a nearby pot at Dillweed, who ducked then brought his scythe up through the bottom of the straggler’s jaw. Bleach swung her weapon through his neck, decapitating him. Dillweed swiped at Dickmeyer’s abdomen. His intestine’s sprung forth and slithered across the tile. Bleach stomped on them as they snapped at her ankles.
Remembering Dickmeyer’s new supernaturally impervious disposition, Dillweed decided to forego the offensive approach for distraction in order for he and Bleach to make their way to the sprinkler system. He picked up a C02 tank, pulling it from the soda hoses, and lobbed it at Dickmeyer. Dickmeyer caught it with a tendril-like, bifurcated tongue and punched the tank, causing it to burst. Dickmeyer hit the tile.
“Backdoor!” Bleach yelled. Bleach and Dillweed ran through the kitchen’s backdoor into the dumpster area. The golf cart crashed into the dumpster ahead of them. An orange-eyed Real One was at the wheel.
“No fucking way,” said Dillweed. “They killed this one already!”
“Look at his eyes, dumbass,” said Bleach, “they turned him!” The Real One screeched like hell and charged. Bleach slammed the door behind them and readied her scythe. “Get to the cart, I got him.”
Dillweed sprinted at an angle behind the dumpster. His sudden movement got the beast’s attention. The Real One corrected his attack to pursue Dillweed. Dillweed swung his scythe down. The Real One blocked it with his hand, the knife embedding itself in his palm, and shoved Dillweed against the dumpster. Dillweed pushed off the dumpster and attempted to maneuver past the undead Real One, but caught a back hand from his knifed appendage. The blade cut across the side of his face and severed the top of Dillweed’s ear. A scythe came down from the sky into the Real One’s forehead. Dillweed stumbled toward the golf cart, looking back to see Bleach standing atop the dumpster trying to pull her weapon from the Real One’s head. The backdoor’s top hinge popped as Dickmeyer hammered it from the other side. The Real One grabbed the weapon in his forehead and threw it forward, tossing Bleach from the dumpster onto the pavement. He finally tore the blade away with a patch of his skull and a handful of nacho-colored brain chunks. With a roar, the Real One raised the club over Bleach as she writhed in pain on the ground. The backdoor crashed away from the building. Dickmeyer stood in the doorway.
In the cart, Dillweed grabbed the first thing he could find within reach: Pimpy’s head. Dillweed lobbed it with all his strength toward the Real One. Pimpy’s cemented hair spikes embedded themselves in the Real One’s face. His face boiled and popped like a ripe zit. Bleach grabbed Pimpy’s head and her club and ran through her pain to the golf cart. Dillweed floored it. Dickmeyer levitated after them.