“But not a bad idea,” another guard said. “No matter how much you cooked him, you would always think you were tasting crap.”
“That’s what I always said,” Chet said. “And now as my final act of defiance!” Chet pinched his face and he turned a deep red. Floyd grabbed his arm and put his face close to his.
“For the love of Pete, Chet don’t do it,” Floyd said. “Are you blind? It’s me.” Chet looked up with the startlingly obvious revelation.
“Floy…” Chet said. Floyd interrupted him with another slap.
Chet shook his head and then went into a very overacted plea. “Oh, great and very scary executioner, please don’t kill me! I throw myself at your feet! I am so very, very, very, very scared, and I don’t want to die!”
“That’s enough,” Floyd said. “Let’s go.” Chet lay down on the floor and blubbered at his feet. Floyd tried to kick him away. “I said that’s enough! Don’t overdo it! Let’s just go.”
The guards looked at each other, slightly confused. They picked up the squalling Chet and marched him outside.
The hanging platform was about fifty yards away. The community people were lined up on either side of the expanse of grass. Before the guards reached the crowd, they spread out from Chet, who would have tried to escape if he wasn’t so well shackled.
When the first stone flew from the crowd and hit him on the head, he knew why the guards had given him such a wide berth. Soon stones pinged off his abused flesh, some hitting him so hard that he fell to his knees.
According to what Floyd had learned of executions here, most people were so badly hurt before they even made it to the block that they had to be carried to their eventual death. Every time Chet was knocked down, he got back up until about twenty feet from the platform. A jagged stone hit him square in the nose, and he dropped hard to the ground. Floyd would have moved over to help him the rest of the way, but he noticed that Chet palmed the sharp stone under his stomach, and he made sure to stay well back.
Two guards came over to pick him up. When the first one brought him to his feet, Chet spit a large gob of blood in his face and slammed the stone between his eyes. The guard dropped, instantly killed from the blow.
The second guard tried to take the stone away and found himself choked to death by Chet’s ropes. More stones sailed in from the people, and they began to close in. It seemed that Chet wouldn’t even stay alive long enough to be hanged. “Why couldn’t he have just waited for me?” Floyd thought. “He’s so impatient.”
Just before the multitudes jumped upon Chet, an automatic machine gun blast made them halt in their tracks.
Zukov himself was on the platform, thundering off an assault rifle into the air. With a wave of his hand the crowd parted. Chet lay under the guard he just killed, gasping for air.
“Let’s do this properly,” Zukov said. “I’m having this man hanged, not torn apart like we’re some sort of savages. I would suggest that you all stop throwing stones at him though. He’s pretty fricking dangerous.”
Chet shoved the guard off of him and stood up. “Are you going to behave?” Zukov asked him. Chet nodded. “Executioner. Bring him up here to be hanged.”
Floyd stepped forward, gripped Chet by the arm and led him up the stairs.
“Feel free to save me at any time Floyd,” Chet said through clenched teeth. “you seem to be taking your sweet time about it.”
“I have a plan. Just don’t mess it up,” Floyd said. “Now shut up before Zukov hears you.”
Floyd took Chet to the platform and put the noose around his neck. He stepped back and let Zukov address the crowd.
“This man is being put to death for the murder of a community member and the attempted murder of me, the community leader,” Zukov boomed. “Do you have any last words?”
“I do,” Chet said.
Chapter 46
Chet stood on the hanging platform and addressed the crowd. “These are my final words. Let them be a testament to the Chet’s that come after me. A Chet can be killed in name but not in spirit. I admit fully to killing the woman. She was my best friend’s girlfriend, and I laid down her life for him. It makes more sense when explained, but I don’t have time for that now.”
Chet cleared his throat. “I would like to say that I did not attempt to murder the community leader Zukov. I’ve never attempted to murder anyone. If I had tried to kill him, you can rest assured that he would be very much dead at this moment. His presence should be enough to exonerate me on all charges to that account.”
Zukov harrumphed at that. Chet ignored him. “This is my final moment. I have lived a full life, although not a long one. I would like to formally state that I give all my material possessions to Floyd. Except for my pipes and tobacco. He doesn’t appreciate them. He smokes stinky cigars that make him smell like the inside of a opossum’s urinal tract.”
Floyd stifled an outburst with a hard cough. He would get Chet for this. “I would like to repent for all the bad things I have done in my life. My only regret is that I cannot avenge my own death and kill all those involved. Boy that would have been sweet. If any of you out there would like to take advantage of doing my revenge for me, since I’ll be dead, I would be delighted, and I now proclaim you an honorary Chet. I would knight your formally, or something, but I don’t know how. I don’t have the formal coronation figured out. Just proclaim yourself a Chet and that should be enough. Then you are free to take sweet, sweet revenge on my behalf. That’s about it. Hang away.” Floyd walked over to Chet and tightened the noose around his neck.
“Are you ready for this?” Floyd asked
“You are going to rescue me, right?” Chet said.
“Sure I am,” Floyd said. He stepped back from the trap door.
“It really doesn’t seem like it,” Chet said. “Our window of opportunity is really running out.”
“Trust me,” Floyd said. He put his hand on the trap door brace.
“Sweet mercy,” Chet said. Floyd pulled the handle.
The trap door opened, and Chet dropped through. The rope twanged with an audible snap. For a moment Floyd thought Chet’s neck had broken, but looked through the hole, he saw him weakly kicking his legs. Still alive.
Zukov laughed and clapped Floyd on the arm. “Well done executioner. He must have had a pretty tough neck. It will be good to see him struggle a little bit. It may take some blood lust out of these people.” Floyd nodded.
“I’ve seen him almost die so many times,” Floyd said. “I didn’t think his neck would snap right away. It’s just not like him to die.”
“What are you talking about?” Zukov said.
“I told you I wouldn’t let you kill my friend,” Floyd said. He took off his hood and Zukov’s eyes went wide.
With a strong swipe of the axe, Zukov’s head went spinning off his shoulders. His neck stump spouted the first three rows of people with blood. A second swing of the axe cut the noose. Chet fell to the ground with a thump. Floyd dropped thought the hole in the trap door after him and quickly cut his bonds with a knife. The crowd was stunned for only a moment, but it was enough. Floyd handed Chet Zukov’s assault rifle, and he turned and hewed left and right with the axe at the multitude of people. Chet cut through bodies with bullets left and right, like a sickle cutting wheat.
Chet turned to Floyd and said, “Harrgh. Hugfff. Hugpt.” The rope had messed up his vocal cords some. Floyd nodded like he understood and went back to swinging his axe. The crowd backed up.
“Now is the time for a new order. This regime is at an end!” Floyd yelled. “The community is crumbling! Take what you can. Every man for himself!”
The people turned and ran in all directions. Some still came at Chet and Floyd with the intent to kill. Others left to loot or protect their homes and possessions. Within minutes, another full riot was in progress. Eventually, Floyd was able to cut a hole in the crowd and pull Chet to relative safety.
“I think it’s about time we leave organized society fo
r awhile,” Floyd said.
“Agreed,” Chet rasped, rubbing his throat. They scaled up the nearest wall and left the community to burn.
Chapter 47
The Volkswagen was right where they’d left it. Cigars and tobacco still filled the front compartment of the car. Floyd lifted Chet into the back seat. He passed out the moment his head hit the rough seat upholstery. Floyd got in the car and lit a Padron Robusto.
The Super Beetle puttered to life. He put it in first and took off down the street at a slow pace. The cigar was a heavy one that made him feel a little queasy. That feeling made him aware that they were out of food. None was stashed in the car. Floyd put that from his mind as he drove on down the road. There was enough time for that later. Now was the time to find shelter.
He passed a lot of small stores but didn’t stop. Too many windows. That feeling of dread came back to him quickly. The community wasn’t exactly the safest place in the world, but he didn’t have the feeling that someone was going to jump out at him any moment and try to eat him. He didn’t realize how much he despised that feeling until it came roaring back. Driving the small car down the road, he felt exposed.
He turned the car down into the small residential area. Half the homes on the block were destroyed, but they wouldn’t have served anyway. He found what he was looking for at the end of the third block. A strong looking, two story brick house stood defiant among its half diminished peers.
It was the shape of a simple rectangular box, like most older brick homes were. All the windows were broken in, and the front door was missing, but that wasn’t much of an issue. He was tired, but there was work to be done and no rest until it was done. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway unless he felt completely safe.
No matter what a person did to fortify a home, it could be broken into. However, hearing smashing glass or tearing boards could give the resident the few minutes it takes to pick up a weapon and greet the invader.
He stopped the car out front and shut it off. He waited a full hour before deciding that the place wasn’t occupied. He got out and dragged Chet in through the front door, softly putting him on the wooden floor. As pissed as he was that his buddy was not going to be any help getting the place ready, he knew just by looking at him that Chet was a physical mess.
“You just rest up buddy,” Floyd said. “I’ll take care of this.”
Several hours later, the house was secure. The inside of the home was dark except for the single candle Floyd had burning. He’d found several in a bag in the basement, but lit only one for fear that someone would see the light.
The single flame flickered off Chet’s bloodstained face, the light caressing him like a mother soothing away hurt. Chet turned over a couple times during the fading light but never fully woke up. That was okay with Floyd. The work felt good to his muscles, and the silence felt even better. Floyd liked silence most of all, and he’d had little of it since partnering up with Chet, and even less being a part of that community.
He wondered if that was the last community left in the world. If it was the last place people gathered, it was better off being alone. There was just so much violence. Too much violence.
The people wanted to live in a civilized community, but had given up on hope and were only out for themselves. Grouping together means nothing when your mind is focused only on yourself. They would die in there just as quickly as they would out here. Outside they could die on their own terms. In there, they were dependent on the whims of the group. They could die for something that they didn’t believe in. Floyd thought there wasn’t anything quite as stupid as that.
The lower level of the building was locked and secured. Every opening was boarded up with furniture piled high to add resistance and potentially noise, should something try and disturb it.
Floyd felt safe enough to rest. His muscles ached but not as much as his empty stomach did.
“You feel hungry too fast now,” Floyd thought. “Getting regular meals has made a sissy out of you. You’re body has to get used to having nothing again.”
This cycle had happened to him almost constantly since the food ran out after the Big Death. The first three days were the worst, and then things got a little better. His body would just go into its rhythm of starvation and eat away at what little nourishment his wiry frame held. When the body stops complaining about discomfort, it basically gives up. Floyd was waiting for that defeated relief. It was those first few days of wanting and not having—they were the worst.
Floyd lit another Padron Robusto and reclined on the floor. “I hope you’re going to be okay Chet,” he said. “Goodnight.” Floyd blew out the candle and went to sleep.
Chapter 48
Chet finally woke up after three days. Floyd knew he was awake by the obnoxious groaning sound Chet made. It sounded like someone coming back from the dead. Floyd walked into the room to see Chet sitting up and scratching his chest absently.
“Hi Floyd,” Chet said. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” Floyd said.
“I’ve been out for awhile?”
“A couple days. We’re at a house several miles away from the community. It’s a strong place and well secured. There doesn’t seem to be many people around here,” Floyd said.
Chet rubbed his neck. He had a deep purplish bruise there that turned a darker shade every day that it healed.
“I would like to begin my three part apology,” Floyd said.
“No need for a three part apology,” Chet said.
“I need to explain.”
“No need for words. We need food. There is one thing I would like to know. How did you know my neck wouldn’t break?” Chet asked.
Floyd shrugged his shoulders. “I had a hunch.”
Chet nodded and looked down. “You have good intuition Floyd,” Chet said. “The last time was hung, same thing. I have a strong neck.”
“The last time you were hung?”
“I am done with all that!” Chet waved his hand impatiently. “We’ve got to get food, or we’ll end up with the same problem we had weeks ago. I don’t feel like saying eenie-meenie-minie-mo with a family anymore. I am not a cannibal. I don’t want to eat human flesh.”
“I don’t think it will come to that again,” Floyd said.
“That is all right and good, but I’ve heard that song before.” Chet rose shakily to his feet. His twitch was coming back. “History repeats itself if you don’t pay attention. We could be in the very same place we started. We have to be careful. We have to be planners Floyd. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days reacting and responding. I want to be a team of forethought. I want to be ahead of the game.”
“We should scavenge.”
“That’s a thought for starters,” Chet said. He slapped his legs hard. “I’m missing some feeling in my legs Floyd. Did you rotate me some while I was out?”
“Not really.”
“You’re not much of a nurse Floyd. I could have bed sores. You have to turn me Floyd.” Chet slapped his legs and arms a few more times. He jumped up and down clapping his hands and spit in a corner. “I’m ready to go.”
“Are you sure you don’t have to do any more slapping or spitting?” Floyd said.
“Don’t make fun of me Floyd.”
“You’re back down to your knife,” Floyd said. “I have this axe, but that’s it.” Chet’s face broke into a deep frown.
“All our sweet guns are gone?”
“All our guns are gone,” Floyd said. “Back to the Stone Age.”
Chet slipped his knife into his belt. Floyd held his axe in one hand. They looked out the front door for a long time, trying to see any signs of life, but there was nothing to see. The world looked gray and lifeless.
If it wasn’t for the breeze rustling things, they would have thought they were looking at a depressing painting. Everything was still and dead. It was so eerie that neither of them reached for a smoke. The dread Floyd was feeling must have been mirrored in Chet. If there w
as tobacco to be had, Chet was usually smoking constantly when he was awake.
“Maybe he is trying to be a man of forethought,” Floyd thought.
They eased off a couple boards from the home’s side window and snaked their bodies out.
“I don’t appreciate your comments about the Stone Age,” Chet whispered.
“Do you think we could talk about this later? I’m trying to listen for signs of life. It’s too quiet here.”
They slunk from house to house. They didn’t plan on moving like this. Things seemed so desolate that they more than likely could have walked in the middle of the street. Maybe it was their lack of practice that made them so nervous. They did have a lot of very odd and painful events happen to them lately. Sometimes getting back to the norm is that hardest thing of all.
“I don’t want to wait until later,” Chet said. “This is important. I need to set the record straight. There was no Stone Age. The earth isn’t even that old.”
“Okay. We’ve had this conversation before.”
“All those fossils of dinosaurs, you couldn’t make them now if you tried. The intense pressure that turned those bones to rock came from the flood of Noah. The world opened up from the inside out. Rain came for the first time and washed everything in a torrent of water and God’s wrath. Animals were swept away and covered within mere moments. That’s the only real way it could have worked.”
“Scientists seem pretty sure,” Floyd said.
“They are full of crap,” Chet said. “Those charlatans find something they don’t understand, and they just add a couple million years to the timetable. Just adding time doesn’t make the impossible possible.”
“They can measure processes like radiocarbon…carbon-14 dating.”
“No with an accuracy of millions of years. That’s ridiculous,” Chet said. “Stop goading me. “It pisses me off. They want you to believe that the Grand Canyon was created by small trickle of water over millions of years. That’s total bunk. Everyone nods their heads like this makes perfect sense. Ever wash sand away in the sandbox with a bucket of water? Goes super fast. Noah’s flood again. That water washed that hole in the earth within moments. Whoosh! You’ve got yourself a tourist attraction. It’s like going on a cave tour, and the guide tells you the stalactite takes ten thousand years to grow an inch, and you see an exit sign with one three inches long hanging from it. Those guys are all full of crap.”
Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 Page 17
