Doc scampered out of the log, and ran parallel to the river, just under cover of the tree line. Doc ran until he felt like his head would explode, and he started getting abdominal cramps. He looked around for any signs of life, and when he was sure the coast was clear, he ran to the river and plunged his head under water. The cold water felt good on his swollen face and head, and he drank deeply. He felt like life was returning to him. Doc wished that he had something to store some of this water in, so he could continue to hydrate. He knew that without water, he wouldn’t last long. He started thinking about his stomach, and realized that he was starving. It had been a long time since he ate last, and his stomach was growling almost as loudly as the bear. Doc remembered that Diablo had snatched a chicken from the farmer just before the farmer had chopped off his arm, and wondered what had happened to it. It was probably lost in the chaos that ensued.
Doc moved back to the tree line, and thought about trying to spear a fish with a stick. If only he had a stick of dynamite, he thought, then he would be able to catch a lot of fish. He searched for a straight branch that would be thick enough and long enough to fashion into a spear. After a few minutes, he found a branch that would work. He snapped the branch off of a tree, and as green wood does, it didn’t break cleanly, but at an angle, forming a point. Doc split the point so it was forked, and listened for the chopper again. When he didn’t hear anything, he walked to the edge of the river and stared into the water.
There were several fish swimming nearby, so he carefully took aim, and thrust the spear at one of them. He missed, of course, because this took a lot of skill, patience, and practice. On his third attempt, he actually speared a fish.
Doc realized that he didn’t have any matches, so it looked like sushi was on the menu. Doc drank the fish’s blood, and tore into the fish with his fingers with the fish wedged between his legs. He wolfed down pieces of the fish as fast as he could, to avoid gagging on the raw meat. Maybe, he thought, I should start eating plants instead.
Once finished, Doc washed in the river and started hiking through the woods, in what he felt was the opposite direction of the searchers. Doc decided that if he headed back in the direction of the highway, he might be able to steal some food and clothes, so he adjusted his course accordingly. Doc was no boy scout, however, he had done a good bit of reading about wilderness survival while he was incarcerated.
Doc remembered that most lichen that grew on trees in the woods were edible, and if he could warm up some water somehow, he could make a tea that was surprisingly packed with vitamin C. He was reasonably sure what plants were edible, and which were poisonous, and he gathered as much food as possible, because he had no idea when (or if) he would ever be able to get back to civilization.
Just as Doc was about to give up on finding any houses, he spotted a pasture ahead. He thought that this might be the same pasture they had crossed earlier, and he wanted nothing to do with that bull. As he neared the pasture, he saw a peculiar sight. He saw a bull standing near the middle of the pasture, and what looked like Diablo trying to sneak up on the bull with something in his hand. Doc peered in horror, as it occurred to him that Diablo was about to attempt to sodomize a bull with a stick of dynamite. You have GOT to be kidding me, he thought. How far will this idiot go to get revenge!
Chapter 39
Slasher decided that he was going to have to try to get down from this tree and escape the climbing bear as fast as possible. The only way he could think to do this, was to jump to a smaller tree nearby, and shimmy down before the bear knew what had happened. This is going to hurt, he thought, because the nearest tree was about twenty feet away.
Slasher started rocking back and forth, causing the tree to sway precariously from side to side. Once the tree was swaying as much as he dared, Slasher jumped to the other tree.
Slasher slammed into the smaller tree hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, and as he desperately grabbed for branches, they snapped off in his hands one at a time as he plummeted to the ground. It seemed to Slasher, that he hit every branch on the way down, and when he crashed to the ground, he was beaten and bruised, and heaving for breath.
The bear was trying to descend from the tree he was in, and Slasher figured that he probably had only a few seconds before that bear would be all over him like a fat man at a buffet counter.
Slasher picked himself up and dusted himself off. He got his bearings, and began to run toward the river. Using the river as a landmark, he continued along the river, figuring that he would find some sign of civilization along the river, and if not, at least he could find food.
After running for about fifteen minutes, he guessed that he had lost the bear, so he slowed down to a walk. Slasher took a quick inventory of his supplies, which he had taken from the shack. Twenty sticks of dynamite, two fuses (yes, he had kept several even though he had told Diablo that he hadn’t), a lighter, a knife, and some rope. He didn’t trust Diablo completely, after all, he was a psycho, and in his experience, psychos didn’t care who they killed. He looked at the knife, and was angry that the owner had let it get rusty. He found a round river rock that seemed to be granite, and sharpened the knife as much as possible. He drank from the river, and washed his face and hands.
Slasher took the knife and cut the bunny ears off (again). That bastard, Doc, he thought, I am going to give him bunny ears, by cutting his cheeks off, pulling the skin over his head, and tying them in a bow.
Slasher wondered what had happened to the other two, and imagined them being eaten by the bear. Well it would be easier to get away from the cops if they were all going in separate directions anyway.
Slasher was surprised that he was able to hold onto the supplies even though he had taken the ride of his life on the back of a bear. He was sore all over, and had miscellaneous cuts and scrapes all over his body from the bear ride and the tree experience. His jaw was throbbing, and felt swollen and hot to the touch. He was sure that it was getting infected, and knew that he would need medical attention (REAL medical attention, not attention from that quack, Doc).
As Slasher was walking back to the tree line, he heard a distant BOOM. Suddenly, he wondered if somehow another one of the booby traps he had set near the shack had been somehow triggered. He was sure that all of his explosives had gone off at once, and marveled at the carnage that it must have created. Judging by the direction in which the sound had come from, however, he knew that it wasn’t one of the charges that he had set. What the hell was that about? Could the cops have caught up with Diablo and Doc? All he knew was that if he tried to help them, he would get caught as well. If Diablo and Doc hadn’t been caught already, the sound of that explosion would draw every cop in the area to the location of the blast.
Chapter 40
Diablo advanced toward the unsuspecting bull, thinking You are gonna pay for what you did to me, you asshole of a bull. Diablo realized the irony of that thought, because that was exactly where he planned on sticking the dynamite he now held in his right hand.
Diablo was now only about five feet away from the bull, and he quickly lit the lighter to light the fuse in the dynamite, because he knew he wouldn’t get a chance once he inserted the dynamite into the bull’s butt. Just as he was about to light the dynamite, the bull’s tail raised by itself, exposing Diablo’s target. Diablo thought Thanks, asshole! You just inadvertently helped me. Now for some good old fashioned revenge!
What happened next was the stuff that legends are made of. In fact, people in town would talk about it for the next twenty years. Parents would tell their kids about how messy revenge could be, and how things rarely went the way you planned. Preachers would talk about it from their pulpits, and it was often joked about in bars hundreds of miles away.
As it turns out, there is really only two reasons a bull would lift its tail. As it happened, the bull had been grazing on grass all morning, and as a result, was full of gas and manure. When the bull lifted his tail, Diablo advanced upon his ta
rget, which suddenly opened and a missile of manure flew right into Diablo’s face, followed by the largest fart he had ever heard.
Diablo was so stunned and sickened by what the bull did, that he completely forgot about the lit lighter in his left hand and the stick of dynamite in his right hand.
The flame from the lighter lit the methane jetting from the bull’s anus, and suddenly, the bull became a one thousand pound blowtorch. The flames singed off all of Diablo’s hair and lit his clothes on fire. Unfortunately, the flames also lit the stick of dynamite he was holding, as well.
The bull didn’t fare any better, because now, his butt was on fire, and flames shot out of him. He tried to run in circles, but soon realized that he couldn’t outrun the flames. The only thing that the bull could do now was attack the person who had done this.
Diablo thought he heard a shout coming from the edge of the pasture, but he was still trying to wipe his face and put out the fire, so he couldn’t make out what was being said. He wiped his eyes, and suddenly realized that he was still holding the stick of dynamite in his hand. The bull was bearing down on him, and he knew that he did not want to take another ride on those horns.
Diablo looked at the dynamite, and chucked it at the bull, who managed to spear it with his left horn. Diablo was now desperately rolling on the ground, trying to put out the fire, and the bull was trying to remove the stick of dynamite from his horn by scraping it against the ground. All at once, BOOM!
The dynamite exploded, sending a huge cloud of blood and body parts raining across the pasture. The blast bounced Diablo off the ground and deafened him. He could see a crater where the bull had been only seconds earlier. “Awesome!” He shouted.
Chapter 41
Doc watched from the edge of the pasture as Diablo tiptoed toward the bull. He could hardly believe his eyes. Did that fool just light a bull’s fart on fire? Doc was stunned. He yelled at Diablo and tried to warn him that the dynamite was now on fire as well, but Diablo didn’t seem to hear him. Now Diablo was on fire and so was the bull. Diablo was flopping around on the ground trying to pat out the flames, when the bull exploded with a tremendous boom. A hoof and part of a leg landed at Doc’s feet, and it was raining blood and other unidentifiable bull parts.
Doc ran over to where Diablo lay. Diablo was still smoking and couldn’t hear anything, but he was alive and not missing any body parts. In fact, he was laughing hysterically.
“You crazy asshole!” Doc yelled. “What were you thinking?” Diablo didn’t seem to hear him, and just kept laughing maniacally. Every cop for miles around would have heard that blast, and they were probably already heading this way.
Doc motioned to Diablo to get up and follow him, but Diablo was now swimming in the gore that used to be the bull, and seemed to be really enjoying himself. Screw him, Doc thought. If he wants to get caught, I’ll let him. Maybe that will distract the cops enough that I will be able to get away clean.
Doc ran to the fence, and climbed it. As he entered the woods again, he looked back at Diablo, who was covered in blood and mud now, doing some kind of grotesque dance in the middle of the pasture with what appeared to be the cow’s intestines draped over his shoulders. Good riddance, he thought. Diablo had always been somewhat disturbing to Doc, and he got the impression that Diablo was sizing him up to kill him at a later date.
Doc headed back in the direction of the road, knowing that he would have to keep an eye out for cops passing by. He wondered how long it would take the searchers to find Diablo, and chuckled at the thought of a bunch of cops seeing Diablo dancing in a cow pasture wearing bull intestines like a feather boa.
Doc fought his way through heavy underbrush until he reached the road. He looked down at himself, and suddenly realized that he looked terrifying. He was still wearing a prison uniform, but had a sheet wrapped around himself, which was now covered in bull blood, as well as his own blood. This is simply unacceptable, he thought. I’ll have to try to find a change of clothes, and maybe some first aid supplies.
Doc followed the road, stopping every couple of minutes to listen for cars. He stayed just inside the tree line, so that if a car should happen by, he could duck down out of sight. He continued walking this way for about fifteen minutes before the first patrol car went speeding by with its emergency lights on. It was followed by four other patrol cars a minute later. Just as I suspected, he thought, that moron has attracted the attention of every cop in the area. At least they are driving away from me, he thought.
Doc continued in the same direction for an hour or so, until he saw a sign, which indicated that he was entering Shelbyville (population 19,253). If he could find a change of clothes and some medical supplies, he thought that he should be able to walk around more freely with relative anonymity.
Doc wandered through several yards before he found some clothes on a clothesline. He looked around, and when he was sure nobody was looking, he swiped a pair of jeans and a shirt off the line. He grabbed two pairs of socks as well. He planned on wrapping his arm stump in one pair and wearing the other. A few minutes later, he had changed in the bushes and felt much better. He found a spigot next to the house, and washed his hand and face, to make himself appear more presentable, and he found a roll of duct tape in a shed behind another house. He used the spare socks and duct tape to wrap the stump where his left arm used to be. When he wore the shirt, it looked fairly normal.
Doc wasn’t sure if the police would be looking for a one-armed man, but he didn’t think that he would be the only person with one arm in the area. He didn’t look as if he had just lost the arm, because the shirt covered the make-shift bandage perfectly.
The next thing Doc decided to do was find a pharmacy so he could sterilize the wound, numb the pain, and sew it closed. It wasn’t bleeding, but he knew that it would get infected if he left it like it was.
After wandering through town for about thirty minutes, he found a pharmacy. He didn’t have any money, so he grabbed two items that he needed, and stuffed them in his pants when nobody was looking. He walked into the bathroom, and slipped out of the store through the stockroom, and out the back door. He would return later after closing time and steal the other items after the store was closed for the day.
Doc found a wooded lot nearby and hid there until after dark. He walked back to the pharmacy, and discovered that it had closed at ten o’clock. I love small towns, he thought. If this was a pharmacy in the city, it would have been open all night. Doc found a crowbar next to a car a few blocks away. He used the crowbar to pry the back door open. He knew that it would trip an alarm, but he figured that he would be in and out of there before the cops came to check it out. Almost immediately after he opened the door, an alarm sounded. The alarm was very loud and annoying, and the sound made him nervous. It was like trying to solve a difficult puzzle with someone looking over your shoulder and screaming at you the whole time.
A few minutes later, Doc slipped out the back door with a bag of “goodies” in his hand. He had been able to find everything he needed except the pain medication, so he had grabbed a couple of bottles of wine off the shelves for the pain.
Doc wandered through the neighborhood, getting as far away from the pharmacy as possible. After wandering for about a half an hour, he found a gas station that was still open, and entered the bathroom. Doc opened the first bottle of wine (luckily it was a screw-top), and gulped down half of its contents. He shuddered, and after letting out a huge belch, he gulped down the other half of the bottle. He decided to let the wine take effect for a few minutes, and when he felt a good buzz from the wine, he took out the iodine and cotton swabs he had stolen. He soaked the cotton balls in iodine, and swabbed the wound. “AAAAAARRRRG!” he heard himself scream. That wasn’t so bad, he thought sarcastically. He got out a needle and thread, and stuck the needle into a flap of skin on what was left of his arm. Then he proceeded to let loose with a stream of curse words that would have made a sailor blush. Maybe, he thought, I should
drink some more of the wine.
Doc grabbed the second bottle of wine and gulped down another large amount of wine. He then began the unpleasant process of stitching up his arm stump. He would stitch and swig some more wine, stitch and swig some more wine, until he was nearly out of wine and finished stitching the wound. Now he was so drunk, that he started to sing to himself, and in the middle of a rousing chorus of his song, he puked up the wine all over the bathroom and passed out with his head in the toilet.
Chapter 42
Steve and Tom had wandered through the maze of passageways inside the cave with the rest of the search team until they found the exit that the fugitives had taken. They crawled out of the hole and found themselves standing on the banks of a river. Almost immediately, they heard the roar of a bear. The bear sounded as if it was really pissed off, and had missed out on a really good meal. Tom felt that it would be best to avoid this animal if possible, but it may not be possible. There was a blood trail leading to a stand of trees up ahead. About halfway up one of the trees, was a grizzly bear.
A quick look around revealed that the fugitives had fled the area, and had split up. Two of them had walked through the brush back in the direction of the road, and the other had followed the river. Just then, a loud explosion sounded to the right in the direction of the cow pasture that Tom and Steve had passed earlier.
“What the hell was that?” asked Steve. “I don’t know, but it sounded like it came from the cow pasture where those guys got chased by the bull,” said Tom. “Don’t you mean raped by the bull,” said Steve. They both started to run through the underbrush toward the area where the boom had come from.
When they finally reached the pasture about fifteen minutes later, it smelled like steaks on a grill, and there were smoking chunks of bull all over the pasture. Blood seemed to cover everything, and there were body parts scattered all over the field. All of the parts seemed to be from a bull, and there were a lot of them. Near the middle of the pasture, there was a large crater.
Steve walked around the pasture looking for footprints, and found two sets leading off in different directions. One of the sets of footprints seemed to lead toward the road, and the other set seemed to lead back in the direction of George Greene’s farmhouse.
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