Episode 55: The Pukey Snot-Rockets

Darren falls over sideways with his hands over his ears and his face scrapes along the pavement as he writhes in agony, his stomach is empty so he lies there dry-heaving over and over again his stomach clenched in pain. The sounds of the scream echoing in his head rebounding from one side of his brain to the other, the timbre of the voice in its agony as the demonic presence is torn from this plane of reality and shoved screaming through the tiny jagged rift into its dark home dimension. Darren’s feet are kicking on the pavement and his head is pounding along with his racing heartbeat, his breath comes in gasps and his hands are trying to dig their way into his skull. He screams between the dry heaving agony of pain as his stomach clenches one final time and he collapses to the broken pavement and finally lies still.

Candy grabs his arms under the shoulders and Joey walks over and grabs his feet and they hoist him up between them and roll him into the back of the pickup truck. He falls to the truck bed with a grunt as his chest smashes into the corner of a case of beer.

Candy runs over and grabs up Darren and pulls his head into her lap as she stroke his hair her eyes darting over him looking for injury but finding nothing save a trickle of green-ish slime running from his right ear.

Candy digs into Darren’s pocket and gets the keys to the truck out and tosses them to Chevelle, who catches them in the air and with a smile of delight she traces her hand down the side of the truck as if caressing it like a pet. Candy hops into the back of the truck with Darren as Chevelle climbs into the drivers side and Joey hops into the passenger side. Joey slaps a fresh clip into his AR15 and sets it beside him on the seat. He reloads Chevelle’s Glock for her as well as she starts up the truck and they back up a bit to give Hanzo room because  he is waving her back.

Once she is back far enough Hanzo swings back up into the cab of the truck and starts it up once more, he backs up a bit and then slams forward crashing the cow-catcher on the front of his truck on a wreck on the shoulder of the road. The old station wagon is on its side and it falls over into the guard-rail on top of the concrete barrier beside the road with a shower of sparks and screaming metal. He then backs up once more and rams into a truck on the shoulder of the road, which screeches as it slides along the guard rail and bending it the truck flips over and off of the raised section of highway to smash down into the swampy ground below.

“All right hug that railing and we should be able to make it along the shoulder Chevelle y’all follow me,” Hanzo says.

“Lead on,” Chevelle says, into the handset of the radio.

The huge semi-truck slides along the edge of the shoulder of the road narrowly missing the twisted remains of the piled wrecks blocking the highway. There is a wrenching sound as metal is smashed and buckled and the semi plows through a wrecked Bentley, within the windows as they pass they can see the pulped remains of the once obviously rich driver his blood splatter all over the hand-tooled leather interior.

“Yeah death doesn’t care how rich you are dickhead,” Chevelle says, as leave the ravaged corpse behind.

“What did that poor guy ever do to you?” Joey asks her.

She glances over at him, her eyes are glaring at him. “He is just like every other rich fat-cat who wanted to blow a load in my fucking mouth, and frankly I am glad he is dead.”

“Oh well in that case, you are right fuck that guy,” Joey agrees.

Hanzo swerves back onto the lane of the highway and they pick up more speed as he slowly swerves from side-to-side avoiding as many of the wrecks along the way as he can and smashing through the others.

Joey rolls up a fat joint and he and Chevelle pass it back and forth as they ride along following the tail-lights of the huge semi in front of them. Candy pokes her head in through the back and grabs it a few times and takes some hits off of it as well.

“Hey, any one have a Vicodin? Or seventy? Give me that shit, don’t bogart that joint,” says a groggy voice, from the back of the truck bed.

“Okay but wash your damn mouth out first I don’t want puke on the joint,” Candy says with a laugh as she turns to face him.

Darren pulls a beer from the case he is lying on and pops the top and washes out his mouth with the foam that comes spewing out of it. He gargles a bit and smiles at Candy as he spits about a quarter of the beer out the back of the truck.

“Got any dental floss?” Darren asks her.

“Eww, gross you nasty fucker,” Candy says handing him the joint.

Darren sits back with it rubs the sleeve of his shirt over his mouth to clean it a bit and then turning his head he hold one nostril closed and snot-rockets over the back of the tail gate. He then clears the other nostril and then rinses his mouth out once more he puffs on the joint and hands it back to her with a smile.

“You know I don’t see how those European fuckers can take it,” he says with a sigh.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Candy asks him.

“Well, they drink beer at room temperature over there, sadly over here its 89 degrees and it might as well be a cooked beer,” Darren says.

“I don’t give a fuck if the beer is char-broiled over a fucking slow fire, pass the mother fucker back up here you ass-pilot,” Joey says from the front of the truck.

“Just roll another joint, because I don’t want some pukey, snot-rocket joint coming back up here,” Chevelle says.