Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 (4 page)

Chapter 6

Chet and Floyd ate,
stuffing as much roasted dog into their sunken bellies as they could fit. Two grown, ravenous men didn’t leave much after their meal. In their stupor, they slept.

So deep was their sleep that they didn’t hear the group of men that walked into the bowling alley.
There were eight of them in all. The front two of the group carried shotguns at the ready. They moved nervously, knowing someone had entered their shelter, but not who, why or how many. They were pretty surprised to see two men sleeping soundly on the wood floor near lane seven. The smell of cook fire and meat still permeated the air.

“It’s just these tw
o wankers,” one of the shotgun-toting guys said. The other one snorted.

“Why do you always have to use those English slang terms
? You’re from Detroit.”

“What’s stuck up your wicket?
I can say whatever I cheerio want too,” the first gunner said.

“I’m going to stick my shotgun up your crumpet and pull the trigger if I hear any more
Queen’s English slang terms. You got me?” the second shotgun man said. The first nodded. “I’m going to wake them up.” He prodded Chet with his shotgun. Chet only swatted weakly at the gun before rolling over on his side. The man jabbed the gun hard into Chet’s ribs, making him jump and screech at the sight of the men. Floyd slept on.

“What the hell are you doing here!
Are you going to eat me?” Chet yelled, kicking Floyd in the ribs. Floyd rolled over.

“We’re not going to eat you
,” the first shotgun man said.

“You
are
going to eat me. I know it!” Chet shrieked again and tried to make a grab for his backpack, but he was kicked back on the floor. “You may eat me, but by God you won’t like it. I have been planning this for months! Do you know what I’m going to do?” Chet asked.

“What are you going to do?”
the second shotgun man said. It was unusual to see anyone they came across so loquacious. Most just simpered or cried. This was definitely interesting or, at the very least, mildly entertaining.

“I will tell you what I’m going to do
, and you can’t stop me. I have the drop on you,” Chet said as he struck a fighting stance pose. “I am going to crap myself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?
You’re going to crap yourself?”

“That is right.
I am going to crap myself, and I’m going to rub the filth all over my body. Just rub it all over me, over and over again.” Chet mimed rubbing his hands over his body. “That will show you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You may eat me if you like. I knew this day was coming. I knew this would happen. Floyd told me it was a good possibility.” Chet gestured to Floyd, who rubbed his nose in his sleep and snorted. “But I will have the last laugh. My final act, as dirty as it may be, will be my triumph.”

“Being eaten will be your triumph?”
The first shotgun man said and laughed.

“It will!”
Chet almost screamed. “I will crap myself and rub the poop all over me. No matter how much you wash me, no matter how much you flay my skin, no matter how much you roast, cook or boil me, there will be that faint notion in the back of your mind.”

Chet tapped the back of his head.
“There will be that faint reminder that, while gorging on my flesh, you will taste or think you taste a bowel movement. Whether it’s there or not, it will be there in your minds. Who will be the first to have a taste?” Chet raised his arms wide. “Who will be the first to eat me? Taste the shit of Chet!”

The group of men looked at each other, down at the sleeping Floyd then back at Chet.
“Not our problem. The dogs will be the first to nibble on your flesh. Not us. We have a quota to bring back.” the first shotgun man said. “It’s not frequent that we entertain people in our own place of shelter. That painted sign usually alerts people to stay away.”

“I told you so
,” Floyd said from his spot on the floor. Maybe he wasn’t asleep after all.

“The dog fighting stuff is real?”
Chet asked incredulously. The second shotgun man nodded. “Oh, man.” Chet sat back on the wooden floor.

“You didn’t mess yourself yet did you?”
the second shotgun man said.

“No.
I didn’t really have to go anyway. It’s rough when you haven’t eaten in awhile, you know?” Chet said. The men hauled them to their feet, tied their hands behind their backs and led them out the door.

Chapter 7

“It’s good to be alive Floyd,” Chet said.

“I agree.
I like living as much as the next man,” Floyd said. “It’s the dying that concerns me. The dying part looks to be rather unpleasant.”

“I do admit things on the horizon could have a rosier outlook.
But we have the moment Floyd.”

“We do have the moment
,” Floyd said. He tapped his scarred knuckle on the locked gate of their little cell. Their kidnappers allowed them to stay together, but there were a lot of places nicer than this.

Their cell was six
feet by six feet square. Concrete blocks were stacked high at their sides and back. Wood planking was used for roofing. The cells were rather crude things.

Floyd thought he counted twenty
, all told. The cells were facing each other in a large dirt-floored circle. Their wood ceiling creaked with the sound of people moving about. Floyd hadn’t seen this many people in a long time. All were hustling and elbowing each other for the best seats. Once in awhile a person fell into the ring circle and ran around frantically until a Good Samaritan pulled them back up to safety.

“They really don’t want to be down here with us
,” Chet said. “I’m kind of feeling insulted.”

“You see what’s in those cells across from us
? I wouldn’t want to be down here either if I could help it,” Floyd said. Chet followed his gesture to a cell directly across from theirs. A huge dirty white dog, looking more wolf to Chet than dog, was snarling and biting at the bars of his cage.

Several of the cells held dogs.
The canines varied in breed and looked either sick and famished or half crazy with bloodlust. The motley curs matched the odd assortment of men, woman and children who were the residents of the other cages.

“What I don’t get is how they pick who ends up in the cages and who gets to watch.
We look just the same as they do,” Floyd said.

“They must see something special in us Floyd.”

“Maybe it was your incredibly moving speech about crapping you pants,” Floyd said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not always about what you say
,” Chet retorted. “It’s
who
is saying it. I have a certain panache that really speaks to people Floyd. Hitler had it.”

“Hitler was a horrible person!
He orchestrated unspeakable things,” Floyd said aghast.

“I’m not talking about what he did or about his ideals
,” Chet said. “I am talking about his style. The dude could give a speech. You have to admit at least that Floyd. He could be speaking about the genocide of the Jews or ordering a large pizza with extra bacon; he would have your complete attention. It was his
persona
.”

“You think you have persona?
I don’t even know what you mean by that.”

“Can you feel it radiating from me?”
Chet asked.

“You’re an idiot.
How the hell are we going to get out of this mess?” Floyd asked.

“You call me an idiot Floyd
, then in your next breath you want my help. I should let the dogs rip you to pieces while I laugh my head off, but I will not do that. I have already proved to you what I good friend I am and what a bad one you are. Have I not obtained our weapons?” Chet said, patting the frayed backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, but only because they laughed at your blunted throwing stars.
I bet they think it will just enrage the dogs further and give everyone a better show,” Floyd said.

“What about your shotgun?”
Chet said.

“What about it?”

“You still have your shotgun, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about that Chet.”
Floyd crossed his arms and frowned. When the kidnappers were looking through their weapons. They quickly confiscated Floyd’s gun until Chet started laughing and regaling the men with how Floyd made his own shells for the gun and how they never worked.

Floyd was red with embarrassment as the men looked over his homemade shells and snickered.
He almost died when they handed the gun back to him and pretended to be scared he was going to shoot them.

“I think we should.
I should get some due for getting you back your gun,” Chet said.

“Okay.
Okay, I’ll give you credit for that. Just shut up about it,” Floyd said.

“I have noticed that you haven’t been shooting with it very much since your first…attempt at making your ammunition.”

“That first time almost blew my face off. I still have those burn and shrapnel scars up my arm,” Floyd said. “But the gun works.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. I know how I messed up the shell the last time, and I know I have set it right.”

“But you haven’t shot it
,” Chet said.

“I haven’t shot it
,” Floyd admitted.

“You’ve just been kind of waving it around a lot.”

“Shut the hell up about it Chet! The bullets are fine. I just don’t want to waste any. That’s all,” Floyd said.

“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 call 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.