Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 Page 5

  “Smokes? Tobacco? Do you Smoke?” the voice, which sounded like crunching gears lubricated with gin, asked from above.

  “I sure do,” Floyd said. “You have any?”

  “Do you have any? Do you know where I can get some?” the voice asked. It was common practice now to ask for something before offering what you had. It was a survival thing and as common practice as saying hello.

  “I don’t have any,” Floyd lied. A roll-your-own cigar dropped in the sand in front of Floyd’s cell. Floyd reached out and took it gratefully, even though he didn’t expect anything inside it to be real tobacco. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it.” The voice garbled like his mouth was full of volcano rocks. “How are you feeling for tonight?”

  “Saucy,” Floyd said.

  “Got any more bullets in that gun?”

  “I sure do. I must say I’m pretty surprised that I still have it, after killing that guy and all,” Floyd said. “Got a light?”

  “No. I can’t bring fire down there. Don’t you have anything?” the man asked. Floyd didn’t.

  “I’ll make due. You going to bet on me tonight? Make a little dough?”

  “I don’t think so,” the man said. “I know that this is all supposed to be a game of chance and all, but I don’t always think that’s totally the case. You with that gun and all. You’re going to be getting a pretty tough dog or two tonight. I can assure you of that. You can’t just show the leaders up like that and expect to get by without any scars. Should have just let that boy go.”

  “Not in my nature,” Floyd said. “You might as well bet on me. I’m going to pull out a win.”

  “If you say so,” the man mumbled wetly.

  “Thanks for the smoke.”

  “No problem,” the man said. Floyd knew he left when the man’s shadow vanished from over the pit.

  Chapter 11

  Floyd had a major moment of déjà heeping vu when he saw the black clad dog-men descend the ladder into the pit for that night’s festivities. It was the same individuals, the same speech and the same procedure for the starving dogs and captive humans.

  Floyd checked the shells in his gun for the twentieth time as the men ascended the pit and took their places of honor. The fights would soon begin.

  Chet had been awake for some time and was calling out to Floyd. “You have to do some stretching exercises Floyd,” Chet said. “You’re going to pull a muscle if you don’t warm up.” Chet stood up and did some knee bends and jogged in place briskly.

  “I think I’ll pass,” Floyd said sardonically.

  “That’s fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you tweak a hamstring and some dog bites your face off.”

  “You can say, ‘I told you so,’ if that happens. I won’t get offended,” Floyd said.

  “Are you worried about looking cool? Is that why you won’t do some stretching with me? Exercise makes you look like an idiot, true, but don’t worry about it.”

  “Shut up Chet.”

  “Word to the wise Floyd! It’s better to look stupid and have good cardio, then keep your stoic dignity and be rent apart. Death be not proud Floyd! I will count for us! Let’s do some ankle flexes. One! Two! Three!”

  Floyd didn’t join in and Chet put on a pouty look “Never mind Floyd. You just wait and see. Maybe you’ll listen to me tomorrow.” Chet went on with his exercises, and Floyd checked his shells again.

  “Time for the first—heep—roll!” the head dog-man said. He rolled the dice into the wooden bowl and called out the first numbers of the night.

  A cell holding three emaciated men and another with two vivacious bloodhounds opened. Both Chet and Floyd turned away from the bloodbath and screams.

  One mangled human had survived the ordeal much to their surprise. When the dead were taken away, the next roll was made.

  “Cell four and cell seven!” the head dog-man called out, and the cells were opened.

  Floyd gritted his teeth as he saw the bars of Chet’s cell swing wide. Chet burst from the opening into a barrel roll.

  “Sweet mercy!” Chet screamed as he rolled into a crouch with a throwing star held high in his right hand. His left hand was thrust forward in his favorite ninja-esque pose.

  He kept the pose and waited for a moment. No beasts came to meet him. Eventually his legs began to hurt, so he stood up. The cheers turned to laughter as another small Chihuahua dog limped over to him, wagged its tail and pissed down its own back leg.

  “What the hell is this?” Chet said, kicking the dog away from him. Its tiny yelp made the audience’s laughter roar. Floyd smirked.

  Chet turned toward the black clad men in the front row and yelled, “I am not some damn comic relief!” He stomped and kicked some sand. He kicked too hard and fell on his back, making the crowd almost fall over from mirth.

  Chet swore, picked up the dog and dashed him against the wall. He stomped back to his cell to the chanting of “Chihuahua Killer! Chihuahua Killer!” from the crowd. He sat with his back to the audience and sulked. Floyd clapped.

  The head dog-man, once he regained his composure, rolled the dice again. “Cells twelve and twenty!”

  Floyd’s cell opened, as did the ravenous monster dogs from the night before. The dog barreled toward Floyd’s cell, mirroring what happened to the hapless man yesterday.

  Floyd ran directly toward the beast, not wanting to be pinned down. The dog lunged forward, open jaws slavering for the kill. Floyd raised his shotgun and fired. Time seemed to stop as the hammers of Floyd’s gun sounded with a dead click.

  For a moment, Floyd thought he was dead.

  Just before the dog’s jaws closed over Floyd’s face, he caught a glimpse of shining metal as one of Chet’s throwing stars thumped bluntly off of the dog’s forehead. The small jarring blow stunned the dog long enough for Floyd to jam the shotgun muzzle sideways into the beast’s maw.

  “I am a samurai!” Floyd heard Chet yell.

  Another throwing star bounced off the dog’s flank, but the cur didn’t notice. It lunged hard backwards. Floyd held on for dear life as he felt his body fly upwards and over. He marveled at the dog’s strength as he descended. His body landed sideways on the dog’s hind leg, breaking it with a wet cracking sound that seemed to reverberate off the cell walls. The dog howled furiously and bit at Floyd, who barely scrambled out of its reach.

  The wind had been struck out of him by the impact. He was coughing and retching. He rolled over to see the dog writhing in pain. Its hind leg bone jutted clear through its skin. A throwing star bounced off the bone, causing the dog to thrash and yowl hideously.

  “Leave it alone Chet,” Floyd said. “It’s as good as dead.”

  Chet laughed deeply from his belly. “It killed itself!” Chet guffawed. “The dang thing busted its own leg tossing you around like a rag doll.”

  Floyd stood up in the ring and rubbed a hand over his abused ribs. The dog was whimpering at him from the center of the ring.

  “You’ve been here two days, and you haven’t killed one dog yet. That has to be some kind of record,” Chet said. “I killed two, small dogs or not. That dog should get credit for killing itself.”

  “That is one huge dog,” Floyd thought as he put new bullets into his shotgun and walked over to it. He didn’t hear the crowd cheering and yelling. The people were in a major uproar. Nobody in the house had bet on Floyd winning. Floyd thought the black clad dog men would be happy about that. Maybe they would give him an easier draw tomorrow. Just the thought made him tired.

  He pointed the shotgun at the dog’s head. “Time to die mutt.” Floyd looked into the dog’s eyes and fired. The shotgun exploded in his hands, sending hot shrapnel up Floyd’s arm and sending him backwards hard onto the sandy ring.

  “That’s how I remember that gun working,” Chet said. “Sweet mercy.”

  A couple men dropped into the fighting pit and dragged Floyd back into a cell with Chet. “It was never a good thing that we were apart.”
Chet told them. He gestured to the shredded fabric of Floyd’s clothes and the widening pool of blood. “Just look at him. He’s gone to pieces without me.”

  “That’s not funny Chet,” Floyd said weakly. “My gun exploded.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I don’t know what happened to it. It worked just fine yesterday.”

  “You astound me Floydinator,” Chet said. “How many different prototypes of shells have you made? Seven or eight? How many of those have you thrown out? None I bet. You have no patience for the scientific method. You have a belt full of ghetto bullets.”

  “In theory they should all work,” Floyd said.

  “If you theories were so sound, why don’t you ever test them? You always wait until you actually need to shoot something. You’re playing an awfully weird game of Russian roulette. Someday you’re really going to hurt yourself,” Chet said.

  “I did hurt myself.”

  “Don’t be such a baby Floyd,” Chet said, slapping Floyd on his sliced up forearm and making him wince. “Now you listen to me. I’m going to get us out of here tomorrow. Screw this place.”

  “Baloney,” Floyd said.

  “Baloney! It is not Baloney Floyd! Dang it you’re rude. I mean it, but I need your gun. We’ve got to figure out what shells have the best chance working and fast! I think we only have one shot at this,” Chet smiled. “Pun intended.”

  “I don’t want to know what you’re going to do, do I?” Floyd asked.

  “Probably not.”

  Chapter 12

  The nightly feast was in full swing. The delicious and gamey smell of meat wafted all over the place. It was fragrant and foul all at the same time.

  Chet and Floyd had already eaten their share for their toil in the pit. They no longer struggled with the morality of it all. They just hoped it was dog and wolfed it down. It wasn’t enough food to fill them, so the hunger pangs weren’t kept at bay for long. They could feel it in the hollowness of their bellies and hear it in the rumblings of their stomachs.

  Chet rubbed his complaining gut and waxed nostalgic. “Floyd?”

  “What?”

  “What do you think our chances are tomorrow?”

  “Slim to none,” Floyd said. He rolled over, turning his back to Chet. His body hurt. And the hundred superficial wounds from his gun didn’t help any. He couldn’t get comfortable.

  “You are such a worry wart Floyd. I have a feeling about this, and I can assure you that things will be fine,” Chet said. “We are going to have an adventure tomorrow Floyd, and you know how I like to think of times past whenever I come to a crossroad in life.”

  “How could I forget?” Floyd said.

  “I’m thinking about women Floyd.”

  “Oh no, Chet. I don’t want to talk to you about women,” Floyd said.

  “I can’t help it. It’s been so long since I felt the touch from the weaker sex.”

  “It’s the ‘fair’ sex. Not the weaker sex.”

  “Sex is never fair Floyd,” Chet said.

  “The fair sex is in reference to the woman being fair. Like ‘the lady fair,’” Floyd said.

  “I bet sex with you is always rated ‘fair’,” Chet said. “Can I go on?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Floyd said.

  “Oh, how I miss the touch of the ‘fair’ sex. Do you like how I fixed it Floyd? Good. How I miss making love on a woman.”

  “To a woman,” Floyd said.

  “What?”

  “You miss making love to a woman. Not making love on a woman.”

  “Floyd I never asked your opinion on how to make love,” Chet said. “I will make love any way I want to! You can just shut your mouth Floyd! I will make love on, to, in, out, over, behind, under and through a woman if I want.” Chet began to twitch with aggravation.

  “I don’t have a problem with what you do,” Floyd said. “It’s just annoying when you mix up phrases.”

  “Excuse me for not having a Harvard education like you Floyd,” Chet said.

  “I don’t have a Harvard education.”

  “I know, so shut up with all your haughty airs. I’m trying to relive something here. This could be our last night Floyd. This could be it for us. I need to enjoy this moment by thinking about my past moments. I need to center what Chet is and what he has meant to this world. I am centering the chi of my legacy. I need to prepare to bequeath Floyd.” Chet looked so downtrodden that Floyd regretted what he’d said.

  “I’m sorry Chet. Please continue.”

  “No. That’s okay Floyd. I don’t have much more to say on the subject of women. It’s true that I didn’t have much experience with them before things went sour, and I won’t likely now,” Chet said.

  “Look, I’m truly sorry about messing with you. I’m sure you’ll find somebody soon,” Floyd said.

  “I’ve never been good with women Floyd. How do you even meet one?”

  “You just go up to one and strike up a conversation,” Floyd said. “Find some common ground and build on it. When was the last time you picked up a woman?”

  “It was that woman that we were going to eat. We were going to kill her, but we couldn’t. Then those other guys did. She got whacked over the head and strapped to a truck bed, and she’s probably long eaten by now.”

  Floyd thought for a moment. “There is definitely room to build on that,” he said. “Look, Chet, you just need to forget about women. You’re probably thinking about them because we’re in a place where people congregate. Although it’s a little odd that you’re thinking about developing a relationship with someone when you’re probably going to be dead in a few hours.”

  “I’m an optimist Floyd .”

  “I know you are Chet. People just don’t live like this anywhere else. This is a weird situation here, but it won’t last. It will fall apart like the rest. Hopefully tonight.”

  “It just such a romantic place here. I get to thinking about the women,” Chet said.

  Floyd smelled the grease of the cooking meat, heard the howls of starving dogs and the wails of wounded people. He looked at his unwashed hands, streaked with dirt, filth and blood.

  “Your idea of romance is very unique.”

  “Floyd, can you please tell me about the last time you made love in a woman?”

  “Go to sleep Chet,” Floyd said.

  Chet did just that and, almost immediately, began to snore. Floyd gave Chet a little kick to get him to stop . They never slept in too close proximity because of Chet’s log sawing.

  The last time Floyd spoke to Chet about it Chet flew completely off the handle. He yelled at Floyd that he had an apnea and that he was sorry his disease was keeping him awake. He assured Floyd vehemently that he would do his best to suffocate in silence so that he could get his precious sleep. Floyd let it drop.

  Chapter 13

  “You’re not looking so good Floyd,” Chet said as he slapped Floyd on his scabbed up arms. Floyd jerked his arm back and shoved Chet.

  “Knock it off,” Floyd said. “I’m not doing so good. We need to get out of here.”

  “You haven’t changed your mind since last night? You’re not settling in to our new existence?”

  “Not really. I think we could do better than this,” Floyd said. They watched as the gathered crowd prepared for the nightly speech from the dog-men.

  “What is my part in the plan again?” Chet asked.

  “I’m glad you asked me that Chet because I want to make sure we’re absolutely clear on this. You do nothing. Your part in this plan is to stay back and do nothing. You don’t lift a finger. You don’t move a muscle. You…do…nothing. That is your part in this.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a lot of responsibility,” Chet said.

  “It wouldn’t be for a normal person,” Floyd said. “But for you I think it’s a pretty substantial request. I’m calling on your restraint here.”

  “I am a man of self denial. I am like a monk.”

  “You a
re like a pederast during ‘Naked Tickle Day’ at Disneyland. You have no self denial,” Floyd said.

  “You are questioning my discipline!” Chet said. “That is my whole idiom!” He began to twitch. “I never do that to you. I don’t go for personal attacks.”

  “You just slapped my injured arm.”

  “It doesn’t hurt like your words Floyd! Sticks and stones be damned, you’ve harmed me Floyd.”

  “I apologize. Just stick to the plan,” Floyd said.

  “I promise I will. I just want to feel utilized. I want to make sure I’m doing my part,” Chet said.

  “You are. You are like the lookout. You are always ready for action Chet.”

  “I am!” Chet said.

  “Just don’t take any,” Floyd said. Chet watched while the ladder descended into the ring. “Almost time to start now. Here we go.”

  “What about an audible?” Chet said.

  “No audibles,” Floyd said.

  “There is always an audible Floyd,” Chet said. “When a quarterback goes to the line and doesn’t like what he sees he calls an audible.”

  The black clad dog-men were working their way down the ladder and onto the center of the ring. The crowd was already working out their first bets of the night.

  “No audibles. Just keep to the plan,” Floyd said.

  “Forget it then,” Chet said.

  “Chet we have to do this now! The plan has to start now. We can’t just forget it.”

  “I need options Floyd. I need a back door. I need to be able to run away from the fire if it comes.”

  Floyd looked in desperation at the mingling men in the center of the ring. If they didn’t do this soon, all would be lost until tomorrow.

  “You want an audible?” Floyd asked.

  “I do.”

  “Okay you can do something under these circumstances only. ONLY!” Floyd said.

  “I’m listening, enraptured with your words, Floyd,” Chet said.

  “That’s great,” Floyd said. “You are allowed to divert from the plan only in the happenings of these specific circumstances: if something happens where we end up naked, burned and treed, you can call audible.”