“Neither,” Floyd said.
Chet yanked Floyd in front of him and clutched the sides of his face. Floyd could feel the heat from the pipe between Chet's fingers.
“That’s just it my little Floydums,” Chet hissed. “You don't want any type of cancer, but sometimes you don't get a choice.”
Floyd pushed Chet away.
Chet paced and ranted. “You wake up and—POW! You have prostate cancer! What did you do to get it? Nothing! You just have prostate cancer, and you’re probably going to die. It’s not like everyone will give you a hard time telling you it’s your own fault for putting all those carcinogens into your prostate for all those years.”
Chet stopped and looked at Floyd sideways. “Unless I am mistaken. Floyd, have you been putting carcinogens in your prostate?”
Floyd shook his head no.
“Okay. Now let’s say you wake up and—POW! You have lung cancer. What did you do to get it? You smoked like a California wildfire for decades and decades. Grave-dancing people will give you a hard time about it, and they will be right. You put all those carcinogens into your lungs, and you’re probably going to die.”
Chet took a long drag off his pipe and said, “Cancer is cancer is cancer. People are living so long now that we’re all probably going to die from one type of cancer or another. The odds get better every day. At least I’ll be having some fun on the way to mine. Smoking is awesome!”
“Smoking can kill you.” Floyd nabbed the pipe out of Chet’s mouth and threw it off the loft.
“My pipe! My precious briar!” Chet screamed and dove down the ladder after it. He nabbed it off the ground and re-lit. “Oh, sweet, sweet pipe. Oh, sweet, sweet tobacco.”
“You should quit.” Floyd called from the loft.
“Quit!” Chet exclaimed. The pipe fell out of his open mouth and landed on the dirt floor of the barn.
“Sweet mercy!” Chet shook the cobwebs out of his head and called up to Floyd in the loft. “We’re stuck in a rut here Floyd. We have to get out of here.”
“I agree,” Floyd said. “You said something a couple weeks ago about getting back to your roots.”
“Indeed. I have been thinking about it again myself, and I still need to get to the bottom of Chet. We’re going back to that Preschool of mine. Maybe it will help me get in touch with myself. Bring me back to center.”
“I thought you were a Zen master now,” Floyd said, lighting up a Rocky Patel Vintage 1992 Toro.
“Even Zen masters need a little grounding every now and then. They put on such airs. I thought you wanted me to stop smoking?” Chet said.
“I like to point out other’s vices without any reflection as to my own,” Floyd said. “It’s a hobby of mine. Let’s go.”
Chapter 18
Floyd had ripped the skull bug engine out of the back of the Super Beetle. The bullet didn’t destroy the engine, but its impact threw off the belt and caused a mess with the timing. Floyd popped the distributor cap back in place and tightened the spark plugs in their sockets.
“You just had to let him shoot the engine,” Floyd said. “Why couldn’t you have blown him up earlier?”
“Because I have faith in you Floyd,” Chet said. “That you can fix anything. When will she be ready?”
“Soon enough I think. There isn’t much to these things,” Floyd said.
Chet took a look at the engine and dusted off the oil pan. “Looks pretty crappy to me.”
“It’s a little beat up, but it runs. Some cars just don’t know how to die. This is one. We hit the jackpot on this baby.” Floyd reconnected the air flow hoses and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“All done?” Chet said.
“I think so. Let’s get her back in.” Chet and Floyd wrestled the engine back in place under the jacked up vehicle.
They had the bug frame propped by pushing it down the sharp embankment. The front end was so low and the back end so high that it didn’t take much to get enough clearance to drop the engine. With a little grunt work, everything was back in place.
Chet and Floyd roughly shoved the beetle the rest of the way down the embankment. Floyd winced as it jarred to a stop on the level surface.
“No more time to waste,” Chet said. “Let’s get going.”
Floyd put a hand on Chet’s chest as he tried to walk past him.
“You are not allowed in this car. This is my baby,” Floyd said.
“What are you talking about?” Chet asked.
“You are not allowed in this car. You do not respect this car,” Floyd said. “When we found this car, I rebuilt the thing from nothing. There is nothing in this car that has not had my hands on it at one time or another.”
“If you’re trying to pick me up Floyd the answer is no. You will not put your hands on me. I will not be your little man toy.” Chet put his hands on his hips. “I do not pay for my passage this way. You are redefining our relationship, and I will not have it!”
“You are the biggest dumbass Chet,” Floyd said. “I’m tired of telling you I don’t like it when you call our friendship a ‘relationship.’ Your way with semantics creeps me out. Please stop. I don’t want to put my hands on you. Okay?”
“Okay. But I’m going to keep my eyes on you lest you try something,” Chet said.
“You just keep watching. What I mean is that you treat this car like it’s indestructible. You treat the inside like a trash can. You let some jerk put a bullet into the engine compartment. Let me tell you something, Chet. You don’t give our ride any respect. You think this thing will keep running forever? That’s ridiculous. We have to take care of this car. It has been good to us, and we have to be good right back.”
“Let me in the car Floyd,” Chet said.
“No. You are not allowed in the car. This is much more my car than it is yours.”
“You know what your problem is Floyd?” Chet said.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Floyd said.
“You just gave me a whole speech about your precious car. This car you claim as yours is just as much mine. You may have had your hands on all the precious gears, but the experiences in this car belong to the both of us. I have lived, loved and bled in this car, just as you have.”
“You’ve ‘loved’ in this car?” Floyd asked.
“You don’t know her. You were asleep anyway.”
“I was there when it happened? That’s sick,” Floyd said. Chet shrugged.
“That is not the point here Floyd,” Chet said. “The point is that you’ve come to love things over people. A car is just a thing. It can’t love. It can’t feel. It can’t experience.
“I can Floyd. I can do all those things and even more. I do all those things and you don’t even have to fill me full of petrol every 250 miles or so. When you look into my eyes you will see my soul. Those headlights on your sainted car have nothing behind them. Now stand aside, and let me in the damn car.”
Floyd stepped away from the door. Chet shoved him aside and got in, closing the door. Floyd tapped on the glass and Chet rolled down the window.
“I’m sorry Chet,” Floyd said.
“Shame on you Floyd,” Chet said. “Shame on you.” Chet rolled the window of his car back up. Floyd went around to the driver side and got in. He sighed, started up the car and drove it back onto the road and down the highway.
“How long are you going to be mad at me Chet?” Floyd asked several minutes later.
“I don’t know yet. I’m still hurting inside,” Chet said.
Floyd took out his pocketknife and stabbed it into the dash, cutting a long furrow into the plastic mold. “That’s a start, but I’m not sure I wholly believe you. There may be a time where you have to choose between me and this car, and I hope you choose me.”
“Choose between a person and a car? Don’t be stupid Chet.”
“We will see Floyd. We will see,” Chet said, and he proclaimed the car to be a silent place. Floyd, remembering the grenades in Chet’s pocke
ts, went along with the decision.
Chapter 19
Hundreds of perturbed miles later, Chet and Floyd arrived at their destination. The building loomed large over the road. Its boxy brick frame sprung up three stories and eclipsed the surrounding single-family homes. Floyd drove the car past the school and took a right at the next turn.
Both men scanned the building and surrounding streets for signs of life. The back of the school looked more the worse for wear than the front. The rusty playground equipment was broken, full of garbage and debris.
“There’s your childhood,” Floyd said.
“If only I could go back. So many good memories,” Chet said. “Maybe the swings are still okay.”
“Give it up Chet. That playground is a tetanus jungle. The only thing you’re going to get there is infection, fever and eventual death.”
“I think I see someone in there,” Chet said. “On the second floor. I see movement. Do you see it?” Floyd looked to where Chet indicated. Shadows moved behind the filth covered windows.
“I think I did. That means they have definitely seen us. What do you want to do?” Floyd said.
“We have to go in there,” Chet said.
“That is not what I meant. I’m not going in there. That would be the same as if a turkey walked into our car, plucked, stuffed, cooked and ready to eat. The fly doesn’t look for the spider, Chet.”
“We came all this way, and you’re just going to turn this thing around and go back.”
“We don’t have to go back,” Floyd said. “We can go anywhere.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere. This is where it all began for me. Within these walls I began to wonder at the thrills of life with my fellow children.”
“Your fellow children are all dead and gone by now. We have no idea of what’s going on in there,” Floyd said. “We’re going.”
“We’re not going. Don’t test me Floyd,” Chet said.
“Chet, I have had enough of this. You are just one psychotic episode after another, hurtling us towards death at every turn. If you try to get me in that building, I will resort to physical violence. I will strike you Chet.”
“You wouldn’t strike a Zen master,” Chet said.
“I wouldn’t strike a samurai,” Floyd said. “I respect their ways. However, I find Zen to be very pretentious, and I would no qualms hit practitioners. I wouldn’t think twice.”
“Zen masters are not pretentious. They are poor and detached from material things,” Chet argued.
“Exactly! They are all high and mighty with their minimalist consumer styling. That pisses me off even more,” Floyd said. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Chet was a little worried. “I cannot deny my Zen master-ish-ness,” Chet said. “It is not in my way to fight you.”
“You are the most violent, deluded and depraved person I know. I think I have to hit you now Chet.” Floyd tried to hit Chet with a back fist to the throat, but Chet’s raised hands locked his blow.
The two struggled for a while. Then they separated and got out of the car. A 1971 Volkswagen Super Beetle, although roomier than the earlier bug models, was not place to have a proper fight.
Chet and Floyd were on either side of the car. They were panting heavily and seemed unsure of what to do.
“Have a grenade,” Chet said and tossed it over to Floyd. Floyd caught it, turned around and threw it away from them. It bounced once on the street and exploded a safe distance away. Chet frowned.
“I have never fallen for that and never will,” Floyd said. “You always think I’m just going to throw it back to you like everyone else.”
“Someday you will Floyd,” Chet said.
“How many of those things do you have left anyway?” Floyd asked. Chet shrugged. Floyd swore and shook his head.
“Let’s call a truce,” Floyd said. “Look, we’re here anyway. Let’s just get it over with, go inside and die.”
“Thank you Floydems. This means a lot to me,” Chet said. He closed the door to the VW, slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked towards the back door of the preschool.
“I need a weapon,” Floyd said. “The barrel of my shotgun has finally disintegrated.”
“I have just thing,” Chet said. He stopped walking and rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a nunchaku. He threw it to Floyd who dropped it. A nunchaku is a very ungainly thing to throw.
Floyd picked it up. The weapon was a very heavy wood, painted black, with metal studs nailed in various places.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Floyd said.
“Looking my gift horse in the mouth?” Chet said.
Floyd saw his friend’s eye twitch a little. Chet hadn’t been getting much sleep and his nerves seemed to be shot. It was never a good thing when Chet got this way. He decided not to push him.
“No. I love it. The studs are a nice touch,” Floyd said.
“You’re welcome,” Chet said. He shouldered his backpack and continued to the back door of the school.
Floyd walked closely behind, tucking the nunchaku into his belt. On his way through the playground he picked up a three-foot pole of steel that had rusted off some of the equipment.
The back door was locked. Floyd put his finger to his lips, motioning Chet to keep quite.
Chet knocked, his knuckles rapping the thick wood of the door in constant and continuous time. With each knock he hit the door harder.
Chapter 20
Within moments the door opened a crack. A small woman’s face appeared behind several rows of chain that stopped the heavy door from opening further.
She looked both Chet and Floyd over a minute, then asked in a hushed voice. “Who sent you here?”
“I have been here before,” Chet said. “I used to almost live here when it first opened. This is kind of my homecoming.”
“I don’t remember you,” she said. Her voice sounded quiet and scared.
“Trust me. I know this place like the back of my hand. Except I don’t remember much of these.” Chet tapped one of the lock chains with his finger.
“Things have gotten rough of late. People attack for food and not what we have to offer. We have to be careful,” the woman said. Her voice was still on edge although it began to lilt with familiarity.
“I can understand that. A good education is nothing on an empty stomach. That’s why I always eat a good breakfast,” Chet said.
“Can you pay?” the woman said.
“I have food. I would love to see what you have done with the place,” Chet said.
The woman looked at him warily.
“Don’t I have a face you can trust? My mother always said so.”
The woman nodded and closed the door. They heard her undoing the chain locks from the outside. The wooden door opened enough for Chet and Floyd to walk in.
Chet kissed the woman’s hand with flourish. She gave Floyd a sideway glance.
“My mother always said I had a face too,” Floyd said. “Know something? She was right.”
The woman smiled at him and laughed courteously.
“You’re dressed interestingly,” he said.
The woman was wearing a skimpy-yet-chaste negligee, dirty and worn at the edges.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “You can be after your friend.”
Floyd gave her a knowing look and then glanced at his friend.
Chet didn’t seem to notice. He was walking around the room with a look of fondness, running his hands along the decaying wallpaper.
“I used to line up right here to go outside,” Chet said. “During the winter, I put my boots here so that I didn’t track water on the wooden floors.”
“Having a good time?” Floyd asked.
“I am just swimming in memories, Floyd! I could just burst!”
“Would you like me to show you the upstairs? I can show you everything up there,” the woman said.
“I would just love it!” Chet said. “I wa
nt the full tour! There is nothing I don’t want to see or do.”
She held onto his hand and led him up the creaky old stairs.
Floyd heard his voice from upstairs. “This is my old classroom! I don’t remember there being a bed in here.”
Floyd heard a door close, and his friend’s voice was lost. Just as he heard the door close, a couple men emerged from the side room. Floyd raised his steel bar and smiled.
“Business has been slow of late, hasn’t it?” Floyd asked.
The men were barefoot. Torn and tattered clothing matched their unshaven and mud streaked faces.
Floyd wrinkled his nose at their smell. They walked in the room not saying anything. They spread out and leaned against either wall, watching Floyd.
“The brothel thing used to work for you didn’t it? Sex sells really well. Even in a recession you can count on liquor and women fetching that dollar. An apocalypse is a different animal, though, isn’t it? Things become different and fetch a different price tag. What used to cost millions could be had for the meat from a dead cat.” Floyd let his words fall to silence.
The men stayed in place and watched with slightly open jaws.
Floyd didn’t like how they looked. It wasn’t their appearance but rather the nothingness he saw behind their eyes. It was something that Floyd had noticed more and more since the world fell apart.
When people looked at each other there was something there. Recognition. Like one soul regarding another. It was a deep and limitless thing, a bond between humans.
When the world ended and the food became scarce, that look slowly faded from behind the eye. Whenever Floyd got that look from another person—that hollow look—he knew he was much less human and much more prey.
He kept his hand loose on the metal pipe. “What you didn’t account for was the bottom line. Paper money isn’t the bottom line. Creature comforts aren’t the bottom line. Sex and drugs aren’t the bottom line. Food and water, my friends, food and water are the bottom line. In the end there’s nothing else. And you guys don’t have it.”
“There’s more of us here,” the man to Floyd’s right said. “They are sitting in the other room waiting. If we wanted to kill you, we would have already. We have food for you and your friend. Why don’t you join us?”
Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 Page 8