Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 Page 4

  “No need to be so touchy about it Floydypus,” Chet said. “Sweet mercy. Look at that!” Chet pointed across the dirt floor, and Floyd watched a small procession of men— all dressed in black with the dog emblem emblazoned over their chests— climb down a lowered ladder and walk to the middle of the pit.

  “I think we’re about to get started,” Floyd said.

  “They will know our names by the end of this day Floyd,” Chet said, fishing in his backpack for his favorite wave star. “They will call us the ‘Beast Masters’ or the ‘Cur Killers’ or something cool like that. They will write songs about us!”

  “Shut up Chet,” Floyd said, loading shells into his shotgun.

  “You know what your problem is Floyd? You just don’t have any zeal for life. You have lost your zest,” Chet said.

  One of the black clad men in the pit raised his hand and the crowd went silent.

  Chapter 8

  The black clad man lowered his hand when the crowd calmed down and addressed them. He was tall and thin except for a large paunch for a stomach that made the bottom half of his dog emblem swell, giving it the look of a pronounced under bite. His voice was deep and sonorous and would have lulled any suicidal off his ledge, but for his penchance to utter a jolting inhale that shrilled with a loud ‘Heep’ sound. The awkward cadence left his audience always shaken and never fully in groove with the flow of his words.

  “We have a great show for—heep—you tonight! Heep. We have the meanest—heep—dogs and the—heep—craziest and most blood thirsty of—heep—souls. Place your bets—heep—and make—heep—sure to stay well away from the—heep—ring circle. We wouldn’t—heep—want to have anyone fall in now, would we?”

  The men around him chuckled a bit at his words. The speaker did too, but began ‘heep’-ing so much that he quickly lost his composure.

  “Our game tonight will be as it has always been.” The speaker paused for a moment, as if surprised that he got through a sentence without his awful tick. “Cages will—heep—be chosen at random by throw of—heep—dice. One dog cage and one human cage will be opened for—heep—each round. As always, cages contain single or multiple humans or dogs—heep). The—heep—survivors will be allowed to live to fight another day. The loser will be fare for this evening’s festivities for those who—heep-heep—have money to pay for it. The price is steep, so bet well. We don’t want anyone to go home with empty bellies now—heep—do we?”

  The speaker looked around to his cronies who laughed and slapped each other on the back. “Let’s—heep—have some fun tonight!” He raised both hands, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Goods were exchanged as the first round of betting began.

  Chet and Floyd heard weeping mixed with some screams from the other cages.

  “Not a bad racket,” Floyd said as he watched the black-clad men climb the ladder outside the ring. They returned to the safety of their places of honor in the front, the best seats in the house. “They get a piece of the action as well as getting nightly meals.”

  “They are forward thinking. I will give them that,” Chet said. “Do we have a plan?”

  “How about don’t die.”

  “I can dig it,” Chet said.

  The speaker held up a pair of dice for everyone to see and made the first roll. Chet and Floyd tensed as the dice clattered in a wooden bowl beyond their sight. It didn’t matter much to them anyway; they had no idea which cage they were in.

  “He really should make this plainer to everyone. What if he’s cheating on what doors open?”

  “That wouldn’t be very sporting of him,” Floyd said sarcastically.

  The speaker raised one arm again and yelled over the crowd noise. “Cages three and—Heep—twelve!”

  The cage holding the huge dog sprang open with such force as the monstrous beast shoved his way through. Chet and Floyd couldn’t see the human cage that opened, but the dog must have shot straight into it before the person inhabiting it could get out.

  His screams of sheer terror compounded quickly with horrible pain. A loud snapping sound ended the shriek and, just as quickly as it had begun, the first round was over.

  Ladders were lowered as several of the black-clad men, who now held spears, climbed into the ring. They circled the cage of the snarling dog and held him at bay while one of their members stabbed the corpse inside and pulled him out.

  They didn’t move the dog back to his cage, but instead locked the door to the cell it was in now. It raged against the bars until one of the men chopped off one of the corpses arms and shoved it through the bars to the beast inside.

  Chet and Floyd could hear the dog loudly rending the appendage and wolfing it down. The corpse of the dead man was handed up to be prepared for the feast, and the men climbed back up the ladders.

  “They have a pretty good system here too,” Chet said.

  “Are you thinking of joining them or something? You are very complimentary,” Floyd said.

  “Only if they have a good dental plan. My teeth have really gone to hell. You cannot stress good oral hygiene enough Floyd! I hardly smile anymore due out of embarrassment.”

  “If all the animals are like that one, you won’t have to worry about it,” Floyd said. A woman shrieked. Floyd’s eyes jerked toward the sound.

  A little boy had fallen into the pit and was lying on the sand. The crowd laughed and shoved the woman backwards as she tried to launch herself in to save him. The child sat up and blinked at his surroundings. He seemed dazed and unsure as he stood up and regarded the crowd’s attention.

  He walked over to a cage and fell backwards as a couple dogs hurled themselves at the door, snapping their jaws. His eyes cleared instantly and he began to cry. The black-clad men did nothing to help him as they looked on with bemusement.

  “Bastards,” Floyd said

  “Center your chi Floyd. We’re samurais!” Chet said.

  “Time to—Heep—roll the dice again!” the speaker yelled and dropped the dice into the bowl. “Cages four and five!”

  Floyd heard the hinge of his cage click, and he dove headlong through for the sobbing child. He couldn’t hear the roar of the crowd and didn’t waste a moment looking to whatever crazed animal was about to tear him apart.

  He reached the boy within seconds and scooped him up one-handed by the ragged clothing. He flung him with one fluid movement upwards into the crowd.

  A man caught the boy and was about to throw him back into the pit when Floyd raised his shotgun and fired. His bullet exploded through the man’s chest, and he fell backwards, dropping the boy onto the safety of the wood planking. Floyd held his gun towards the crowd that now shied away from him.

  “The next person who makes to drop him down here will get a bullet in the head!” Floyd screamed at the crowd.

  Nobody made a move towards the child who was crying louder than ever. His mother ripped through the throng and grabbed her boy and, clutching him to her chest, waded back into the throng.

  Floyd turned back to help his friend and paused. A small, skeletal Chihuahua was w chewing on Chet’s boot. Chet was looking down at the dog dumbfounded. A few chuckles were heard from the crowd.

  “What the hell Floyd?” Chet said. “This thing is smaller than my foot.”

  The crowd was laughing louder now. The dog hopped backwards, pissed on the sand and went back to chewing Chet’s shoe leather.

  “Very funny,” Floyd said. “Looks like we got the easy end of things tonight.”

  “Good thing too. You left me high and dry over here,” Chet said. He picked up his boot and stepped down on the dog, crunching it under his heel. “Sweet mercy,” Chet whispered.

  He picked up the dog carcass and tossed it up to the speaker, who was laughing along with the rest of the crowd. The speaker handed the dog to one of his cronies and wiped his hands on his pants.

  “Please go back to your—heep—cell boys,” he guffawed. “Well done taking care of that one!” He indicated to Chet. “I think I will c
all you the—heep—Chihuahua killer!”

  More laughter rolled from the crowed as Chet and Floyd went back to their cell. The cage door clicked shut, and they sat down in the dust.

  “Well you wanted a name, and you got it,” Floyd said smiling.

  Chet grimaced. “At least we know your gun works. Do you think we’ll get some of that food tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Floyd said. “So far there are two men and one three ounce dog being prepared. We might get something, but chances are it’ll be something that used to walk upright.”

  The speaker stopped laughing enough to roll the dice for the third round. The game continued into the night.

  Chapter 9

  Chet and Floyd stared suspiciously at the hunk of meat that was handed through the bars of their cell during the night’s feast. It has long since cooled off, and the fatty deposit that smelled and looked so pleasing to the eye a couple hours ago had now congealed. It stank.

  “I’m pretty hungry Floyd,” Chet said. “I think I’m going to eat it.”

  “I don’t think you should. I think they know we don’t eat human flesh, and they’re messing with us.” Floyd stretched his back muscles against the bars of his cell. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was very hungry himself. The thought of tearing into that meat was constantly on his mind, but he didn’t want to risk it.

  “I don’t think saving one scrawny kid is an easy logical tangent to thinking we aren’t cannibals. We can’t say for sure, so it’s not really on our conscience anyway. We can assuming it’s not,” Chet said.

  “I can’t argue with you anymore today Chet. Let’s just eat it.”

  Chet picked up the meat and sniffed it for the hundredth time. The meat had a distinctly gamey smell. Chet tried to figure out what it was or what body part it came from but couldn’t make it out.

  “Remember that movie, Motel Hell?” Chet quoted loudly. “‘Meat is meat and man’s gotta eat!’” He chomped down heartily on the viand and tore it in two. He tossed half to Floyd.

  Floyd ate it in silence. The meal, which they took hours to bring themselves to eat, was finished within moments.

  Chet sucked his fingers. “Well, we’re cannibals now Floyd. There is no turning back.”

  “I thought it tasted pretty good,” Floyd said. “At least they feed us here.”

  “It doesn’t matter much anyway,” Chet said. “Today we eat their food, and tomorrow we are the food. How do you think we’ll taste Floyd?”

  “I think I’ll taste rather good.”

  “Do you think you’ll taste better than me?” Chet asked.

  “I will if you do that crap-in-your-pants finale,” Floyd said.

  “What if I didn’t do that? What would you say?” Chet said.

  “I would still totally taste better than you,” Floyd said. “I know I would.”

  Chet shook his head and looked at Floyd astonished. “There is no way in hell you would taste better than me!” Chet said indignantly. A couple groans and a few ”Shut ups” were heard from the other cages.

  “Just look at you Floyd! You don’t take care of yourself. You smoke stinky cigars all the time.”

  “We only had those things for a day,” Floyd said.

  “You have a foul and negative attitude all the time. You must realize that all those negative thoughts burrow their way into your marrow and spoil your best bits.”

  “My best bits aren’t spoiled!” Floyd said.

  “They sure are. The only edible thing off of you would be your chin. It’s very distinguished.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But the rest of you is rubbish,” Chet said.

  “I am not rubbish!” Floyd said. “I do take care of myself. I shower whenever I can, unlike you.”

  “I always shower!” Chet said.

  “Not in the last three weeks you haven’t!” Floyd said. “You refused even when we found a place with actual running water. I couldn’t get you to do it even though you smelled like ‘Free Double Taco Night’ at the laxative factory’s annual dance-off.”

  “I told you I couldn’t shower. The weather wasn’t right,” Chet said.

  “The weather is always the same.”

  “No it’s not. There was a cold spell that dried out the air. If I had taken a shower that day I would have developed dry skin and maybe even a slight rash that would have itched uncomfortably,” Chet said.

  “You stink Chet.”

  “You would taste terrible Floyd.”

  “Well don’t eat me then Chet!”

  “Well don’t smell me then Floyd!” Chet dove at Floyd and punched him in the face. Floyd ripped Chet’s shirt over his head and shoved him backwards, making him crack painfully into the cage. Floyd lunged, and the two rolled on the cage floor, punching, kicking, biting and clawing. It took six guards to pull them off of each other, and they were locked in separate cells.

  “Gives us one less cell to fill for tomorrow anyway,” the guard said as he ascended the ladder from the pit.

  The cells were dark and silent for a while. The only sound was a dog’s whimper from time to time. The humans may have been fed earlier but the dogs had not. A hungry dog makes for a better fight after all. It was Chet who broke the silence.

  “Floyd?” he called across to the cell Floyd was in.

  “What?” Floyd said.

  “Are you okay?” Chet asked.

  “Not really, Chet, no,” Floyd said.

  “Floyd I would like to begin…”

  “No, Chet! I don’t want to hear that again. Not right now.”

  “In a relationship you shouldn’t go to bed mad at one another. We can’t end things like this,” Chet said.

  “You know I really hate it when you call our friendship a ‘relationship’. We’re friends. We can stay mad at each other for as long as we want,” Floyd said.

  “Floyd I would like to begin…”

  “Shut up Chet!” Floyd interrupted.

  “I need to do this. I just won’t feel right,” Chet said. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” Floyd said, sighing. “Just get it over with.”

  “Thanks Floyd,” Chet said. “Floyd I would like to begin my three part apology by saying that I appreciate and respect you as a person. That I enjoy my time with you as my friend and that I would never knowingly hurt you or your feelings in any way, shape or form.”

  “You didn’t knowingly bite my right ribcage a few minutes ago? You didn’t know that would hurt?”

  “Do you want me to start over again Floyd?”

  Silence greeted Chet’s question, so he continued. “In my high regard for you there has formed a friendship. In a friendship there is sometimes conflict, and here we are now. In conflict. The two of us are conflicting. To end this conflict I would like to apologize for each and every transgression against you in my thoughts, words and, especially, deeds.

  “I am sorry Floyd. Take me back Floyd! I wish things were the way they used to be between us. I miss us Floyd! I miss us!”

  Chet burst into tears, and Floyd knew the apology was—thankfully—over. Chet’s three part apologies could last anywhere from two to thirty minutes, depending on how sorry or loquacious he was feeling at the time. He was glad this was a short one.

  “I am sorry too. Let’s just go to sleep and figure this out tomorrow,” Floyd said.

  “I appreciate that Flodykins. I do. I take it all back. I’m sure you taste delectable,” Chet said.

  “You just might find that out at tomorrow’s feast.”

  Chapter 10

  Floyd threw the blunt, wave-shaped throwing star underhand toward Chet’s cell. It clinked off the bars and landed several inches out of his friends reach.

  When the morning came, Chet realized he didn’t have any weapons in his cell. Floyd was left with everything.

  The guards ignored them when they asked to have the goods transported. Floyd was trying to throw some of the stars over to Chet, with little success. The sand in front of
Chet’s cell was littered with metal stars. Only a couple made their way close enough for Chet to grab them.

  “You really suck at this Floyd,” Chet said as he stuck his arm through the bars, trying to reach Floyd’s last attempt. “I’m done being nice about it. You suck.”

  “Keep it up, and I’ll start throwing these overhand to you. Although it’s really not much of a threat. These things are totally blunt,” Floyd said.

  “You choose your gear, and I choose mine. Keep throwing.”

  Floyd sent a star whirring towards Chet’s cell right on target. Chet ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the forehead.

  “Now we’re talking,” Chet said. “Any more?”

  Floyd held Chet’s backpack upside down and shook it. “That’s it.”

  “So we’re going to be fighting alone tonight, huh Floyd?” Chet said.

  “It seems that way,” Floyd said.

  “I think that’s a good thing,” Chet said, testing the blunt edge of a wave star. “You can’t take stock in yourself as a man unless you go it alone. We make a good team Floyd, but sometimes I feel a little suffocated. I lose my identity. I need to take a little Chet time. It’s high time I take a little personal stock in myself. Figure out who I am.”

  “I hope you enjoy your ‘Chet time’ tonight. Don’t die,” Floyd said.

  “Thank you Floyd,” Chet said. “I’m going to get a little shut eye. Talk to you later.”

  Floyd nodded, and Chet’s face disappeared to the back of his cell. Floyd wasn’t sure how Chet could possibly think of sleep at a time like this. They were in for a pretty rough evening, and Floyd couldn’t stop his mind from thinking anxiety-inducing thoughts.

  “I miss my cigars,” Floyd said to no one in particular. He wondered how his baby, the VW Skull Beetle, was doing. He wondered if it looked beat up enough to be left alone. Lord knows he wouldn’t think it would drive if he was walking by it.

  The smokes were piled up in the hood’s trunk space. Anyone who found that stash would think they’d died and gone to heaven.

  Floyd felt himself tearing up, but was nabbed out of his reverie by the sound of a cracked voice calling down to him.