Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 Page 13

  He sighed, lay down and was asleep within moments. Thoughts of war and his buddy danced in his head as he drifted off to REM sleep, and he dreamed:

  Chet and Floyd had enemies in Smith and Boyd.

  Chet hated Smith. Floyd hated Boyd.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Chet said. “Let's fight them!” Floyd nodded.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Smith said. “Let's fight them!” Boyd nodded.

  Chet and Floyd faced Smith and Boyd.

  Chet and Smith punched each other. Floyd and Boyd punched each other.

  Chet, Smith, Floyd and Boyd left with bloody noses.

  “I need a knife,” Chet said. “I cannot be safe without one. I have no idea what Smith is planning next. Floyd, you need one too.”

  “No thank you,” said Floyd.

  Chet and Floyd had enemies in Smith and Boyd.

  Chet hated Smith. Floyd hated Boyd.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Chet said. “Let’s fight them!” Floyd nodded.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Smith said. “Let’s fight them!” Boyd nodded.

  Chet stabbed Smith. Smith punched Chet. Floyd and Boyd punched each other.

  Chet had a bloody nose. Smith was stabbed. Floyd and Boyd had bloody noses.

  “I need a knife!” Smith said. “Chet had a knife. You need one too Boyd.”

  “No thank you,” said Boyd.

  “I need a gun!” Chet said. “I cannot be safe without one. I have no idea what Smith is planning next. Floyd, you need one too!”

  “No thank you,” said Floyd.

  Chet and Floyd had enemies in Smith and Boyd.

  Chet hated Smith. Floyd hated Boyd.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Chet said. “Let’s fight them!” Floyd nodded.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Smith said. “Let's fight them!” Boyd nodded.

  Chet shot Smith. Smith stabbed Chet. Floyd and Boyd punched each other.

  Chet was stabbed. Smith was shot. Floyd and Boyd had bloody noses.

  “I need a gun,” Smith said. “Chet had a gun. You need one too Boyd.”

  “No thank you,” said Boyd.

  “I need a Bazooka!” Chet said. “I cannot be safe without one. I have no idea what Smith is planning next. Floyd, you need one too.”

  “No thank you,” said Floyd.

  Chet and Floyd had enemies in Smith and Boyd.

  Chet hated Smith. Floyd hated Boyd.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Chet said. “Let’s fight them!” Floyd nodded.

  “They are an affront to our sensibilities,” Smith said. “Let’s fight them!” Boyd nodded.

  Smith shot Chet. Chet blew Smith into a thousand pieces. Floyd and Boyd punched each other.

  Chet was paralyzed from the bullet in his spine.

  Smith was dead.

  Floyd and Boyd had bloody noses.

  Chet enjoyed the spoils of victory from the hospital. Floyd visited him.

  “I have won my war against my enemy Smith!” Chet exclaimed. He shook his upper torso so hard with glee that his catheter slipped out and piss pooled under him.

  “Congratulations,” said Floyd. “I will visit you often.”

  Floyd had an enemy in Boyd.

  They were an affront to each other’s sensibilities.

  Most of the time they ignored each other.

  Sometimes they worked together.

  Sometimes they fought.

  Floyd and Boyd would punch each other.

  Floyd and Boyd would get bloody noses.

  This seemed to work for them.

  Chet woke up from his dream. The night sky was black as pitch. It was too early to fight, but dawn was coming sure and simple. His dreams annoyed him. They were too difficult to puzzle out, and he never learned anything from them.

  Chapter 33

  Floyd woke up and walked down to the Super Beetle. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. He was proud of his work and the work of his new friends. At least he wished they were his friends.

  They refused to do anything but follow orders and supplicate themselves to him. It was odd. Nobody else seemed to be awake yet, but that wasn’t much of a surprise to him. He wished he could sleep in; there wasn’t much to wake up for unless there was danger or a need for food.

  He stretched. The sun was coming up. Today he was going to get Chet out of this place. The car worked, which was great. The people here were crazy, which was not.

  Chet seemed to be losing his head with his new leadership role. Floyd was not surprised. Chet had a hard enough time governing himself, let alone other people.

  Slowly the men who helped him work on the car filed out of their houses. They picked up various tools and looked for something to do on the car. Mostly they just stared at Floyd for directions, which annoyed him.

  “There’s not really much else to do on this thing,” he said. “We’re done. Thanks.”

  “What are we going to do?” Lanks asked.

  “I’m not sure. You can do whatever you want. There’s a lot of broken down cars all over the place. You guys can take your pick and fix one of them up for yourselves.”

  “You’re granting us a car?” Lanks said.

  “No,” Floyd said. “I’m not granting you anything or bestowing anything. I’m just saying there are a lot of abandoned cars because all the previous owners are dead. They won’t mind if you take the car.”

  “Floyd gives us vehicles. He speaks for the dead!” Lanks said. The other men cheered, raising various tools over their heads.

  “I can’t wait to get out of here,” Floyd said. He began to pick up some of the best tools to take with him when he heard yelling from a couple blocks over.

  He looked up to see Chet at the vanguard of his men. The Chets held baseball bats, chains and other blunt instruments. Chet, on the other hand, was decked out in a myriad of guns and explosives. Belts made of bullets were slung over each shoulder. He looked to be limping a little under the weight of all that firepower.

  Floyd though he would have done better to hand out those guns to his followers instead of making them use cudgels, but that was just him.

  Floyd turned to the guys around his car and noticed the C’s on their shirts were painted over with red paint. They now sported bright red F’s on their shirts, the paint still wet and runny.

  Lanks saw that he noticed and smiled.

  “We are the Floyds,” Lanks said.

  “This is not going to end well,” Floyd said and turned to face Chet.

  Chet stopped about twenty feet away and held up his hand for his men to stop.

  “I see you’ve brought your men with you. I hope they are ready to die,” Chet said.

  “Let’s get out of here Chet,” Floyd said. “Playtime is over.”

  “Floyd, don’t say that.” Chet gestured Floyd over to him. They walked over and met at equal distance between their gangs. “Why do you always have to do that? I’m trying to inspire my gang over here, and you’re making me seem like an idiot.”

  “I’m sorry Chet. I really didn’t mean to make you look bad. I just think that we need to move on is all. We don’t have to fight, and these people don’t have to die.”

  “Really?” Chet said. “We don’t have to fight? Even though I declared it?”

  “No. We don’t,” Floyd said. “We can just pack up our things and get out of here.”

  “What about all my little Chets?”

  “They will go back to doing whatever it was they were doing before we got here,” Floyd said.

  Chet stopped talking a moment to consider.

  “Could you at least bow down and beg for forgiveness? It would make me feel better.”

  “No,” Floyd said. “I’m not going to do that. Let’s get out of here.” Floyd turned on his heel and tripped. Chet tried to catch him, but missed. He was still getting used t
o having three fingers on his hand. The jostling made one of his guns go off.

  At the sound of gunfire, the Chet and Floyd gangs rush each other. They met around Chet and Floyd in a crash of pummeling fists, smashing weapons and terrifying screams.

  Chet and Floyd watched as men with fabric C’s or painted F’s tore into each other in a frenzy of bloodlust. Floyd saw Lanks go down with a knife shoved into his stomach. Chet saw the wizened old man’s head being smashed in by a lead pipe. The fight was over as suddenly as it started.

  Chet and Floyd looked around at all the dead. There was only one man still alive. He bubbled in his own blood, gasped for a couple seconds and then died.

  Chet walked over to him and wiped the gore off his chest.

  “He had a C on his shirt,” Chet said. “He was a Chet.”

  “All the way,” Floyd said. “Let’s grab what food we can and get out of here.”

  “Good idea,” Chet said. “He dropped a load of his guns off in the Beetle. Another pistol went off.

  “Darn it Chet! I just fixed that thing.”

  “Sorry,” Chet said. They went back to the house and found a couple plastic bags worth of canned goods.

  After they loaded the cans in the car, they were ready to leave.

  “I’ll drive,” Floyd said, taking one last look at the dead men lying around the car.

  “The last guy that lived had a C on his shirt,” Chet said.

  “You’ve already told me that,” Floyd said.

  “Yes, but do you know what that means?”

  “What?”

  “It means that I won the gang fight. You suck at gang fights Floyd.”

  “Shut up Chet,” Floyd said. “What you’re saying doesn’t bother me at all, but I do want to say that I don’t suck at gang fights.”

  “You just keep telling yourself that Floyd,” Chet said and patted his arm.

  Floyd decided to let the matter drop. He put their convertible Super Beetle in fourth and sped on down the road.

  Chapter 34

  Chet spoke loudly to Floyd over the din of the Volkswagen engine. “I believe that you and me make the best team ever Floyder,” he said. “You are my very best friend. I appreciate you greatly.”

  “I appreciate you as well,” Floyd said.

  “And?” Chet said.

  “And what?”

  “And I’m your best friend too?” Chet said. “Are you going to just leave me in the lurch? I feel jilted.”

  “Okay, you’re my best friend,” Floyd said.

  Chet regarded him coldly. “I don’t believe you and your web of lies Floyd.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you really were my best friend you would have reciprocated the comment right away without my having to cajole you. We might as well be acquaintances that nod in the hallway.”

  “I don’t want to be a part of this conversation anymore,” Floyd said.

  “You might just as well say you want out of this relationship.”

  “I keep telling you I hate it when you say our friendship is a relationship. It creeps me out,” Floyd said. “You are just so insecure with our friendship that you always want me to tell you how great things are going. You have to relax and just let things be. We’re okay.”

  “We’re not best friends,” Chet said.

  “Whatever you want. That’s fine with me. It didn’t matter what I said anyway. I would have hurt your feelings if I said you weren’t my best friend. But when I did, you told me it was too late, and you had to force the words out of me. Forget it.” Floyd shrugged his shoulders and swerved the bug around some road debris.

  “For the record, you have lost me as a best friend. We are now just a couple guys who are going the same way and might as well carpool,” Chet said.

  “Okay. Where are we going anyway?”

  “We can go anywhere we want,” Chet said. “We have enough food to last us for about a week if we ration it. We have tons and tons of weapons, which I am more than happy to share with you. We’ve got smokes. In a few words, we are self-sufficient. In charge of our own destinies. I finally feel like a man. I can get out from under my mom’s apron.”

  “You mean cut the apron strings,” Floyd said.

  “No I mean ‘get the hell out from under the apron’ like the words that originally came out of my mouth!” Chet yelled.

  “Wow, sorry.”

  “I mean exactly what I say Floyd!”

  “Okay. Sorry about that. Calm down.”

  “Why the hell would I ruin a perfectly good apron anyway?”

  “Just let it go. I don’t know what I’m talking about,” Floyd said. “Let’s find somewhere to hole up. Build ourselves a little fortress.”

  “Maybe we can just hang out in that one instead,” Chet said. He jerked his thumb out the passenger side window.

  Floyd leaned over for a look then quickly pulled the car over. A couple of miles down the road, smoked billowed toward the sky. They couldn’t see exactly what was on fire. It was coming from the inside of a large walled off area.

  “Is that a prison?” Chet asked.

  “More like a compound,” Floyd said.

  The high walls were made from all sorts of things, from brick and mortar to crushed cars.

  “Those walls must be about thirty feet high all around. Doesn’t look to be made to keep people in. More likely to keep people out.” Floyd took the next exit off the highway and veered in the direction of the smoke. It rolled toward the sky, incredible and huge, spreading out in the atmosphere.

  Chet and Floyd were at the edge of the wall within minutes. They drove along its edge, listening to the violence inside. The sound of fire and screams of people came over the wall. The screams were not of pain, but fervor.

  The wall changed abruptly. They were now was stone stacked upon stone. It didn’t go straight up but made a triangular shape, as the base was fuller than the top.

  They drove until they came to a spot where the wall wasn’t as high and got out of the car. Floyd could feel the smoke in his lungs. His skin cringed from the heat, and the screaming sounds made him leery.

  “Maybe we should just keep on driving,” Floyd said.

  “I wish you were more political Floyd,” Chet said.

  “There’s no longer a government,” Floyd said exasperatedly. “That’s nothing but a riot. Only a fool walks into a riot.”

  “Wrong Floyd. I don’t know how you would be able to navigate life without me. That isn’t a riot in there. That’s not violence. It’s politics. Look at this beautiful wall. What does this wall say to you?”

  “Keep out.”

  “Exactly,” Chet said. He went in the car and took out a cheap Uzi. “We’re finally in civilization. There are people in there who have staked out a territory. They have claimed the land in the name of whatever they are, and that shows that they are organized. Organization is the key to coming out of the apocalypse. Those people in there are geniuses Floyd,” Chet said. Floyd listened to the screams and curses from the inside and shook his head.

  “Sounds like a nightmare in there.”

  “Sounds like advancement to me,” Chet said. “They’ve probably started farming, dug new wells and organized a system of governance. This is the new Eden Floyd. We should be a part of it.”

  “Why the Uzi?”

  “You might as well ask me why I breathe,” Chet said. He began to climb up the wall’s incline.

  Floyd rolled his eyes, took a shotgun out of the car and followed.

  Chapter 35

  Inside, the compound was utter chaos. People were running in all directions, shooting guns or wielding other bladed or blunt weapons. Fires dotted the grounds. Buildings and cars burned. There seemed to be no meaning to the violence. Floyd pointed off to the west end of the compound.

  “Looks like they have a greenhouse in there. They may be farming,” he said. “I even see a type of water wheel generator. They may have a steady supply of electricity although
it doesn’t look like much.”

  “This place is very well organized,” Chet said, dodging a bottle that was thrown at his head. “I could live here.”

  “I wonder why the violence,” Floyd said.

  “Let’s go find out,” Chet said. He jumped down into the compound, landed with and audible thump and lay on the ground.

  Floyd climbed down after him. He leaned over and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Misjudged the distance on that drop a little, huh?” Floyd said.

  “I’m just going to lay here awhile,” Chet said.

  “No sleepy time now buddy. We have to get up and get moving before you end up trampled,” Floyd said. “You dropped like twenty feet.”

  Chet got painfully to his feet; he hadn’t yet gotten back all his wind.

  “It’s not exactly record breaking for me. I’ve launched myself from higher.” Chet raised his Uzi over his head and fired off several rounds. Three men stopped what they were doing and face him, one who held a gun and two who held shovels. All three were bloody and burned. Chet leveled his Uzi at them.

  “Take me to your leader,” he said.

  “Kill them!” the man with the gun said. He and Chet shot at each other at the same time. Both went down.

  Floyd pulled the shotgun from behind his back and blew a hole in one of the charging men. The other dropped his board from the shock of the blast. He raised his fists.

  “Drop your gun and fight me like a man,” he said.

  “No thanks,” Floyd said. He fired the other round into the man’s chest, killing him instantly in a spray of guts and bone.

  Floyd pulled Chet back to his feet. “That’s like the second time in five minutes I’ve had to pick you up off the floor. Get yourself together man,” Floyd said. “Are you hit?”

  “In the shoulder,” Chet said smiling. “That means two things—” Chet was interrupted by a flaming piece of debris that hit him.

  He dusted himself off and slapped at his smoking clothing. “That means two things,” he repeated. “One I am the hero. Only heroes get shot in the shoulder. Two, as a hero, I am invincible. I cannot be killed.”