Friday 29 May 2020

The Icecream Man

“GET DOWN!” Roared a voice.
Three soldiers dove into cover as the wall above the heads exploded with a spray of gunfire. The trio were showered with shards of stone and plaster as they pulled themselves out of the line of fire.
“Everyone ok?” The young Lieutenant Matthews asked.
“All good!” Barked Sergeant Thompson, a gruff older man.
“Y-yes sir!” Private Abrams, a young, slender woman, squeaked. “Do- Do you hear music…?”
“Alright, sit tight then. Thompson, get ready to call in air support.” The Lieutenant ordered as he peaked out through a gap in their cover.
They were cut off from the rest of the squad, but if he could pinpoint the buggers who had them pinned they could call in an air strike. He scanned the surrounding streets glancing past the broken pavements and burnt out cars and into the buildings opposite. The tip of a gun caught his eye, revealing a large caliber machine gun pointed at where they’d been. There were two men manning the gun, and several others were lined up around them..
“Got them,” Matthews said with a grin. Turning back to his squad he stopped as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A child’s face disappeared into a room below the gunners. “Wait, shit call off that strike! There’s civilians still in the building!”
“Ah fuck! What do we do?” Asked Thompson, “We won’t last till reinforcements arrive!”
“I swear I can hear music, it’s kind of nostalgic…” Abrams muttered.
“Focus Private! We need to come up with a plan, do we have any-” Matthews stopped mid sentence as an obnoxiously cheerful tune became too loud to ignore. Cautiously he peeked his head back over cover. “Ho-ly shit….”
Coming towards them was a small truck, it’s bright blue paint mostly covered in thick sheets of armour. A heavily plated hatch dominated one side of the vehicle, spray painted onto which were the words ‘Flakes cost 20p more!’ Mounted on its front was a spiked metal ram, allowing it to plow through the wreckages of other cars. On the top of the vehicle a giant, plastic ice cream cone was slowly rotating. As it span light would shine through the multiple bullet holes that had been punched into the cone.
“Shit, fuck, FUCK! It’s the fucking Icecream Man!” Said Matthews, desperately trying to maintain his cool. “What do we do?”
“I- er I like strawberry-” Abrams started to say.
“Let’s keep down sir, that monster might just pass us by.” Thompson replied, cutting past Abrams.
The group hunkered down as the repetitive tinny jingle approached. The street before them was still as both sides waited for the storm to pass. Unfortunately the icecream truck pulled to a stop right in front of them.
For a while there was no noise at all, bar the same few bars of music. Then the hatch slammed open. A hulking brute of a man was revealed, a patchy beard covering his face and multiple stains dotting his shirt. He began to shout.
“ICECREAM, GET YOUR ICECREAM! We got chocolate, vanilla, mint and strawberry!” A fact that elicited a joyful squeal from Abrams. “We got flakes, but they cost more dammit!”
Both sides of the street remained still for a few moments, then Abrams rose out of cover.
“Get down you idiot!” Matthews yelled, managing to catch a glimpse of the enemies drawing a bead on them as he pulled her back.
“We got lots of lovely goodies for good kids! Sprinkles and sauces, even waffle cones!” Shouted the Icecream Man, drawing back everyone's attention. “So all good kids come and get some icecream!”
Perhaps it was a mistake, but someone started firing at the van. Soon the entire enemy squad started opening up on the icecream van. Bullets pelted down against the open windows as the man ducked into cover. He quickly reappeared holding something on his shoulder.
“But bad kids get lead!” He roared.
“Is that a fucking rpg?” Matthews asked. He was answered by a massive, fiery explosion from where the enemy squad had been.
Once again the street was dominated by the cheerful jingle, now horribly distorted by a stray bullet lodged into a speaker. Flaming debris fell from the crumbling room above.
“Alrighty, come get your icecream kids!” The Icecream Man yelled. Slowly young children began to emerge from the war torn buildings, holding fistfulls of coins that had long been rendered useless by the war and inflation. The Icecream Man cheerfully accepted whatever was offered, doling out various flavours with an assortment of surprisingly well preserved cones and condiments.
Matthews had long given up when Abrams excitedly rose to join the children.
“Wait!” Shouted Thompson, stopping her, “Get me chocolate.”