Appalachian Galapagos - A Scary Rednecks Collection

by Weston Ochse

  "How you doing, my friend?" Frank shouted towards the shore as Lukas and Jimmy finally noticed the man. "Need a hand? Want me to throw you a beer?"

  The man removed his hat and bowed, a sneer parting his face.

  They drifted silently past. Frank and the boys watched the man until he became nothing but a black blot off in the distance, finally disappearing as the river wound once again through a break in the mountains.

  "Who the fuck was that?" Lukas asked. "Talk about weird."

  "It could have been worse," Lukas said, burping. "Could have been that retarded Banjo Boy from Deliverance. If we saw that dude, I would have started to cry easily. Talk about sissification."

  "Hell yeah," Jimmy said. "Whatever happened to that Banjo Boy, I wonder? He never did any other movies, I don't think."

  "What the hell kind of movies could he do?" Frank asked. "There ain't a lot of parts in Hollywood for retarded banjo players, I don't think. His look isn't in. I don't think Forrest Gump would have been all that good if the Banjo Boy starred in it."

  "Would have been entertainin', though," Lukas said, looking thoughtful. "I bet there's lots of people that would watch it. Hell, I know I would."

  "I heard he works at a gas station near where they filmed that movie," Jimmy said. "Still plucking away on his banjo and scarin' the livin' shit oughta people who actually recognize him. And you know, I bet that whole thing pissed off that city boy, no offense Frank."

  "What city boy?"

  "You know, the one who tried to outplay Banjo Boy. He smiled when he left, but you know he was pissed off."

  "That wasn't real, fool," Lukas said. "He was an actor."

  "Nuh-uh. The city boy was an actor. The Banjo Boy, he wasn't no actor. Can't you tell he was retarded just by lookin' at him? You can't fake that amount of inbreedin'. And anyway, if he was an actor, and I ain't sayin' he is, but if he was an actor then how come he ain't acted in nothin' else? The way I heard it was that they were practicin' a scene and the Banjo Boy joined it. It was so good that the director decided to do it for the movie."

  "No shit. That'll teach 'em. Just because someone might be a redneck don't mean they ain't good at somethin'."

  Frank nodded, the strange man all but forgotten.

  "I think the more important question should be what happened to Burt Reynolds. A couple of Cannonball Runs and his career was history."

  Lukas grimaced as he squeezed water from his mullet.

  "Frank, there are things I will tolerate, and things I won't. One of them is someone makin' fun of the Cannonball Run movies. You can't never go wrong when you put Burt Reynolds and Dom DeLuise in a flick. Fuckin' never. Even that Kung Fu fightin' fella with his flyin' drop kicks was cool."

  Jimmy nodded emphatically.

  "Shit yeah. And you throw Dean Martin, James Bond, and Jack Elam in that little mix and it's entertainment heaven." He grinned like a child, his red chubby cheeks cherubic. "And last but not even least, you throw some of them Adrienne Barbeau titties in there? Great God Almighty." He crossed himself like a dyslexic Catholic.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Frank said. "You boys are still lusting over the breasts of a woman who hasn't made a movie since fucking Swamp Thing, and had her best days as Maude's daughter. Sad, man. So sad. And that Cannonball Run movie may be one of the worst films ever made. Complete garbage. Hell, Burt's fake hair can act better than he can. How the hell can you like that movie? Is there a monkey in it or something?"

  Lukas and Jimmy groaned at the same time.

  "Frank, maybe it's best if you just changed the subject," Jimmy said. "Because I know the next thing yer gonna do is either make fun of Smokey and the Bandit or Convoy. And I'm tellin' ya, if you do that, we're gonna throw down right here in this boat. I ain't talkin' no sissy boy flyin'suplex. I'm talkin' cobra hold, pure and simple."

  "I agree," Lukas added. "A man that does not appreciate the titties of Adrienne Barbeau can't be much of a man, really. Even an asshole like Jimmy likes them titties."

  "And I'm pretty sure there is a monkey in Cannonball Run now that I think of it," Jimmy said, shooting Lukas a look for the asshole comment. "Monkeys and titties, two things guaranteed to make a movie worth a dollar."

  "Wait a minute," said Frank, holding up his hands. "I don't even understand how the fuck we got onto the subject of Adrienne Barbeau's titties. You guys fucking kill me." He stopped, looking them both over affectionately. "God, I miss the hell out of both of you. I miss retarded conversations like this. You guys are talking about the titties of a woman you lusted after in high school. Your idea of a crackerjack comic team is Burt Reynolds and Dom fucking DeLuise."

  Lukas turned and punched Jimmy hard in the shoulder. Jimmy glared wide-eyed and punched Lukas in the chest. Soon, the boys were wrestling in the bottom of the boat, water splashing and beers bobbing like apples in a commode. It wasn't until Frank kicked them for the second time that they finally stopped. By then, the boat was rocking dangerously and only the incredibly heavy water in the bottom had kept it from flipping.

  Like a pair of wet earthworms, the boys disengaged themselves and crawled back onto the metal front seat they shared. Lukas wiped blood away from the corner of his mouth. Jimmy shot him a hurt look.

  "What the fuck are you boys doing?" Frank yelled, pointing back upriver. "You trying to do what the Devil's Shoals couldn't? You swamp us and we are dead. And look at this!" He held up the two pieces of the remaining paddle they had left. "We don't even have a paddle and there is no way we are ever going to make it around Widow's Corner without being able to steer."

  Frank hurled the pieces far into the wide eddying water and sat down hard, holding his head in his hands.

  Jimmy sat up. "Sorry man, Lukas called me an asshole is all. He's my boy, and he should have my back when we argue with ya."

  Frank jerked his head up and stared bleary eyed. "He should? You're the one who asked who was the asshole that had the idea to run the river, and if I remember it right, it was you. I should have never even come on this trip."

  Although Frank's face was a study in the seriousness of life-threatening anger, laughter was waiting right behind his clenched teeth. He clenched them harder, afraid that if it escaped, it wouldn't stop until they dressed him up in a tailor-made straight jacket.

  "What, you too good for us all of a sudden? Are you so high and mighty you can't associate with your friends?"

  Jimmy was working himself up, but stalled as Lukas started to laugh. It began as a titter, worked its way quickly into giggling and ended in a beer-spewing guffaw.

  "What the hell are you laughin' at?" Jimmy asked, staring incredulously at his friend who had surely gone off the deep end.

  "It's just...It's just," Lukas took a swig of beer to calm himself. "I'm just laughin at Darwin, man."

  Jimmy and Frank stared blankly at each other.

  "Survival of the fittest?" asked Frank.

  "No. No. Them awards," Lukas said. "Three Tennessee rednecks, up shit's creek, a case of beer and..."

  "...no fucking paddles," said all three of them in broken harmony.

  They chuckled dryly, their animosity forgotten.

  "You know, I peed my pants back there," Jimmy said.

  "Me too," Lukas said. "I haven't been that scared since old man Coleman threatened to feed me to Vivi."

  "Both of you are sick. I can't believe you peed in your pants. And you wrestled in it too? Disgusting," Frank said, keeping his secret to himself. "Fucking disgusting."

  It was a long moment before anyone spoke. Finally, it was three simple words from Jimmy that sent Frank's urine once again flowing down his leg.

  "Shit. Widow's Corner."

  Frank shuddered, memories racing through his suddenly clear mind. It was the Boy Scout canoe trip and everything had been fantastic until Widow's Corner. Three of the nine canoes had flipped among the dangerous moss-covered rocks and shooting rapids. All the boys had been recovered except Robbie and Teddy. The Scoutmaster h
ad made camp near the still water below the rapids, and had dived under and around the creek with the Eagle Scouts in assistance, desperately searching for the two missing boys. It was midnight, when they had all collapsed around the fire, deaths upon their consciences. The younger scouts, Frank included, had all been terrified that night, most going to bed and crying themselves to sleep.

  It was the next morning that they found Robbie. Even now Frank's vision of the basketball-sized bite that had been taken out of the boy's sternum was Technicolor clear. But Teddy had never been found.

  The sound of the rapids was growing louder by the second. Even louder than the Devil's Shoals. Frank searched the bottom of the boat frantically, taking inventory. Floating in the water were about seventy full beers, a half roll of silver tape, a length of rope, pieces of cardboard from the twelve-pack holders, a miraculously unbroken Styrofoam cooler, and the ridiculous looking Bitch-Be-Quick Stick.

  It was the latter that began the idea that just might save them. "What the hell are we gonna do?" Jimmy asked, already shouting over the sound of the rapids that were still a hundred yards ahead.

  The Hiawasee was generally a fifty-yards-wide creek, winding languidly through the Tennessee hills. At Widow's Corner, however, it shrank to a maniacal fifteen-yard-wide, rock-riddled gushing mass of frothing water. And that was when the creek was normal. All the extra rain had succeeded in adding too much extra water to camouflage the rocks, making it insanely quick and land mine treacherous.

  Yet, as the idea took full form in Frank's mind, he frantically began to draft an internal map of each and every turn within the dangerous maelstrom. The childhood memories that he had tried so hard to forget were the only thing standing between death and a happy ending.

  That, and life lessons from too many McGyver reruns.

  Frank reached forward and grabbed the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick and the Styrofoam cooler. He shouted his instructions, and after repeating himself several times, the others finally understood. It was a scant ten yards before they hit the rapids that all three were finally ready to meet the Widow.

  They were secured and attached by the rope, each with a length tied around their waist and fixed to the crossbars of the boat. If one went over, the weight of the other two would at least keep him near the boat. If they all went over, they would stay together in a foamy death.

  Lukas and Frank sat in the front, back to back with the metal seat in white-knuckled grips. They held their feet out to the sides in order to keep them away from rocks that would crumple the boat like a used beer can if given the chance. In the back sat Jimmy, smiling a big, sloppy smile.

  They had no paddles, but they did have the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick, which Jimmy held like a goofy Italian boat driver. It was now their rudder, the cooler bound to the end of the stick with duct tape.

  The front end of the boat dipping into the first seductive trough of the Widow's rapids was enough to make Frank wish he hadn't had so much beer. Bile rose halfway to his mouth and stayed there. His legs were poised ready to cushion the rocks and push them away. Never had he imagined himself in this position. He could be at a board meeting, trying to sell advertising for baby food or new tires.

  That's what he was good at.

  That's what he knew best.

  The first jagged rock, like the chipped front tooth of the Widow herself, loomed large on his side as the boat picked up speed. He imagined it snapping at his leg and him coming back with a bloody stump. The water threatened to propel them directly into it and he closed his eyes and prayed. The current, at the last second, spun them away and he let his legs take the pressure, his boots pushing off hard.

  Another rock, easily ten thousand pounds, waited for them on the right. The scrape of metal, as the boat slid along the side, was relieved by Lukas' girlish scream as he pushed off as well.

  A sound intruded on the angry rushing of the rapids. It took a few seconds for Frank to recognize the strange noise as Jimmy singing at the top of his lungs. It was a few more seconds before he recognized the song and couldn't help but smile. It was The Devil Went Down To Georgia, by the Charlie Daniels Band, and the Hiawasee did indeed continue into Georgia. If they made it out of the rapids, they would be three miles from the border. Frank cocked his head and tried to pick up Jimmy's strains from amidst the torrent of angry water while he and Jimmy thrust aside the deadly rocks. They twisted and dipped along the roaring white water funnel and what he heard made him grin and gave him new energy to fight the Widow.

  Frank took a second to glance back and saw Jimmy standing tall in the rear, the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick steady in his hand, looking like Jonah, steady in the face of the whale. Frank spun back around and shoved with his feet, almost losing them as the boat hit another boulder. The front was dented in a three-foot arc, right where his feet had been resting on the edge seconds before.

  It was funny how all three of them joined into the Chorus, getting the words just right. Frank's heart leapt with the imagined fiddle music, his blood singing a fearful accompaniment.

  The creek slowed for a moment and Frank and Lukas exchanged smiles. They would have high-fived, but their hands intellectually refused to let go of the seat they both sat on. They turned back to the rapids just as Jimmy screamed. And Frank's mind crumbled.

  Twenty yards ahead, a log was lodged broadside between two rocks.

  The same rocks they had to pass through. Their screams and curses were lost as the boat hit the log and all three were propelled, first high into the air, and then deep into the roiling water. Frank bobbed once, but sank as his head hit the next rock.

  Before he lost consciousness, he had enough mind to call the Widow a Bitch.

  Chapter 3:

  The Flume Zoom...Dead Alive...Black Sabbath...A Fat Sweet Ass...Kansas Cry-Fest...Mortality Knocks...Conan The Destroyer...Who Wants To Be A Millionaire

  Frank came to knee deep in water. His elbows rested upon mossy submerged stones. A knot on the side of his head thrummed with the beating of his heart. He spit out a mixture of mud, blood and sand, relishing the awful taste, because it meant he was alive.

  Jimmy lay on a large granite slab several feet away, his hairy stomach protruding through his ripped t-shirt, the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick still clutched in a bloody hand. As Frank watched, Jimmy opened one eye and peered around. He shifted and his weight carried him off the rock and into the water.

  It took two tries before he was able to sit without slipping on the mossy surface.

  "That was in-fuckin'-credible, man," Jimmy whispered. "Like a fuckin' Disney World water ride, surfin' along on waves of Budweiser foam."

  Frank plopped down next to him. He rubbed his head and checked his hands for blood. He had been close enough to dying that he had stared Death in the eyes, laughed in his face, jumped down his throat, and been shot out his ass with supersonic force.

  "That's one way of putting it, I suppose! I'd call it a near death experience myself!"

  Jimmy managed to lift his head up slightly and stare at the creek and the way it roared by like a watery freight train, wind booming his mullet around his ears. Jimmy let his head sag as if he too knew how capricious the luck had been.

  "Where's Lukas?" he asked.

  "Fuck...the...Widow!" Lukas shouted from behind them.

  Frank had to laugh when he saw that Lukas had collected about a dozen full cans of Budweiser from the wreckage of the boat and was busy looking for more in the bubbly foam of the still water eddies.

  It was twenty minutes later, and a good hundred yards away from the angry noise of the Widow, where they finally sat, greedily wolfing down some beer. Their burps floated in the cool night air like carbonated sighs. They sat upon the forest floor as they drank, leaning back against a bed of ferns.

  Frank took a long draw from his beer and grinned. "I can't believe you actually saved the beer, man. You risked your life for fucking beer. That's actually disturbing."

  His fear had been replaced by friendship. He found it funny how his life
long friends could inspire and chase away the demons. The warmth he felt, right here, right now, could never be duplicated.

  Lukas laughed at the fates and ran his hands through his hair. "Some things is worth riskin' a life for, my man, and Budweiser is one of them."

  Jimmy tapped the Bitch-Be-Quick Stick into the ground. "Ain't that the truth." He clicked his can to Jimmy's like a champagne toast before taking a long swig.

  Frank sighed. "I guess I should admit I ain't had this much fun since we was in high school."

  Jimmy giggled and shook his head.

  "What's so funny?" Frank asked.

  "Nothin', man. You sound like one of us after some beers. You just used the word ain't in a sentence. That's like three times or somethin'. Tells me you don't use that word much in the big city."

  Frank nodded.

  "I feel like myself again. I don't know if it's the river, the beer, or you two redneck bastards." He grinned. "God, what have I become?"

  "You grew up is all, Frank," Lukas said. "Me and Jimmy, we're still like fuckin' kids. We drink and party like it's still 1982, man. We still have the same jobs down at the mill. We still drive the same fuckin' vehicle. Fuck man, I still wear the same Black Sabbath shirt when the mood strikes."

  "But you're alive, Lukas," Frank said. "You're living your life. Sure I have more money and I have a nice place...but...but sometimes I don't even feel alive. I've laughed so much since you guys picked me up, my fucking stomach hurts. When I'm home, I don't laugh at all. I just go through the everyday routine. There are days when I feel dead inside. You guys may not have lots of money, but you live life as it's supposed to be lived. I guess you have no idea how good that is unless you live like I do."

  "Maybe you should move back here," Jimmy said. "Hang with us a bit."

  "I wish I could, Jimmy," Frank said, "but I've built myself a life up there and I can't just throw it away that easily. There isn't any work around here for a man like me. I come back here now and I feel like a ghost. Everything is pretty much exactly the way I left it, but I'm changed."