|
The shine of the headlights reflected off the eyes of the ’Deaders’ with a dull gray glow. The name "Flying Skwirl" now clearly visable on the back of the disabled trailer.  Flying Skwirl is the name of a booth ran by some more good friends of ours, Bill and Debbie. They had had to leave faire earily Saturday morning for some kinda of business thing that had come up.  In the back of my mind I had hope that they had gotten far enough away to avoid any of this mess. Now it appeared that some of the fears that had haunted the darker places of my mind had come true. "We have to see if they’re okay" I said. "It will be hairy." Robert answered. "Me, Trey and Stevil, will fight through." Snipes voice had a air of authority as he took control of the problem, "Robert, get the engine running, Kathy, Rellie, Gypsie cover our asses. As Snipe stepped out the door he gave a little smile, "God save the Queen!" then he stepped out in to the night. Stevil was up next, " God bless America." then he was gone. I was close on his heels, "Except Idaho, FUCK Idaho!" my friends chuckled as the tension broke and I followed my buddies into the night.  The first thing I noticed as I stepped outside was the smell. It was wasn’t the gut wrenching stench that I had expected, but more of a musty smell. Like damp mold.....and french fries. Damn Bio-Diesel. I’ll never be able to eat fries again. Count to eight as fast as you can. That is how fast Snipe pulled the trigger of his 1911. Nine of the nearest ’deaders’ collapsed and lay still on the ground. One of the shots must have been a "Two-fer". By the time you could count, Nine, ten, eleven. He had re-loaded. During the re-load, Stevil stepped forward and widened our path with two huge blasts from the ’sawed off’. Dead heads exploded into a gray green mist.  When Stevil re-loaded I covered. Flashing and slicing with my blades like one of those chefs at a  Japanese restaraunt. Cut, stab, flip. Cut, stab, spin. Now if I could just master the Onion Volcano. We kept fighting all the way past the trailer to the vehicle. All the doors were wide open and our friends were no where to be seen. I yelled out their names in frustration, but the only response that came back was the moans of the ’Deaders’.  Snipe found a scratch pad on the drivers seat. These words were written on it. "White Boots" "Vegas" and an address that was hard to make out in this light. Steve Moore, Myth & Magic
|
