Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 (21 page)

Chapter 52

Chet and Floyd put their offering for gas onto a pallet and dragged it the final hundred yards to Nanturk’s station. It seemed to them to be a pretty good horde. They’d spent some time going through the nearby homes to gather it all. There were some of the obligatory food cans, some of the best tools they could scrounge, batteries, a wind up radio, two propane lamps, one can of propane, Floyd’s battle axe, a couple good tarps and an acoustic guitar.

The only thing
s on the pallet they were planning to keep were the four gas cans they hoped would soon be fill with precious petrol. The instrument was Chet’s idea. Floyd didn’t like it. It was the type of thing that would either get you welcomed with open arms or killed on the spot. Hopefully, Nanturk was in a musical mood.

They were fifty yards from the station when they heard a deep, sharp voice over a speaker.
As Nanturk boomed out at them, a large flood light blasted them full in the face.

“Turn around!”
The sonorous voice boomed. “One more step, and you’ll be blasted into small pieces. This is my place, and you’re trespassing.”

“We need fuel
,” Floyd said. “We’ve brought items for trade. We have no weapons, except for the axe you can see behind us, which is a gift to you whether you trade with us or not. The axe has tasted blood many times over. It would make a great item for you in your time of vengeance.”

“What the hell does that mean?
Time of vengeance?” Chet whispered.

“I have no idea
,” Floyd hissed back. “It just sounds good, okay?”

“You may come closer
,” Nanturk said. “Any sudden moves, and you’re dead. If you don’t believe me, then just take a look around you.”

Chet and Floyd moved toward the orange glow of the station.
They had dealt with Nanturk before and knew he was both off-his-rocker crazy and a dangerous killer. Bits of bodies littered the ground around them, some newly killed while others were diminished to skeletal remains. Small craters dotted the charred ground they laboriously pulled the pallet over. When Turk came after you, he rained all sorts of hell down on his prey.

“There’s got to be more than one guy here
,” Chet said.

“I don’t think so
,” Floyd said. “Just be cool.”

They made it twenty feet from the nearest pump
, and the door to the station opened with a small bell sound. Nanturk strode out to meet them. His face darted from Chet to Floyd almost in cadence with his step. His eyes didn’t seem to move, his face moved as if everything was fused but his neck.

Nanturk was a bent over old man.
He wore black Viet Cong style fatigues that showed a small bit of chest and indicated that the ‘old man’ part of Turk stopped from the neck down. He was all muscle and scars. He was very fierce in his step and shot them a suspicious gaze that could easily morph toward fury. One of his hands held a small remote that had several red buttons on it. The other had an assault rifle pointed in their direction.

“Anyone comes within my
security cameras while we’re talking and you die,” Nanturk said.

“Sounds fair to me
,” Chet said.

Floyd’s breath caught in his throat.
Chet wasn’t supposed to say anything at all. He’d been clear on that just before they left. Chet’s mouth got them in trouble the last time they’d come here.

Floyd thought that they were the only people
who’d ever survived Nanturk once he decided they needed to die. He never felt any pride about it. Only relief. This was a feeling of déjà vu Floyd didn’t need.

“Why does that sound fair to you?”
Nanturk asked, turning his face full toward Chet. “Doesn’t sound fair to me. I could plug you if some stranger wanders in.”

“You could plug me anyway
,” Chet said. “I don’t have much to lose.”

“You could lose your life.”

“I probably don’t care much about it anyway, or else I’d never come here,” Chet said.

Nanturk took a step closer and peered at them both.
“Do I know you? You sound very familiar,” Nanturk said.

“We just want to trade
,” Floyd said. “You can take a look at what we’ve brought and see if it’s enough for some gas.”

“You’ve brought me junk.
I don’t need any of that stuff. Do I look like I need any of that stuff?” Nanturk said.

“I’m sure our offerings are very weak
,” Floyd said.

“Well
, why the heck did you let us in here anyway?” Chet jumped in. “If you don’t need our stuff, what are we doing here? Don’t you at least want our ceremonial battle axe of vengeance thingy?” Nanturk pushed one of the red buttons on the remote and a long string of explosions went off behind Chet and Floyd. They fell forward from the searing heat of the blast. Floyd looked around to see a line of fire, like an air napalm attack.

“That was awesome!”
Chet said from the dirt. “You really don’t need that crappy axe. Sweet mercy. That burned me a bit you know.”

Floyd stayed in the dirt with his face down.
He was pretty sure that this was where he would die.

“I’m going to kill you now
,” Nanturk said.

Floyd felt the cold metal of the rifle barrel against his head.

“What about the guitar?” Chet said.

Floyd felt the metal waver for a moment then the touch of it left.

“What?” Nanturk asked.

“The guitar.
Do you need a guitar?” Chet said and sat up.

“I’ve always wanted a guitar
,” Nanturk said.

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

“We’ve got one on the pallet
,” Chet said. “You should really take a look at what people have to offer before you go and kill them. You might be surprised one of these days.”

Nanturk walked to the pallet, put the remote in his pocket and took the guitar out from under the tarp.
He walked back over to Chet and put it down in front of him.

“For as long as I remember I wanted a guitar
,” Nanturk said. “That was when I was young, you see, before all this happened. Before I had to find some place of my own, lay low and survive.”

“You really keep a low profile here
,” Chet said as he gazed at the luminous pillar against the night sky.

“I’ve built this place up with my own hands.
I’ve killed many people over the years. Most came to steal my fuel, especially in the beginning. You begin killing, and the killing gets easier. It becomes second nature. You begin to see people and it makes no difference whether they’re alive or not. Like you two, you might just as well be alive as not to me. I don’t really care.”

Nanturk seemed to go off in his own thoughts for a minute.
No one spoke. Even Chet knew that saying something in this reverie would get him a quick bullet in the mouth.

Nanturk shook his head.
“Anyway, you get to a point where there’s less people around to kill. Physically they may be gone, but in my mind they are always there. Always watching. They’re not coming by themselves, like you two; they are making a small army. One that will sweep down on me and take all I have. I have to be prepared. Less people, less attacks. I have more and more time to build a defense. I have more and more time to build my weapons. I’m ready for them to come.”

“You must really think you’re special
,” Chet said.

“I am special
,” Nanturk said. “I have survived bullets, fire, disease, bombs, and death. I have survived death in so many ways that I no longer fear it. Death walks beside me always, like an old friend. I’m used to him. Look.” Nanturk lifted his shirt to reveal flesh marred with scars of all kinds. “I have lived through hell and survived. To live through hell you have to become hell itself.”

“Holy crap
, you are so boring!” Chet said. “You sound like a B-movie villain! I wish you would just shoot me in the face already, so I don’t have to listen to your long-winded crap anymore.”

“I’m coming back to the part about the guitar
,” Nanturk said.

“Baloney!”
Chet said. “You went on a total tangent. I am so done with you! Kill me!”

“No!”
Nanturk said. “I was going to kill you, but you won’t let me finish what I was going to say. I will not kill you in a senselessly. I want you to know where I’m coming from. It has something to do with the guitar.”

“What an honor!”
Chet said very sarcastically. “I get the honor of knowing why you’re going to kill me, and it has to do with the great guitar mystery. Well I won’t give you the satisfaction! I brought the guitar on a total whim. I don’t know why it’s here. Take the damn thing. I don’t care about your emotionally scarring back-story. Just kill me. You’re talking my damn ear off about your life. I just wanted some gas for my car. Now that I know I’m going to die, that’s it. I don’t need to know why. It won’t matter when my brains are all over the dirt. I don’t care. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about dying. I don’t care about anything you have to say. I don’t care about anything. The only thing I care about is not hearing you talk anymore! Do me a favor and shoot me.”

“
No!” Nanturk bellowed. “You have to hear me out.”

“Can you believe this guy, Floyd?”
Chet said.

“Leave me out of this
,” Floyd gurgled from the dirt.

“I was…you’ve completely ruined my mojo
,” Nanturk said. “I was going to go you about how I always wanted a guitar and then reveal to you—in a dramatic way—my mangled hand.”

Nanturk took off one of his gloves.
He was missing the two last fingers on the hand. “Then I would have charged you with mocking me with your gift.
Then
I would have killed you. You’ve kind of ruined that now.”

Chet stood up.
“I don’t appreciate this visit at all,” Chet said. “First you bore me with you never ending story, and now I think you’re going to send us off without any gas.”

“This whole thing doesn’t work for me anymore
,” Nanturk said. “I’m feeling very nihilistic about this whole event. You might as well leave. At least you’ll have your lives.”

“I’m okay with that
,” Floyd said.

“Be quiet Floyd
,” Chet said. He turned away from Floyd and resumed talking with Nanturk. “You think you’re so special. With all your scars and your old head and your missing fingers. Look at this.” Chet lifted his shirt to reveal his own twisted and mashed torso. “And these didn’t happen eons ago like yours. Mine are new. You also don’t hold a candle to me with your stupid missing digits. Behold!” Chet ripped off his glove and showed his own disfigured appendage.

Nanturk dropped his rifle and walked over to Chet.
He put his hand on Chet’s cheek and then touched his hand.

“You are like a young me.
I feel like I’m looking in a mirror,” Nanturk said. “You two are welcome to stay. We can live here together! I’ve longed for company, and you will want for nothing. We are now a family! I am so happy. Let me tell you about—”

Chet stabbed Nanturk in the neck with his knife.
His eyes rolled up into his head, the white membranes quickly turning red with the torrent of blood.

“I chose to kill you by stabbing you in the vocal cords
, so you’ll shut up,” Chet said. “You were going to tell me why I was going to die, so I thought I would return the favor. No charge.”

Nanturk dropped to the ground, dead.

“Can I get up now?” Floyd said.

“Yup.
He’s dead,” Chet said. “What would you do without me Floyd? Let’s fill these tanks. Aren’t you so stoked you get to keep your axe? Bonus!”

Chapter 53

“Don’t be so bummed Chet,” Floyd said. They were driving down the road in the Skull Beetle. Chet was smoking his pipe, looking out the window and saying nothing. They’d gotten his Thunderbird started that morning, and Chet immediately drove it into a telephone pole, destroying the engine.

“We’ll find you another car.”

“There is no other car,” Chet said. “I loved that car. That was my car.”

“It sure was a dream
,” Floyd said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m in mourning Floyd.
These things take
time
.”

“Take as much time as you need
,” Floyd said. “Where are we off to next? What do you want to do?”

“Let’s just drive man
,” Chet said. “Let’s just drive.” And they did.