Fried Green Zombies
By
JOHN A. ALLEN
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2008 John A. Allen
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
For information email friedgreenzombies@gmail.com
Cover: John A. Allen
ISBN-13: 978-0-578-01082-3
ISBN-10: 0-578-01082-8
for Lahni
Chapter 1 – Somewhere Else.
The voice came out of the darkness, thin and wiry. “I can't see a single thing. Where are the lights? I mean, really. Damn this piece of junk.”
Another voice came out of the darkness amid the sound of someone randomly pushing buttons. “We took a pretty big hit. The radar's out again.” A few random lights flickered on a console, not really bright enough to illuminate anything.
The first voice had moved. “Okay. I'll work on the lights, you fix the radar. But those aren't our biggest problems. We're up a creek if we don't make it. How fast can we go?”
“Can't go over eight.”
“Well, you're screwed.”
“You're screwed too.”
“I'm not the one who got this hunk of scrap metal you call a ship all shot up.”
“Well, neither did I. Now quit your bellyaching and help me figure out what we're gonna do.”
Roscoe, the owner of the first voice, paused, blinking in the darkness. “We've gotta dump.”
Earl turned his head in Roscoe's direction. “No way.”
Roscoe continued. “We're in the ass-end of nowhere, we dump, get away clean, get repaired, come back to pick it up and finish the run. We'll be a little late, there'll be hell to pay, but we get done.”
“Ain't doing it.”
Roscoe fumbled around in the darkness and hit a button. “Don't have a choice. Just did it.”
“Ass. It'll spoil.”
Roscoe pointed out the massive window to the patch of white in front of them. “Not in that big ice patch, it won't.”
Chapter 2 – A Little Town Called Bovina
Nine Mile Cutoff is an aptly named stretch of dusty gravel road winding through a town so small it lacks both a post office and a dot on the map. What it cuts off no one has ever really figured out, though it does connect to two more rural blacktop roads. Four or five little churches used to call the Cutoff home, but they and their small cemeteries – having remained unused for the last half century – became hidden and forgotten as the weeds and brush took back over.
The road was usually empty, so the rattlesnakes and cottonmouths calling it home didn't normally have to worry about hurrying across it while they were making their way from pond to pond chasing mates or eating rats or whatever it is that snakes do in their free time.
Some people say snakes and animals know about earthquakes and natural disasters before they happen. The rattlesnake making his way across the road that day would probably say it's true; lying in the ground all day makes one sensitive to all sorts of things – changes in air pressure, tremors in the ground. What he couldn't predict was the sudden presence of flaming objects falling from the sky and cutting his tail off.
Flaming falling things would ruin anyone's day, even a snake. For years he had been working on one hell of a good set of rattles, and now it was laying somewhere else having a good time without him, wiggling and dancing around. Of course, he couldn't look at it too long with all the other stuff on fire hitting the ground all around him.
Normally he'd have curled up and put the death in anything that tried to mess with him, but he knew it was time to haul half-tail out of there. Into the ditch. Into cover. Back to the woods.
Chapter 3 – A Little Town Called Bovina
Nine Mile Cutoff was still an aptly named stretch of dusty gravel road. Perfect for winding up one's big-block 440 jacked-up Scottsdale four-by-four. Chett and Harry had just been forcibly removed from their job at Alco Construction. They were pissed too. Accidents happen. That's why places like that had insurance. And they weren't drinking on the job. For the most part. Well, they weren't drunk. For the most part. And the resulting accident from their little tipsy revelry wasn't that bad.
It was a little joke, that's all. Chett was normally pretty good with a nail gun. And had his aim been any truer, no one would have gotten hurt. Okay, so maybe they were a little tipsy.
But what's so bad about sitting down to pee anyway? That guy's got it made for the next six months. Worker's Comp, sexy rehab nurses. He'd recover. They should be so lucky. He gets the royal treatment and they got fired.
No, no, Chett and Harry had just quit their job at Alco. They couldn't be happier. It's all a matter of perspective. They had a cooler of beverages in the back and a date with a musty rusted RV at the hunting camp. The only thing between them and Rocky Bayou was seven more miles of Nine Mile Cutoff.
The snake, having made his way to the woods only to realize that suddenly it was too damned hot thanks to the bits of burning brush scattered throughout, turned around, confused, to make his way to somewhere quieter and cooler. The air was much hotter and steamier than he remembered.
Back on the road, halfway across, and he began to grow more confused. It's not enough that stuff was falling out of the sky. Now there was a distinct tremor he felt in his belly. Earthquakes? This too? What a strange day.
But maybe if he recognized Hank Williams Jr. he'd have known that it wasn't an earthquake after all, and he'd have gotten out of the way of the big-assed tire that was about to make his day much worse. But snakes are dumb like that; the tire flattened what was left of his already shortened back end.
Now, like its disconnected cousin in the road, it too was wiggling and dancing and hurting like hell. Because unlike its disconnected cousin, it was still attached to his front end.
The snake was certainly having the worst day of its life. After the flaming things and the big tire, he was doing everything he could in light of his uncontrollably twitching tail to get across the street. Except now his progress was impeded by something else clobbering him. Though, unlike the fiery objects from the sky, whatever was hitting him now was freezing cold. And round. Cold, hard, short and round – not a snake, not any sort of animal – but he decided to put the death in one, no matter what it was, just in case. Which turned out to be a bad idea. Snakes don't have the instinct not to bite a beer can that has just been thrown from the back of a truck.
He struck and was rewarded with a mouth full of bitter liquid. Try as hard as he could, one fang was stuck. He was definitely raging mad. He had a deep, biological need to kill something even if it killed him in the process.
What luck! An actual animal of some sort approached. His eyes were clouded over with beer, but he could see that it was very tall and very black. He pulled loose from the beer can and struck at the shape that was now reaching for him.
He was rather surprised when he missed, but not as surprised as getting jerked up from behind his head. Try as hard as he could, he couldn't bite anything. The other animal had grabbed him and had too good of a hold on him. He tried again to make out what kind of creature was attacking him. It had the general shape of a human, but not the smell.
He heard another quick loud hiss and saw that the other animal was attacking the cold round objects too, sucking the guts out of them. He was happy – served it right for spraying that nasty crap all in his mouth. Then the last thing he saw was darkness, and the last thing he heard was a really painful crunch.
Chapter 4 – Still on Nine Mile Cutoff
“Hey, man, pull over! You lost the cooler.”
Chett tapped the brakes, yanked the emergency brake, and turned the steering wheel a quarter turn – performing a perfect bootlegger's turn on the gravel road. “Did we kill it?”
“Better have or I'd get a refund on those tires.”
“What was that other stuff?” Chett asked, looking up through the windshield into the sky.
“Dunno. Looks like someone blew something up.”
“I think it dented my hood!”
“How could you tell?” Harry looked at the pock-marked truck through the cracked windshield.
“Funny.” Chett took his eyes off the hood and looked ahead at the cooler. “What the hell? Who is she? What is she wearing?”
Harry saw the six-foot-tall woman in a black burqa, holding a beer in one hand and a dead snake in the other.
Chett asked again, “Do we know her? Who is she?” Then, in another thought, “Why is there stuff on fire still falling out of the sky?”
Harry said nothing, himself wondering why a woman would be out by herself traipsing through the woods in black bedsheets. “Is she a Muslim? Do we even have those around here?”
Chett looked at Harry. “Should we go see if she needs a ride?”
“Are you crazy? I think we need to be getting out of here fast. Forget the beer. We don't even know if it's a woman under there.”
“I think that's pretty obvious,” Chett replied.
It was. Both of them could make out the curves under her garment.
“Could be bombs,” Harry said.
“What is there to blow up out here?”
“Seems something's just been blown up. And if not, any woman who goes around wearing that stuff and holding dead snakes crosses the weird line as far as I'm concerned. Isn't she hot?”
Chett looked her over. “Can't tell with all the sheets on.”
“Ass. You know what I mean.”
“Well, I'm going to ask her if she wants a ride.”
“Not with me in here.”
“You gonna walk?”
“Seriously, man. Something's not right.”
“You've got the Saturday Night Special in the glove compartment, right? Just tuck it under your shirt. And ease up. Nothing's going to happen.” Chett eased the truck into first and drove up to the burqa-wearing woman.
Their windows were already down, so all he had to do was stick his head out the window to talk to her.
Dust flew by as the gravel crunched slowly under the tires.
Chett waved the dust away from his face. “You like snake?” he asked, pointing to the six-foot brown and black headless and tailless body dangling from her right hand.
No response.
“Tastes like chicken?” he asked again, jovially.
She looked down at the snake and offered it to him.
“No thanks. Just had some.”
Harry whispered to Chett, “Come on, let's get out of here. Leave her with our beer.”
Chett ignored him. “Do you need a ride?”
She kept looking through her veil.
“Do you even speak English?”
Again, no response.
“Do...you...need...a....ride?”
“What, she doesn't understand English but she understands slow?”
“Shut up, Harry.” He turned to the woman and made a takeoff motion with his hands, followed by bouncing his body and faux-turning the steering wheel.
She copied the motion.
“She rides in the back,” said Harry.
“She does no such thing,” Chett answered. He got out to let her in the middle. “But the snake stays.” He motioned to the snake and shook his head for no. She threw it to the side and climbed in the truck while Harry climbed out to collect the beer.
“We won't be able to drink this for a month as shook up as it all is.”
“It'll be fine by the time we get to the camp.”
Harry finished loading the beer and climbed back in the cab of the truck. Burqa woman sat in the middle.
Chett looked at Harry. “Think she likes riding stick?”
“Who knows.”
“I bet you there's a stick-riding maniac under that bedsheet.”
“Dude, she's right there.”
“And she doesn't speaka tha engrish.” Chett looked at her. “Besides, I was just kidding, right?” He started the engine.
“Just one problem,” said Harry.
“What?”
“Where you going to take her?”
“Oh.”
She took her veil off and smiled at them. Sexy, straight, raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders. Chett thought he had just seen the most beautiful set of blue eyes in the universe.
Chapter 5 – Rocky Bayou
Rocky Bayou is an aptly named Hunting Camp. Two thousand acres of deep ravines, bayou, brush, ponds, thick forest, and open fields sliced neatly in half by a rocky spring which ultimately feeds the Big Black River, which itself ultimately feeds the Mississippi River. The camp is bounded by the Interstate on the north, Highway 80 to the south, a cattle pasture to the west and more private land to the east.
Somewhere deep inside the camp another pond was missing, and all the critters calling it home were either flash-boiled or atomized. At the center of the empty pond was a little metal ball, no bigger than a large marble. It was cracked, though. And leaking.
A drop of something oozed out slowly. Something so black that light seemed to fall into it and get lost. It fell out of the little metal ball and sank into the mud.
Somewhere a few feet below the former bottom of the pond, something stirred.
Chapter 6 – Harvard on the Hill
"That is absolutely the most dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"How so? You got a better way of explaining it?"
"Yeah. You need to get a life."
Carried by the strengthening breeze, the two voices echoed down the open-air brick corridor between the two low, squat buildings that housed what counted for classrooms in the local community college.
Clayton Hensworth scratched a painful pimple (one of an unfortunately recent bloom) on his cheek. Sitting down on the hard wooden bench, he tried to make his point. "Not all of them are stupid," he argued, "just the ones from earlier movies. I think it's because they're kinda like ghosts, in a way."
His opponent was walking away.
Clayton talked louder. "You know how ghosts are souls that have unfinished business? Well, maybe the ones that come back stupid don't have any souls, and the ones that come back different do."
"No," said the preppy-looking future frat president as he stopped briefly to turn around. "I think you misunderstood me. When I said 'zombies are stupid,' I wasn't referring to some sub-genre of whatever freak shows you like to watch, I meant that whole thing - the whole idea of zombies - is stupid. It wasn't an invitation into a conversation." He flipped his blond mop of a haircut out of his eyes and turned back around.
"I just heard you and your friends talking about going to see the newest Terms of the Killing movie, and I thought..." Clayton trailed off.
"That was your problem," came the voice as it grew more distant. He kept talking without even turning around. "The last two words you said. 'You thought'."
Clayton was hurt. Well, that guy wouldn't get to copy his science homework again. It didn't matter that he didn't copy it directly; he actually copied it off a friend who copied it from Clayton.
Easy enough to fix. Clayton just wouldn't let anyone copy at all. That'll show him.
Of course, that came with its own set of problems. Mainly, that his friend wouldn't tease him if he let him copy. But if he stopped, then the teasing would certainly come back with a vengeance. But then he wouldn't be teaching preppy guy a lesson.
Oh, the conundrums of geekdom.
He just hoped he wouldn't run into either of them at the bar tonight. Not that the bar he was headed to would ever be frequented by the likes of the preppy guy. It was probably going to be filled with drunken rednecks, which were almost as bad, although rednecks tended to hold people in a less condescending light.
Clayton rubbed his now oozing pimple and hoped it would dry up enough not to draw attention to itself. He'd heard of beer goggles before and hoped to score some hotty that might be sporting a rather large pair of them.
Now all he had to do was wait for his ride. And if anyone could show him how to have fun, these guys would.
True, they were a little older, but it was pretty universally known: If someone wanted to have the wildest time available in such a small town, there were only two people to turn to.
They'd be too busy having fun to worry about the ins and outs of why some zombies were smart and quick and others were dumb and slow. They wouldn't tease him about talking zombies.
Talking zombies, Clay thought. Now that's stupid.
Chapter 7 – The Gas Station
“Well, hell, Harry, what are we supposed to do? We can't just leave her.”
They shopped for Slim Jims and more beer while they were inside the store. Burqa-woman was still standing outside by the pay phone, where they had left her with a quarter in hopes that she would call someone to come get her. Instead, she just stood there drawing attention from people filling up their tanks.
“She with you?” a voice behind the counter asked.
“Um, well, sort of. Yeah. I guess.”
Just a cocked eyebrow for a response.
“Maybe we should call someone, like the sheriff's department.”
Chett didn't bother to respond verbally. Instead, he offered Harry the same cocked eyebrow the cashier had just given him.
“Okay. Maybe not the cops. But we have to do something with her.”
“Fine. Go pay up. I have a plan.”
Harry shook his head. “Oh, God. No more plans. That's what got us fired.”
Outside, Chett walked over to burqa woman. “Do you have a name?”
No answer.
He pointed to himself. “Chett.” Then he pointed to her.
She made a sound.
“What? What was that?” Harry looked at Chett. “Maub? Mob? Mbob?”
“I think she said Bob.”
“Bob,” the woman said.
“Great, a Muslim woman named Bob. Could this get any weirder?”
“Maybe it's short for something,” Chett answered. “Like Roberta. And you don't know she's a Muslim.”
“You got another reason she's wearing that getup and not speaking English?”
“Good point. Hey! Idea! Don't they go to a mosque?”
“I think so.”
“Then let's drop her off at one! There can't be too many around here.”
“Was that your grand idea?” asked Harry.
“Actually, no. It involved calling the cops.”
“Then I like this idea much better. But I don't know of any mosques within a fifty-mile radius.”
Chett picked up the tattered phone book hanging by a cable from the phone and flipped through it. “Nope. Nothing under mosque. Worship says 'see church' and there's nothing that looks like a mosque under the church heading.” He turned to look at the woman.
“Mosque?” He made a sign of praying with his hands.
She mimicked the sign. “Bob,” she said.
People were still staring, but at least it was a new fleet of refuelers.
Chett looked around. “All right, Bob. You're not going to be any help.”
“Bob,” she replied.
“Bob. Good. Can I have my quarter back?” He made a circle with his thumb and index finger. She looked at him through her veil for a few seconds and then handed him back his quarter.
“What? What is this? What did you do to it?”
“Dude, she bent it in two!” exclaimed Harry.
In Chett's hand was a quarter bent viciously in half. “She must have dropped it and it got run over. Look where the rocks made little indentions.”
Harry looked at it and said nothing.
“Well, this does us no good. Go pilfer a quarter from someone so we can make a call.”
“To who?” asked Harry.
“The cops. Get me a quarter.”
“Nope.”
“Dude, get me a quarter, unless you have a better idea.”
“Nope and I don't.”
“Fine.” Chett walked to the truck and dug around in the fold of the seat, fishing out not one quarter but three, two nickels, a dime and a penny, as well as an old french fry and his favorite pocket comb and miniature Swiss Army Knife. “Aha!”
Chett walked back over to Harry and the woman. “Relax. We're calling from a pay phone, so it's untraceable. I'll just ask them if they've had any missing person reports filed and tell them that we saw a woman wearing what she's wearing who was wandering around the roads and that she's at the gas station. Then we leave. The cops will take care of her.”
“I'm sure they will. You know how dirty they all are. Corrupt, I mean. Not that they're not perverted too. I'm sure they are.”
Chett placed the phone call and reported back to Harry. “Nothing. No missing persons report, and a deputy is on the way. Let's head.” He turned to Bob and offered his hand. She took it. “Bob, nice meeting you. An officer will be along to help you. Have a nice day.” Then to Harry, “Now, back to the camp.”
“It's about time. Bye, Bob!”
“Bob,” she replied, looking at them as they walked away.
Chett and Harry climbed back in the Scottsdale and fired it up, pissing off everyone within earshot. Not having a muffler will do that.
Chapter 8 – Back on Nine Mile Cutoff
The truck bounced down the road a few miles from Rocky Bayou.
“Where did all this smoke come from?” asked Harry. A definite haze had developed and was hanging low to the ground.
“Probably someone out burning brush, the idiots. Put Hank back on. Let's get this party started right.” The next few miles were uneventful. Until Chett saw something big and black in his rear-view mirror and slammed on the brakes.
“Shit!”
“What the...?” is all Harry got out before he saw the black thing fly over the roof and tumble onto the road in front of them. Then he took another stab at completing his thought. “What the hell?”
“It's the lady again,” Chett said.
“How did she get back there?” asked Harry.
“She must have snuck in at the station.”
“Dude, I say this is where you found her, so this is where you leave her. Put the truck in reverse and let's get out of here.”
Chett looked at Harry. “Who's gonna be reverse this time, me or you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Reverse was broken and entailed either pulling a bootlegger's turn if they were going fast enough or one of them getting out and pushing the thing backwards if they were stopped. It was a big truck.
“But shouldn't we, you know, check on her? Make sure she's okay?”
Chett and Harry looked at the woman who was now standing up, dusting herself off and walking toward the truck.
Harry answered, “Doesn't look like we need to. She's doing fine. Come on, she was out here for a reason, she knows what she's doing. Or she's batshit crazy. Either way, we can serve her no more.”
“I'm with you on that one,” Chett said.
They looked at her as she approached the truck.
“There's not enough room to go around her,” Chett said, “so get out and push.”
“Look, I know there's not enough time for me to remind you of every reason that this situation is not just weird, but creepy to boot.”
She walked up to the window and made a praying sign with her hands. “Bob?” She questioned.
Chett answered, “Yes, you're still Bob. But Bob, we don't know what you want. We don't know where to take you. And frankly, we've had a tough day already without getting you involved. Not to mention that you're just giving us a nasty case of the creeping willies. You want to ride, but you don't know where.”
“Bob. Ride?”
“Yes. We've covered that. Look, if you'd tell us, or even motion...”
“We'd be happy to play a game of charades,” interjected Harry.
To Harry, “like she knows what that is.” To her again, “You know, motion,” making his hands dance, “then we could probably take you there.”
She did a dancing motion with her hands.
“Very nice,” said Chett, “but we're going to our hunting camp. Just us.”
“You know, hunting?” Harry asked, pointing his hands like a gun at the trees in front of the truck. “Boom. Boom.”
“Bob. Ride?” she said.
Chett looked at Harry.
Harry said, “Look, we've done all we can. If she wants to go to the hunting camp with us, fine.”
“Really? You're okay with it now? I mean, after she flew over the truck and all?”
“Which was your fault. Yes, I'm okay with it. But I'm patting her down for bombs.”
“Dude, just because she's a Muslim doesn't mean she has bombs.”
“Could have guns. Or knives. I'm patting her down. Cover me.” Harry hopped out of the truck.
“Cover you? Good grief.” Still, Chett grabbed the .38 that Harry had dropped on the seat, just in case.
Harry walked around the front of the truck. “Listen, Bob? I'm going to pat you down to make sure you're safe.” He took her arms and spread them out.
Chett laughed. “Funny how the tables are turned. How many times you been in her shoes?”
“Shut up.” Then back to Bob, who had dropped her arms. “No, leave your arms here.” He picked them back up. “Good.” He made the patting motion over his body, then over hers without touching her so she would understand what was about to happen. “I'm going to pat you down.”
She made the pat-down motion on her stomach with her hands.
“Yes. I'll be quick, I promise.”
“And how many times have you said that to a girl?” Chett laughed harder.
“This isn't funny. Shut up.” He patted her stomach gingerly to make sure she was okay with it. She watched him through her veil. He continued around her back and under her breasts. He turned his head to talk to Harry.
“Dude, I'm sorry. But I've got to see this body. If you were feeling what I'm feeling...”
“You need to get laid,” Chett said.
“Seriously.” Harry moved to pat down her legs, careful not to touch anything sensitive. “Oh, my God.”
“What? Is she packing?”
“No, just... just... nothing. Jeez. I haven't even seen her and I think she's the sexiest woman I've ever met.”
He stood up and looked at her. “Okay, you're clean.”
She looked at him for a few seconds and placed her hand on his shoulder. In one quick motion she spun him around, kicked his feet apart, and pushed him on the truck.
“Oh, Jeez. Ouch. Be careful.”
She repeated the process, though not skipping the sensitive parts. Chett was laughing his ass off.
“That's not cool,” Harry said while the pat-down continued. “Ooh.”
“What?” Chett asked.
“She just grabbed my package. Ooph! Hey now. Mmmm. Okay, okay, stop,” he said. “That's enough. And weird.” He jerked away.
“Come on, you two. Let's go. Get in the truck.”
Bob followed Harry to the passenger side of the truck.
He offered her his arm. “After you.” She took it and climbed in the truck. They drove off to Rocky Bayou.
It was Thursday. The end of the world was still a few days away.
Chapter 9 – Rocky Bayou
Rocky Bayou was devoid of other people. The only things in season were raccoons and frogs, so everyone else with better things to do was probably out doing them.
Six P.M in the summer means there are still two good hours of light left. Chett and Harry had planned to show up, down a few cold ones, shoot some stuff, maybe ride their four-wheelers and generally fart around until they passed out.
They exited the truck and looked around. In front of them was the little musty brown and yellow 70's era RV. To the left was a tattered picnic table, and to the right a little lean-to aluminum shed that sheltered their generator and a few muddy tools.
“I got us a surprise,” Chett said after unloading the cooler.
“What?”
“You'll have to wait. But it fixes a little problem we've had in the past. Kinda.”
“Oh?”
“You'll see. That and it's just damned cool. Got a good deal.”
“Mmkay. What about her?” Harry pointed at Bob.
“Well, I guess she's staying with us.”
Chett and Harry opened the door and stepped in. Bob waited at the picnic table out front.
“Where's she sleeping?” asked Harry. The RV had what amounted to a queen bed in a room the exact size of a queen bed at the back (still a marvel and constant source of conversation between them – did they build the RV around it as Chett thought, or did they bring it in a piece at a time and assemble it in the room, as Harry thought), a small bathroom, an even smaller sitting area with a couch, a fold-out table, a sink and a microwave, and place in the wall for a TV. The front of the RV housed two mustard-brown ripped Naugahyde bucket seats and a host of wires and dangling electronic gadgets protruding from the dashboard and a place where the radio used to reside.
“Good question,” answered Chett. “Normally I'd say she could sleep with me, but I don't think I'll get the picture of her and the snake out of my head. I thought I'd never say this, but I'd rather sleep next to you and let her take the couch.”
“And I'd normally say you're gay and make fun of you, but I agree with you.”
Chett maneuvered around Harry and stuck his head out the door. “Okay, Bob. This is where we're staying. Come on in and I'll get the generator hooked up.”
“What are you telling her that for?”
“Oh.” Chett motioned for her to enter the RV. “Careful on those steps. They're cheap.” He stepped down and helped her up, then walked over to the rusty brown shed. The shed door was one of those kinds that slides open horizontally, much to the chagrin of anyone that's ever had one. One little spot of rust and the things put up a serious fight to get them open and in the process sound like you're killing a whole herd of buffalo.
The generator slid out easily enough, and Chett unstrapped the gas can in the bed of the truck to fill it. He primed it and gave it a few pulls, and it fired up. He killed it to save gas.
“Generator works,” he said as he climbed the steps to the RV. “We'll turn the lights on when it gets dark...” he trailed off. Sitting on the couch, smiling, was a half-nekkid, large-chested, raven-haired beauty. The only thing that took Chett's eyes off her chest were here deep blue eyes – so blue they almost seemed to glow.
“What the hell?” asked Chett, flustered.
“Don't ask me,” answered Harry without looking away. “You walked out, she walked in and promptly stripped.”
“I don't know what to say.”
“Makes three of us.”
“Huh.”
“Huh.”
“Bob, ride?” she added, smiling.
“Oh, Lord,” wheezed Chett.
“Oh, Jeez,” answered Harry.
“I, um, I don't think she means it that way, but damned if half of me don't want to find out right now.”
“Makes two of us.”
“I thought Muslims were, you know, supposed to be more... I don't know... modest?” Chett couldn't stop staring.
“Yet again, makes two of us.” Neither could Harry.
She looked at Harry and made a C with her the thumb and index fingers on her left hand and an inverted-C with her same fingers on her right. She turned them perpendicular to each other and pulled her right index finger in and made a sound. “Cch.”
They looked at her and she did it again. “Bob. Cch.”
“Beer?” asked Chett. “You want a beer.”
“Cch. Beer,” she answered.
“Not a problem. Harry, get her a beer.” Harry walked to the front of the RV and opened the cooler sitting on the passenger seat. He turned around. She was standing right behind him.
“Oh. Crap. Oh, here.” He opened it and handed it to her.
She took it and smiled. It was gone in one chug. “Beer. Cch.”
“More?” Harry was shocked.
“Beer.”
“More beer? Okay.” He got another out and opened it. He looked at Chett. “You realize that she's cutting into our beer supply.”
“So? We'll make another run.”
The second beer was gone. She just stood there.
“Another? I can't turn down a nekkid woman wanting beer.”
She looked at him perplexed and smiled. She didn't motion for another beer, though.
“Okay. No? No more beer?” Harry shook his head exaggeratedly for no. “No?”
She kept smiling, standing in the narrow passage between the cabin and the back.
Harry looked over her shoulder. “Chett, she's kinda in my personal space and she won't move.”
“Ask her to move.”
“Bob, will you move?”
“Ride?” she asked.
“Um, Chett?”
“Yeah?”
“How do I answer that?”
“Say no.”
“Okay. No.” Harry looked back at Chett. “Why not?”
“Because it's not fair.”
“Haha. Funny.” Harry looked at Bob. “Excuse me, Bob, but I'm going back to the back now.” He bent over and stepped in front of the passenger seat. He hoped to do one of those puzzles he used to love when he was a kid and would keep himself busy when he'd take long trips with his parents – the kind of puzzle where you'd slide one piece around and then slide the other until you made a picture. He was good at those – and so he put his hands on her shoulders, while attempting to look firmly in her eyes. Those breasts were like magnets! He pulled her up in front of the driver's seat and walked out of the driver's compartment. He could have just turned her and slid by her, but damned if he wasn't just a little scared shitless. Turned on, for sure, but even his penis was watching out for its safety. He didn't want to get that close to her. Yet.
She sat down in the driver’s seat and fiddled with the knobs and switches. She mashed her feet on the pedals and jerked the steering wheel from side to side.
“Oh, no, honey,” said Chett. “This thing ain't run in years. Have fun, though.”
Harry walked back to where Chett was sitting on the bed. “I changed my mind. She can sleep with me.”
“No, I think she still needs the couch.”
“Now you're gay.”
“No, seriously. This ain't right.” Chett looked at Bob, still sitting at the steering wheel messing with things. “Don't care how you slice it, this is just plain up screwy.” He looked back at Harry. “Harry, you've seen the movies. We're going to wake up dead.”
Harry thought about it. “I'm with you on that one. This is a little odd.”
Bob walked back to the couch. “No ride?” she asked.
Chett and Harry looked at each other. Harry answered. “Not right now, sweetheart. We have a headache.”
“We have headaches, Harry. We're not sharing a collective headache.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What now?”
“Don't have a clue,” said Chett. “You go open the windows so it doesn't get stuffy in here. I'll check the sheets for critters.”
Harry did so and returned. Chett confirmed the critter-free state of the mattress. Bob laid down on the sofa and yawned.
Chett saw her and said, “Guess that's our cue to let her get some rest. Come on. Let's go frog gigging. I've got that surprise to show you anyway.” He turned to Bob. “Listen, I don't know if you understand me or not, but don't use the bathroom, okay?” He pointed to the small dark room with the toilet and shower. “There's no tank, okay? Anything you do in there is going to foul up our little piece of paradise here.” He shook his head in what he hoped was the universal sign for 'no' as he kept pointing. “So no use the bathroom here, okay? If you have to, go outside.” He made a big show of walking to the door and down the stairs.
“Okay!” she beamed.
Harry followed him outside.
Chett climbed half into the truck to lean the seat forward. “This here's part one.” He handed Harry a new bottle of Southern Comfort. “And these here are part two.” He handed down two sets of goggles attached to headstraps.
“No you didn't. Are these what I think they are? How'd you get them?”
“Military surplus.”
Harry waited for Chett to climb down and handed him back one set so he could scrutinize his new hands-free night-vision goggles. “These are nice! Must have cost you an arm and a leg.”
“Must have.”
“But, uh, what for?”
“Night hunting. Spotlighting. Frog gigging. Whatever. Gives us an edge.”
“Cool with me.”
Chett put his on, turned them on, and looked around. “Everything's green. Huh. We'll put 'em on tonight and see how well we can target with 'em.”
“Cool. One question, though.”
“What's that?”
“Are we planning on staying here all weekend?” Harry asked. “Because technically, we've got class tomorrow afternoon.” Harry and Chett, after taking a break from high school for a few years, had returned to Harvard on the Hill Community College to take general courses. “I just want to know so I don't get too funky if we can't get home to change.”
“You can take a shower up at the main cabin,” said Chett.
“And go to class buck nekkid?”
“Oh.” Chett paused. “Get dirty. We'll figure it out later. Let's go get us some more beer. It's your turn to be reverse.”
Harry forced the truck backwards. He climbed into the truck and they roared off.
Chapter 10 – Harvard on the Hill
Harvard on the Hill was an ironically-nicknamed community college branch located closer to town. Halmond Community College was the place where people of all different backgrounds and creeds sought refuge – recent unsure high school graduates, retirees, middle-aged recent GED graduates, and all those in between.
Clayton Hensworth sat outside watching the sun set and picking idly at a pimple. He grimaced. “Assholes.”
Neither Chett nor Harry were answering their cell phones. They were supposed to have picked him up an hour ago to go to the Brick Company bar. After all, they said they owed him drinks. If it weren't for him, they wouldn't have passed the last chemistry exam. And he went to a lot of trouble to let them cheat off him.
He wouldn't have done it had he known they'd be like this. Sure, they'd been assholes like everyone else and made fun of him. Didn't he leave that behind in high school? It wasn't his fault he was actually really interested in this stuff. If he wouldn't have spent so much time playing with fire and/or various household cleaners and/or electronics (there was that infamous combination of all three that forever branded him as “Hey, aren't you the guy who blew up your dad's shed?”), then he probably would have actually completed a homework assignment and received a GPA suitable enough for a scholarship to a real university.
As it stood, though, here he was – hoping to show enough dedication in two years to make up for the twelve he wasted previously. And helping those two assholes pass. Well, not again. Sure, they picked on him endlessly, but he always seemed to be in on it. They gave him a hard time like they gave each other. Their kind of picking was different; good natured.
Like the time he wore his Star Trek shirt to class. The professor had just finished handing out the exams and had praised him for having the highest grade after not only answering all the exam questions correctly, but for getting all ten bonus questions right. Chett and Harry had said, “All right! Space Geek gets an A!” and actually high-fived him in the middle of class. They seemed genuinely happy for him. Could they have been picking? No, they were good guys.
But that was before they stood him up, leaving him stuck with no ride. He had gotten his mother to drop him off because he thought they were going to actually take him somewhere. Now he couldn't reach her because she was at the Elks Lodge or wherever it was that old people with nothing better to do go to play Bingo.
And everyone else had left campus. He could call the city's only cab, but he was saving all he could from his job at RadioWorld to both get the newest Deities of Destruction video game and build the fastest, baddest, pimped-out and tricked out computer that could ever be built.
He had been holding out hope for Chett and Harry, but slowly it began to wane and he had given up. He picked up his phone to dial, but before he started dialing he heard the sound that everyone in town knew signaled benign trouble. At first it was a low bleating of a missing muffler and the quick wah-wah-wah-wah-wah's of oversized tires on pavement, then it was the Hank Williams Jr.
They had remembered after all!
Chapter 11 – Highway 27
“Damn that wench. She drank all our beer.” Harry was cussing her as he dug through his wallet. “All I've got is a ten.”
They cruised down Highway 27, windows open, music blaring.
Chett spoke over the radio, “I've got you covered. I got a twenty. And we can pick up our checks tomorrow.”
Harry happened to look up as they passed Halmond Community College. He squinted to see better. “Some poor sap’s still out there.”
“I'm not giving anyone a ride.” Chett was going to do his best not to get tangled up in anything else for a long, long while.
“No, dude. It's Clay!”
“Damn.” Chett slammed on the brakes.
Harry bumped his head into the window. “You've got to stop doing that.”
“We forgot Clay. That poor guy. We told him we'd buy him a beer for helping us out.”
Harry hopped out and helped Chett wheel the truck around in an exaggerated three-point turn in the highway. “Tomorrow, Chett,” he grunted, “we fix your transmission.”
Harry, breathless, hopped back in and looked confused. “What are we going to do with him?”
“I reckon we're going to pick him up, tell him that we had truck trouble, take him home and hope he'll accept a rain check.”
“We already owe him a hundred rain checks,” said Harry.
“Well, now we'll owe him a hundred and one.”
They sped up the drive and pulled in front of Clayton.
Chett hollered out the window, “Dude, we are so sorry.”
Harry leaned forward to be seen. “Still want a ride?”
“I had almost given up on you,” Clayton said. “I'm ready for ladies night!”
Chett and Harry looked at each other. Chett spoke first. “Um, well, something's kinda come up. Turns out we're not going there tonight.”
“Like what?” asked Clayton.
“Truck trouble,” said Harry.
“Sounds like it's running fine to me. Come on, let's go.”
“Sorry man, no can do. We have some things to take care of. I'm sorry we're late, but hop in and we'll give you a ride home.”
“There's no way I'm not going out tonight.”
Harry leaned over to Chett and whispered, “He's sure as hell not coming back to the camp with us.”
“Wasn't even a question,” said Chett. Then, to Clayton, “Look, man, I know we said we'd take you out. And we will. But you know us, right? I mean, you know who we are and that, well, trouble kinda follows us around? We're kinda taking care of some stuff tonight that you probably don't want to be involved in.”
“Do you know how boring my life is?” asked Clayton. “I sit around playing video games.”
“And blowing sheds up,” snickered Harry.
“That was years ago. Anyway, I'd welcome the excitement.”
“Look, Clayton, we like you. We really do. But you're not coming with us. If you want a ride, we'll take you home. But that's it for tonight.”
“What about tomorrow night, after class?” asked Clayton.
“We might be able to do something tomorrow night,” said Chett.
“What about her?” Harry whispered.
Chett whispered back. “Hopefully she won't be around tomorrow night. I'm not planning on having her hanging around, are you?”
“Tomorrow night works great,” said Chett, talking loudly over the roar of the truck. “Hop in and we'll give you a ride home.”
Chapter 12 – Back at Rocky Bayou
“Where is she?” Harry was already in the RV and had noticed immediately the lack of a large-chested Raven-haired woman named Bob.
“Did you check the whole RV?” yelled Chett from outside.
“You're kidding, right?”
“Well, what about the main cabin? Maybe she needed to use the restroom.”
Harry considered it. “Okay. Maybe she did. How can she see? It's dark out there.”
“I know you're not thinking about going to look for her. I mean, after all the time we spent trying to get rid of her.”
“Yeah, but there's something wrong in letting someone like that with a body like hers wander around in the woods. We were trying to leave her somewhere safe.”
“How do you know someone didn't come get her?” asked Chett. “Look, she's gone. We can get on with our night. Grab the goggles and a flashlight. Let's go gigging. We'll sleep tomorrow before class.”
“Shouldn't we leave her a note or something if she comes back?” asked Harry.
“You think, what, that she can't speak a lick of English but she can read it? Come on. Let's go. We're wasting moonlight.”
They put their hip waders on and walked into the woods. Harry noticed a switch on the top of the goggles and flipped it. Instantly the green surroundings went dark and Chett, who walked in front of him, started glowing. Flipping the switch back, Chett was his normal green and Harry could see the trees again. Hit the switch again and Harry glowed, no trees. Turn it off and he could see everything again.
A few hours later, the night-vision goggles were giving both of them headaches so they took the goggles off and turned on their Maglights right before they got to their favorite pond. Except when they got to the shore, well, the pond was missing. The flashlight beams got lost in the darkness.
Chett looked at Harry. “Are we in the right place?”
Harry knelt down and felt the mud. “Hmm.”
Chett kept shining his flashlight into the darkness and onto the empty mud in front of them. “Where did the pond go?”
Harry put his goggles back on and surveyed the empty stretch of green before him before taking them off, bumping them on his hand, and putting them back on. “You might want to see this,” he said to Chett, who in turn put his set on.
The two goggled men stood on the banks of what had recently been either a big pond or small lake.
Harry turned to speak to Chett, “You thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Yeah. Excellent mud riding spot.”
“Bingo.”
“No way to get in here, though.”
Harry answered quickly, “Sure there is. Remember the old trail? On the other side of the pond. It's grown up a little – but it's all brush and weeds. Nothing we couldn't handle.”
“Done deal. We'll get to it Saturday.”
Harry looked back over the new mud-riding grounds and flipped the switch on top of his goggles.
“Will you quit that?” Chett asked. “You're going to wear them out.”
Harry didn't answer. Instead, he flicked it off and on again and turned to look at Chett. He repeated the flicking process at Chett and then looked back out at the lake, still flicking the switch on and off.
“Seriously, man. Give it a rest.”
Harry kept his attention on something. “That's weird. Chett, you see anything weird in your goggles?”
Chett squinted and scrutinized the landscape as well as he could through grainy green vision. “No. Why?”
“Flip your switch.”
As soon as Chett did it, he saw the glow coming from the middle of the pond. He flicked it off and went to normal night vision mode. Nothing. He flicked them on and off several times seeing the glow before he looked at Harry and flicked them on and off.
“Will you quit that? You're going to ruin them,” Harry said mockingly.
“What is that? I guess it's got some sort of heat mode, like Predator.”
“It's called Infrared.”
“Look who's been paying attention in class,” said Chett. “I thought these were always infrared.”
“They are,” said Harry, “but there's two kinds of infrared. There's the kind you see when you flick off the switch – the kind that's everywhere. Then there's the kind that gives off heat. That's what you're seeing when I'm glowing.”
“How do you know those things?”
“Discovery Channel.”
“Oh.” Chett thought for a minute. “So what's so danged hot out there in the middle of the lake?”
“Dunno,” said Harry. “Let's go find out.
That idea turned out not to be so good. Harry was the first to hear something. “Is that an airplane?” It was the only thing he could think of that would make such a deep rumbling sound from far away. But then it went away and the rumbling stopped.
Both of them had stopped to listen. Once everything was silent again, they continued forward. Until it happened again.
It almost sounded like someone starting an engine that didn't want to be started. But it sounded really muffled.
“What is that?” Chett asked Harry.
“Like I would know?”
“You know all about infrared.”
“Doesn't make me an expert on weird sounds,” said Harry.
“You know, I've about had enough weird crap for one day.”
Harry agreed. “I say we call it a night and pack it in.”
Chett kept talking, “I mean, who else is out here? It sounds like they're stalled.”
As they crept closer to the source of the infrared glow, the sound started again. But this time, the ground shook a little more as well.
“Do you feel that?” asked Harry.
“It feels like it's right under our feet,” said Chett. He put his head to the ground to listen. “Harry, you gotta hear this.”
Harry put his ear to the ground. About forty feet in front of them, as if on cue, the ground exploded in a volcano of mud and dirt clumps. The noise was deafening as the Hemi-Powered Dodge Ram Four-by-Four of Death shot out of the ground. It landed and swung around in a perfect semicircle and revved the engine.
In a voice that sounded unnaturally “gravelly” - as in “having a lot of gravel in it,” - the driver yelled “Hooo-yeah!”
“Sumbitch” moaned the passenger. If Chett or Harry could describe a voice as “Holey,” as in “having holes in it,” then that's exactly how they'd describe it.
But they wouldn't describe it like that at all. Because they were both too busy breathing hard as they hauled ass into the woods. They only thing that either one of them had said had been, “Shit. Run!” And Chett thought that was a wonderful way to describe the situation.
The Four-by-Four of Death did donuts in the mud, looking for a way out. Chett and Harry had tripped several times over roots and fallen branches, each one of them clawing through the woods and dragging the other down when he fell.
Running through the forest at midnight wearing infrared goggles means one thing: someone's going to get lost. Maybe an hour later, maybe fifteen minutes, Chett and Harry slowed down to a jog. Then they came to a complete stop, panting with their hands on their knees, hacking up phlegm from the back of their throats. They looked around and knew instantly that they were lost.
Still catching his breath and looking at the ground, Chett asked the question he knew neither one of them had the answer to. “What... the...hell...was...that?”
“Don't...have...a...friggin'...clue... Don't...want...to...either.”
Chett took a minute to breathe and slid down a tree, sitting on a protruding root. “I think we should be close to camp.”
Harry took his goggles off and grabbed for the flashlight in his cargo pants pocket. Chett barked at him, “Dude! No way. No light. Leave it off.”
Harry said nothing and put his goggles back on. All he could see were trees – trees in differing shades of green. He flicked the switch and looked at the glowing fog Chett exhaled with every breath. He took them back off and focused back on the patches of bright moonlight.
“We're not that lost,” said Chett. “All we have to do is walk straight. We'll either hit the highway or a fence we can follow. Or the creek.”
“If it still exists,” said Harry. “Where the hell did the pond go?”
Chett looked at Harry. “Dunno.” He paused. “But this day is just too friggin' weird. I say we call it and head.”
“Enough said.”
They stood up with their goggles on and walked. And walked.
An hour or so later Harry spoke up. “Um, I've got this nasty little blinking light that keeps coming on.”
“Me too. Batteries are almost dead. This is going nowhere,” Chett said.
They sat down.
“I have an idea,” said Harry. “Toss me your phone.”
Chett fished around in his cargo pants and found his cell. Harry caught it and flipped open the screen. “Good, we've got a signal. We can't be too far from a tower.” He dialed a number.
“Who
are you calling?”
Harry motioned for Chett to wait.
“Clayton, hey! How you doing?” Pause. “Oh, is it
three already? Sorry, we kinda lost track of time.” Pause. “You
don't want to know. But we need help and you're the guy for the job.
We're lost. We need you to find us.” Pause. “I don't know
– isn't that what you're good at? Can't you track our cell
phone or something?”
“Good idea,” said Chett.
Harry kept talking into the phone, “That's never stopped you before. Look, I don't want to beg, but I will if it'll help. We're in a jam.” Pause. “Can't explain now. I promise I will, though. Just tell us how to get out of the woods.” Pause. “Okay, we'll be waiting.”
Chapter 13 – At Clayton's Mom's House.
“Sons-a-bitches.” Clayton muttered to himself as he rolled out of bed. “Go out and have a wild time and don't call me. Assholes. I shouldn't be doing this.”
But he still stumbled over to his computer. He turned on the monitor and blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust. He yawned and grabbed a Mountain Dew from his mini fridge and started the process of hacking the cell phone company.
“Assholes.”
A few minutes and proxy servers later, he had the information and picked up his phone.
Chett answered after the first ring.
“You owe me.” Pause. “This is the last time I help you guys out. I've got what you need. What are you going to do for me?” Pause. “Really? I mean, really? You mean it?” Pause. “No bullshit. Okay, then. But you promised.” Pause. “You're about a mile away from the highway. You're about two away from the camp.”
Pause.
“Look, I'm tired and I don't really feel like getting involved in whatever you're doing.” Pause. “Yes, I know I said my life was pretty boring, but I'd like to keep my criminal record nonexistent.” Pause. “Fine, I'll be there in about thirty minutes.”
He hung up and threw on some shorts and a t-shirt. The door creaked open as he was zipping up. He looked up to see an old, thin, wiry woman wearing an oversized mumu.
“Who were you talking to?” asked Clayton's mom.
“Chett and Harry,” said Clayton.
“And where do you think you're going?”
“To go get them.”
“At three in the morning? I don't think so.”
“I didn't mean to wake you up, but they had some car trouble.”
“No, you're not getting mixed up with those boys.”
“Well, too late. I already am. I told them I'd come get them.”
“Call 'em back. Tell 'em you're not. Go back to bed.”
“Do we need to have this whole 'you can't tell me what to do' fight right now?”
“As long as you live here, I can.”
“Okay, fine. We'll handle this in the morning. Right now, I'm picking them up. You go back to sleep. I'll be back in a few.”
“They're not coming back here,” she said.
“Fine. Wasn't considering it. Just going to go pick them up, drop them off, and come back to bed. Simple and easy. I'm tired.”
She turned and walked away.
“Assholes,” he murmured again.
Chapter 14 – Somewhere in the Woods.
“Dude, why did you tell him that?” asked Chett.
“Only thing I could think of,” replied Harry. “You got a better idea? Come on, let's get moving.”
They made good time, all the while their battery lights blinking more and more fervently. They lost power right before they made it to the highway, but they could see the occasional yard light through the trees.
A few minutes later, Clayton pulled up in his early nineties' model rusted Honda Civic. Chett and Harry walked up to the car as Clayton began speaking. “Remember your promise?”
And before either could answer, they heard something that they could only describe as death on wheels rumbling in the distance.
“Shit,” said Chett. “Get in, get in, get in!” Harry dove in the back seat as Chett took the passenger seat. “Go, go, go, go, go!”
“What?” said Clayton. “What's going on? I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”
Chett looked and saw that the Civic was still in drive. In one quick motion he picked Clayton's leg off the brake and pressed it on the gas. “Less talking, more driving. You need to go. We need to go.”