Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 (20 page)

Chapter 49

“Found the food!” Floyd yelled from the upstairs bedroom. He had to shove the dead bodies of the family that lived there off the bed before looking under. He’d seen way too many bodies to become too serendipitous about it.

“Sweet mercy!”
Chet said. “Where did you find it?”

“In the mattress
,” Floyd said.

“Worth more than money
,” Chet called up. “Let’s have ourselves a little feast.” Floyd ripped the cans out as quickly as he could, not really bothering to see what they were. He was dead famished and needed to get something in his stomach quick. He’d been chewing on tree bark the last few days and that, to say the least, wasn’t cutting it. Chet looked worse off than he did.

“Look at this haul
,” Floyd said, dumping the cans he’d cradled in his shirt onto the living room floor. “We can ration these starting tomorrow. I need to have a full belly tonight.”

“Agreed.
Let’s get these open. My ribs are going to poke their way through my skin if I wait any longer. I need sustenance.” Chet took the can opener he found in the kitchen and cracked open a can of ravioli. He handed it to Floyd and ripped the tab off a can of Spam for himself.

“I still don’t think I’m hungry enough to eat that stuff
,” Floyd said.

“I need meat!
I don’t care! Don’t judge me. Protein is what I need right now. Sweet, sweet protein!” Chet took the whole slab of meat out of the tin and bit off a huge chunk. He never looked happier.

“Things are looking up for us Chet
,” Floyd said.

“Indeed.
Maybe this whole apocalypse thing isn’t so bad after all.”

“I don’t think I would go that far with things
,” Floyd said. “Today is good, and that is enough.”

“Enough for what?”
Chet said, garbling a mouthful of potted meat.

“Good enough for me
,” Floyd said.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

“You’re going to lay in bed all day tomorrow?
What will I do?” Chet said.

“I don’t mean that literally.
You are so single-minded. Try to stop all your preconceptions and just listen to me. I feel content with today and damn tomorrow.”

“Well why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”
Chet said.

“I did
,” Floyd said.

“With all of your philosophical airs.
I’m a blue-collar man Floyd. Don’t talk down to me. I won’t get it, and it will piss me off.”

Chet and Floyd dropped the conversation for the moment and ate their fill from the cans.
Chet threw his empties into the fireplace where they banged against the brick. Floyd stacked his like a college students beeramid.

When they finished, they lay down where they were.
Each in his own thoughts, they stared at the ten foot, water-stained ceiling.

Chat raised his
three-fingered hand in front of his face and looked it all over. He moved the remaining fingers and felt the scarred stump where the other two used to be.

“I am a maimed man Floyd
,” Chet said. “Now that I have a fully belly I can concentrate on other things. A man is not meant to just grovel for food and shelter all the time. Man was made to create. I am envisioning something now. No longer will I live as a cripple. I will become whole again. To do this I may have to robotize myself.”

“You’re going to try and make a prosthetic for your missing fingers
,” Floyd said.

“That’s the plan.
I haven’t truly
needed
those fingers. I can wholly get by with the three, although I doubt I will ever play the piano again.”

“You never played the piano in the first place.”

“Doesn’t mean that I would never want to or try and take the instrument up,” Chet said. “I am not stagnant in this life. I don’t sit here and rust. I am always growing in complexity. Yes, I will make myself some new fingers.”

“I think that’s a little more complicated than you think
,” Floyd said.

“That’s all in how you look at it
,” Chet said. “I have thought about just sticking something into the stump for some time. That way I could just wear gloves, and nobody would know I was such a dirty cripple.”

“I didn’t know this bothered you so much.”

“It does. I need to become whole again,” Chet said. “I think the edema process is complete, and I can begin the construction.”

“Edema process?”
Floyd said. “Chet that is a very bad idea. You don’t know what you’re doing, and it won’t work out the way you see it in your head. I don’t want you to be disappointed. Where would you even begin? What would you use?”

Chet was thoughtful as he pondered what he would do.
He frowned. “I guess I’m just not sure. Maybe you’re right. Just keep in mind Floyd, I want some new fingers.”

“Okay.”

“And if I can’t get new fingers I want something else,” Chet said. “I want my own car.”

“What’s wrong with the Volkswagen?”

“Nothing. It’s just not really me. I want a car with more muscle. I want to feel power. The VW is cute and all, but it’s not picking me up any chicks. Chicks don’t fall all over economy cars screaming, ‘Oh, you’re so practical.’ They want a man who’s not afraid of wasting fossil fuel. I am that man. I would also like to drive something made in America.”

“We don’t even know if the old county names mean anything now.
You do remember that the end times have happened, and we’re left fighting over whatever scraps are left. Nobody cares about that anymore.”

“I do Floyd
,” Chet said. “I am a patriot to the core. Whenever we run across someone on our escapades, I always feel a tinge of embarrassment when they see our car. I am all for America Floyd, and that means I need an American car.”

Floyd shrugged.
He was at least happy that Chet didn’t keep going with the prosthetic finger thing. He was still felt a small patter of dread in his chest thinking about how Chet would react when the fingers didn’t turn out right. Chet was not one for taking disappointment well. If he wanted a new car, that was fine with him.

“We’ll get a new car tomorrow
,” Floyd said.

“Thanks Floyder.
Much appreciated,” Chet said. He got up, plunked himself on the couch and fell into a deep sleep. With all that food in his belly, Floyd wasn’t too far behind. Floyd went upstairs and fell asleep on the bed.

Chapter 50

The next day found Chet and Floyd looked for cars. Cars were readily available, as they were scattered all over the place. There were scant few people left to drive them. The main issue was finding one that was serviceable. Too many of them were dead from misuse or non-use. Still, Chet had his pick, and, after about a half day of looking, he found his dream car.

“You’ve got to be kidding
,” Floyd said.

“This is the car of my dreams Floyd.
You’d better recognize that and behave yourself around her. She’s my baby. She’s my love. I am in love with this car Floyd.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.
A 1995 Thunderbird?”

“She’s got America written all over her
,” Chet said. “Just look at those fine lines. This is a great machine.”

“Thunderbirds were cool up until about the late eighties
,” Floyd said. “They were best around 1975. But 1995? This thing looks like a grocery getting, kid shuffling, gas saving, boring old sedan. This car sucks.”

“It does not suck
,” Chet said.

“This car totally sucks.
It’s a granny mobile, and I don’t want to be seen driving it.” Floyd crossed his arms.

“Good
,” Chet said. “It’s my car, and I get to pick. I don’t
care
if you like it or not. Can you fix it?”

“I can fix it
,” Floyd said.

“At least my car didn’t kill any Jews
, you Hitler-loving bastard,” Chet said.

“Where the hell did that comment come from?”
Floyd said. “There’s nothing wrong with my Super Beetle.”

“There is a lot wrong with it
,” Chet said. “Your car is the letter of pardon to that great man of war and genocide, Adolph Hitler. I found it very interesting that American’s were so in love with that car before the Big Death. It was always such a hit, both the old and new styles. It’s all a lie.

“
People forget that Hitler was
nuts
about the Volkswagen Beetle. There are several pictures of the freak drooling over them like a vegan with a bean curd burger. He was smiling, Floyd. How often do you see a photo of Hitler smiling? The only reason we forget that car’s past is because it’s cute, or we like it, and we try to change the meaning of it in our minds. That won’t work. It will always be ‘The People’s Car,’ Floyd. The Nazis aren’t my people.”

“I’m not a Nazi
,” Floyd said.

“Just think about what I said.
The Thunderbird may grow on you,” Chet said.

Floyd looked at the sensible lines
of the sedan and shuddered.

Chet got in and popped the hood.
Chet turned the key, which was left in it, and the car turned over. It was alive but not running very well. Floyd signaled for Chet to turn it off.

“She needs a tune-up and a lot of cleaning up, but that’s it.
Nothing major,” Floyd said.

“I sure can pick
’em Floyd. I knew she’d work for me.”

“Let’s bring her back to the house and see if we can’t scrounge up some tools.”

The Thunderbird made it back to the house easily.
Chet and Floyd set to work on it immediately. Floyd even joined Chet with a pipe. He had to admit, that tobacco was excellent, fragrant and savory though the apricots and cream flavored tobacco didn’t do anything for his sense of masculinity. By the end of the day that car was finished. Floyd admired his work, but still couldn’t quite get over the boring car. It was just too practical.

“We need some gas for it.
I’ve been checking the cars as we’ve been out, and most of them are bone dry,” Floyd said.

“This place is pretty tapped out.
That leaves us with only one option,” Chet said.

“I’m not going to Nanturks
,” Floyd said. “We almost died the last time. That guy is crazy.”

“We go
, or I’m going alone,” Chet said. “You need gas for the Skull Beetle too. You
have
to admit you are running on fumes yourself Floydy boy.”

“This time I do the talking.
He may give us fuel for some of our tobacco or food,” Floyd said.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter 51

“I would like to bring up something that I think you’ll appreciate,” Chet said. “You’ll notice that in all our adventures, my glasses have not broken once.”

“Bully for you
,” Floyd said. “Can you concentrate here? I know I don’t have to remind you what happened the last time we got a tank full of gas. Nanturks is no joke.”

The one and only gas station they knew about was Nanturks.
They could see it now about two hundred yards in the distance. It wasn’t like a person could miss it. Nanturks was an old 76 gas station that was somehow all lit up like a Christmas tree. Nobody knew how Nanturk was getting the electricity, and nobody was dumb enough to ask. In a world without light pollution, a lit gas station looks like the sun exploded in one spot. It was a sharp beacon. Like a luminous animal species, it promised poison and death to all those who got too close.

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm
,” Chet said. “You remember when I got these glasses? That eyeglass salesperson was all pissed off because I took the advertised deal of one pair for fifty bucks and an exam. They went through this whole song and dance about how there was no warranty and that the plastic lenses were sure to scratch. I had to tell them no over and over while they went through the whole thing. . I caught onto their game. They tried to lure me in with cheap ads and then run me through the wringer.

“
It turns out that I am wiser than they. I told them to give me the cheapest, biggest, coke bottle lenses. I told them I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything fancy. The fancier a person gets with their lens wear, the flimsier they get. All those thin wire rims they’ve sold out of that place have probably long since twisted and are in the trash heap of history. Where does that leave their owners now? Blind and wandering, that’s where!

“
Look at me. Fifty bucks and these things have lasted me years. I should have opened my own optical store. I would have called it ‘Chet’s Cheap-Ass Eye Glass for Your Face’ or something like that. I probably would shorten it a little bit. I don’t know. Anyway, you’ve seen what’s happened to my face. Been mashed in plenty of times. Ever broken my glasses? Not once, Floyd. Not once.”

“Are you done?”

“Chet’s Cheap-Ass Eye Glass for Your Ass,” Chet said and smiled.

Floyd took a long deep breath.
“That sign rules, except I would probably have some idiot take that literally and there would be some confusion.

“Why don’t you smoke your pipe Chet?
Let’s take a little breather before we get started?”

“Don’t mind if I do
,” Chet said.

“I need your mind front and center on this one
,” Floyd said.

“Okay, sorry.
I’m just a little nervous. Get a little wordy when I’m nervous.” Chet filled his pipe with some finely cut vanilla flavored tobacco.

Floyd actually like
d the smell of that one. It was well toned down from the usual apricot and blueberry mixture he normally smoked. Floyd was going to grab a small cigar but decided to join Chet in a pipe. The smoke was very good indeed, and Floyd considered switching over for good.

“You remember the unwritten rules about this place?”
Floyd said after a few minutes,

“I do
,” Chet said. “Do not drive up in your car. You will be killed. Do not look like you have any weapons on you. You will be killed. Bring a good item to exchange for gas or you will be killed. Do anything to make Nanturk mad and you will be killed.”

“Very good.
What are the chances that we’ll survive this one?” Floyd asked.

“Do you think that there’s really only one guy in there?
That can’t be possible. Why don’t we just run down there and take the place over? There’s only one guy for crying out loud. We should be able to take one guy.”

“
Lots of people have said that before you,” Floyd said. “I noticed you didn’t answer my question as to our chances of living.”

Chet tapped out his pipe.
“We might as well get going. My sweet ’95 Thunderbird isn’t going anywhere bone dry. Floyd?”

“Yes?”

“If I had a store that catered just to woman, it could be called Cheap-Ass Eye Glass for You, Lass.”

“Quit while you’re ahead
,” Floyd said.

“Done
,” Chet said and went back to the business of smoking his pipe. He lit up his most outlandishly flavored blend. It might be his last, and he wanted to make sure he drowned the taste of death in his throat, should it come.