by Robert Bevan
He held up his phone, pointed to it, then dragged a thumb across his neck. He pointed to the phone again, lest she think he was threatening her.
She nodded, then tried shouting again.
Bucky scratched his head, trying to make out what she was going on about. “Turn a pup free?” Was that some kind of hippy bullshit or something? “Tuna poop tree?” Frustrated and confused, Bucky shrugged and shook his head.
Zelda disappeared back into the vehicle. No matter how much Bucky squinted or leaned, he couldn't see what she was doing in there. His attention was brought back inside the Texaco when he heard a loud crack from the Employees Only door. The frame was starting to give.
“Fuck!” said Bucky. He pressed his hands and face against the window, hoping that his expression adequately demonstrated that the situation had just gotten more urgent.
His efforts were rewarded with high beams right in his fucking eyes. He reeled back, shielding his face with his piss-soaked arm. When he'd regained his vision, he saw that the van was backing up. Where the fuck was she going?
“No!” cried Bucky, slapping the window with both palms. “Don't go! Come back! Don't leave me alone with –”
CRACK
It was louder now. Two bottles of motor oil fell off a shelf. This buggy motherfucker was shaking the whole goddamn store. Bucky could see where the door frame was beginning to detach from the wall. It wasn't going to hold for much longer.
He turned around to see if Zelda had abandoned him. Her van was still there. She was backing into the same parking spot she'd just pulled out of. Really fucking helpful. The rear window was so goddamn dirty, he couldn't even pretend to have a chance at seeing inside.
Determining that Zelda's usefulness in the current situation was questionable at best, Bucky needed to buy himself some more time while he considered his options.
The pounding from outside continued, tipping one of Bucky's empty Coors Light bottles off the shelf. It smashed on the floor. That was all Bucky needed right now, fucking broken glass on the floor.
The shelving unit stood free against the wall. It was steel and looked to be heavy as a motherfucker, but he might be able to slide it in front of the door.
He braced himself against the side of it and pushed with all the strength he could muster. It slid about an inch. While he strained, shoving his back against the steel bars as hard as he could, pushing the soles of his sneakers against the linoleum floor, Zelda started banging on the outside window and waving.
Bucky nodded. Yeah. Hi. I fucking see you.
She pointed back at her van.
Bucky, having moved the shelving unit a full foot by now, gave her a thumbs up. You backed into a parking space. Great job. I'm so fucking proud of you.
He might have shelf marks on his back for the rest of his life, but Bucky finally managed to push that big bastard in front of the door. Who knew how good that would do him? Maybe buy him a few more seconds.
Zelda had begun scrawling letters with her finger on her filthy rear window. T-U-R... If she spelled turd, he wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry.
N
Turn. Part of Bucky had kind of been hoping for turd, but most of him was relieved that Zelda hadn't completely lost her goddamn mind.
He grabbed a broom and dustpan to sweep up the broken glass. There were already a couple of bottles of piss in here, and God only knows how some of the cashiers before him had whiled away the wee hours of the morning. He didn't want to risk summoning another demon if he should happen to fall down and cut his ass.
Broken bottles gave Bucky another idea. Those were the traditionally favored weapons of bar fights, according to movies he'd watched. Then again, the only time he'd ever seen one used for real, back at Rusty's, Mack Jenner sliced open his own hand long before he got anywhere near his opponent. Twenty-five stitches and he still can't bend his right pinky finger.
Still, there might be other ways a broken bottle might be weaponized. Bucky rested his chin thoughtfully on top of the broomstick. It was uncomfortable. How much more uncomfortable might it be if it were covered in shards of broken glass? He could make a spear, and shove it right into that son of a bitch's mouth as soon as he peeked through the door.
The shelf budged forward an inch as Zabor continued to pound on the door.
Bucky grabbed the Scotch tape and sat back down on the floor, carefully picking out the most substantial glass shards. He was mindful of the glass and generous with the tape as he constructed what he didn't mind saying looked pretty badass on one end, even if it still looked like a broom on the other end. He was securing the final piece of glass on the end of his spear when a honking car horn broke his concentration, and he sliced the tip of his finger.
“Goddammit!” He sucked on his cut finger, got to his feet, and glared out the window. Zelda had completed her message and was standing outside the van, pointing at it.
“Turn on pump three,” Bucky read aloud. He held up his palms in his best What the fuck? gesture and shouted, “Are you fucking with me?” Then he sucked on his finger some more while he looked for a Band-Aid. Coming up short, he made his own by tearing off a relatively clean corner of a used tissue he found in the trash can and some Scotch tape.
In the meantime, Zelda had retrieved Bucky and Floyd's Super Splashers from inside the vehicle. She pointed one at her message, and the other at pump three, then shook both in the air.
Finally, Bucky understood. He liked this girl's style. He gave her another nod and thumbs up, this time completely free of condescension, and switched on the pump.
The deadbolt snapped and the shelving unit slid forward. Zabor's tiny claws grabbed the shelves and started to push. The insectoid demon struggled with the weight, but not nearly so much as Bucky had. Its antennae twitched as it stared at Bucky with its gross bug eyes.
“BUUUUCKYYYY!”
“That's right,” said Bucky, picking up his makeshift weapon. “You say my name, bitch!” He thrust his spear straight into Zabor's twitching maw. Zabor screamed and clicked, releasing the shelf and grabbing the broom handle. Bucky let go of the broom as the demon pulled back. Ah well, fun while it lasted. At least he'd given that asshole something to remember him by.
“Hey, shithead!” Zelda shouted as she kicked open the door. “Eat unleaded!”
She hosed him good with a powerful spray of what Bucky hoped was the premium high-octane stuff. He didn't know if it would make a difference, but if there was ever a time not to get cheap on the fuel grade, that time was now.
Floyd had trained them well. But as badass a display as this was, Bucky would have offered Zelda one small piece of criticism. She was packing two guns, but only firing one. It's not like there was kickback on these things. Why not hose the motherfucker down with both barrels?
As Zelda's stream weakened, a horrible buzzing noise filled the store as Zabor spread its wings and began to ascend.
“Bucky!” Zelda screamed. She got down on one knee and slid the other Super Splasher across the floor toward the Employees Only door. She looked at him through the bulletproof glass and started frantically pumping her own gun. Bucky wondered if she knew how arousing that was.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Zelda shouted, snapping Bucky out of his daze. “Help me!” She sprayed a second stream at Zabor, who had begun to fly but had lost some of his gusto. He gushed black blood from his mouth as he started crawling toward Zelda.
Bucky sprang to action but found that the door was still blocked by the heavy-ass steel shelving unit.
“Goddammit.” Bucky leaned into it. The woman he loved was in danger on the other side of this door. He pushed with all the power he had in him. The unit moved about three inches. Bucky paused for a breath. Not bad.
After huffing and puffing a bit, Bucky realized that he didn't need to push the whole unit. He just needed to get the end of it away from the door. Getting a firm hold on the side blocking the door, he pulled it outward, which was a shitload easier. He squirmed aro
und the small gap he'd left for himself, then pushed the unit further until it hit the identical shelving unit on the other side, effectively dividing the office in half. Fortunately, it was enough to see the entire curve on the floor caused by years' worth of the bottom of the door brushing against it.
Bucky opened the door and bent over to pick up the Super Splasher, but it wasn't there. He spotted the one Zelda had been wielding, discarded over by the beer fridge. There was no sign of the one Zelda had slid to him, or of Zelda herself.
Zabor stood in the doorway, facing away from Bucky. It made sense that he'd chase after Zelda if she'd fled, but Bucky couldn't figure out why he was just standing there. That is, until his chittering reached a crescendo and he doubled over. Supporting himself against the doorframe with his two upper arms, he vomited a milky yellow fluid all over the sidewalk. Zelda must have squirted directly into his mouth. Good on her. Maybe the fucker would just die now.
The vomiting slowed to a trickle, but the demon failed to keel over. Its wings rose slightly, and Bucky could see its abdomen expanding and contracting. Bucky thought he knew what was happening. It was like when he had one too many shots, and the next thing he knew he'd be kneeling in front of a urinal full of mostly digested tacos and tequila. If he was right, this big bastard was about to wipe the tears away, get back on his feet, and go have another round.
Bucky nearly shat himself when the cockroach demon not only got back on his feet, but it also suddenly and inexplicably started glowing red. This was more than a second wind. The gasoline must have given it super powers or something.
He calmed down a few seconds later when he realized it was actually Zelda's tail lights, which he discovered as her van began to slowly pull away. Bucky couldn't blame her. From Zelda's perspective, he supposed it seemed like he'd let her down, hiding in the office while she fought Zabor all by herself.
Something stirred inside Bucky. Maybe it was the power of love. Maybe it was the power of hate. Maybe it was all the petroleum fumes. But Bucky knew that he'd had enough. This demonic son of a bitch had not only cost him his career, but now his woman. His fists shook as he looked around for the nearest thing to attack it with. His rage-fueled gaze landed on one of the cases of Coors Light he'd meant to steal.
He tore open a box, tucked it under his left arm, and started hurling cans as hard as he could.
“How do you like that, motherfucker?” Bucky shouted and the cans bounced off the creatures back, spraying froth as they hit the floor. “You like the Silver Bullet?”
Zabor ignored Bucky's assault, its attention still focused on either Zelda or dry heaves. Bucky knew he wasn't accomplishing anything, but he continued to hurl can after can as the red glow surrounding the demon faded predictably. What Bucky hadn't predicted, however, was that the glow would shortly be replaced by a white, more intense glow.
Is she adjusting her goddamn parking again?
When Zabor stumbled backward and averted his gaze, one of Bucky's Coors Light cans hit him solidly in his left eye, which ruptured and dribbled down its face. Zabor screamed like a Wookie being strangled, then lunged toward Bucky.
The rage and fearlessness that had been coursing through Bucky's veins now abandoned him. Bucky dived back through the Employees Only door but was unable to close it, as Zabor was hot on his heels. The corner he'd just backed himself into was even smaller now that he'd blocked off half of it with the steel shelving unit.
The crossbeams on the back of the unit made squeezing between shelves impossible, and the gap at the bottom wasn't nearly big enough. Bucky looked up. Climbing over was his only chance. Even if taking that chance only extended his life by thirty more seconds, it was worth taking.
For something that was such a son of a bitch to move, it sure wobbled easily enough when he was trying to climb over it.
Zabor grabbed the shelves, providing the unintended consequence of holding it steady, which Bucky was grateful for as he got a foothold on the other side and hopped down.
It wasn't much of a victory, now that Bucky thought about it. He was still trapped in the office with nothing but a couple of bottles of his own piss to protect himself with.
Instead of climbing over the shelves after Bucky, Zabor reached one of his long and bristled upper arms through, but it wasn't quite long enough.
Bucky grabbed a nearby fly swatter hanging from a nail on the wall and slapped at the demon's tiny clawed hand. “Get! The fuck! Away! From me!”
Zabor retracted its arm, gripped a shelf, and started to push the whole unit toward Bucky. Tendrils of milky yellow roach vomit drooled out of his excitedly-clicking mouth parts. He and Bucky both knew that Bucky was truly fucked.
The only choice Bucky had left, as far as he could tell, was to push back. He gripped the shelves with both hands and planted his feet sideways, trying to maximize stopping power of the tread on the bottom of his sneakers.
“BUUUUCKYYY,” said Zabor.
“Fuck you!” Bucky grunted in response.
“Bucky!” cried Zelda through the cashier window. “What are you doing?”
As if struggling for his life while trying not to pass out from Zabor's breath, reeking of Dr. Pepper and gasoline fumes, wasn't enough, he was now having to respond to questions which, in his mind at least, had clearly obvious answers.
“What, exactly, are you unclear about?”
“I mean why did you distract him? I was about to ram him with my car.”
“That...” Bucky strained to keep from giving up any ground. “...would have been...” He stretched his neck back as Zabor moved his head in between the shelves as if for a kiss. “...fucking awesome.”
“What should I do?” Zelda's voice was getting panicky, which Bucky took as a sign that she was into him.
Bucky searched his mind and his immediate surroundings for an answer. When he spotted his piss bottles and the hook-handled umbrella in the lost and found box, he thought he might have one.
He nodded at the bug bomb tucked into Zelda’s belt. “You know how to use that?”
“Yeah!”
“Activate it, chuck it in here, and close the door.”
“That'll kill you, Bucky!”
Bucky smiled at Zabor. “Then at least I can take this motherfucker to hell with me.”
“I'm not going to kill you.” She was ruining his moment of heroism.
“Just use the goddamn bug bomb! I got an idea!”
Bucky maintained the shelf struggle while he imagined in slow motion detail the series of actions he'd have to perform for his plan to be successful. Failure would likely mean a broken leg or two but, considering his alternatives, it was a risk he had to take.
“Are you sure about this, Bucky?” said Zelda.
“Yes! Do it!”
A few seconds later, Zabor's clicking and chittering were accompanied by the hiss of gas, followed by a slamming door. The faint smell of poisonous fumes was a welcome replacement for Zabor's rancid breath. The clicking and chittering rose as Zabor eased pressure on the shelves in order to look behind him.
Now or never.
With the demon distracted, Bucky maintained pressure on the shelves with his right arm alone, letting go with his left hand to grab a piss bottle.
“Zabor!” Bucky shouted, his eyes stinging from the thickening fumes.
“BUU–”
As soon as the demon turned back to face him, Bucky shoved the bottle as hard as he could, neck first, into its open maw. “This Bud's for you!” So he took some artistic license with the brand. Oprah didn't need to know that.
Zabor relinquished one arm's worth of force on the shelves as he tried to dislodge the piss bottle from his throat.
While Zabor was occupied with that, Bucky grabbed the umbrella, shoved it between two of the lower shelves, hooked one of the demon's legs, and pulled hard while thrusting all his weight into the shelving unit.
Zabor lost his footing, and the shelves moved forward. Bucky climbed as fast as he could through the
thickening poison fog until he fell off the other side. Hitting the floor with his shoulder hurt something fierce. But it was that good, 'I'm-still-not-getting-eaten-by-a-cockroach' kind of hurt.
He crawled blindly through the fog, choking on the poison gas, until his hand finally found the door handle. He opened the door and crawled out of the hallway, sucking in some of the fresh air outside.
COUGH COUGH COUGH
Nope. Still pretty fucking gassy.
He shut the door behind him and threw up. When his stomach had given up all it had to give, he found the air was breathable again.
“Bucky!” cried Zelda. “Are you okay?”
“Buckido, bitch!” he said between gasps.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I'm sorry,” said Bucky. “I didn't mean you. It's something I wanted to say in there, but couldn't on account of I was choking on insecticide.”
Zelda took him by the arm and helped him stand up. “Let's get out of here. The whole store is starting to smell like bug spray.”
Zabor was beating on the door again, but not quite as fiercely. Bucky couldn't lock it, and he hoped that the demon wouldn't figure out how to pull before it finally succumbed to the gas.
As Zelda led him toward the door, Bucky looked back. Behind the glass, the cashier station was completely obscured by the thick green gas, but some of it was billowing out of the gap at the bottom of the cashier window.
“Wait outside,” said Bucky, unclipping his tie and shoving it into his pocket.
Zelda hesitated briefly, but when Bucky started to unbutton his shirt, she stepped backward through the door, careful not to step in any demon vomit.
Bucky removed his shirt and stuffed it into the gap. Not only would that help to keep more of the poison gas contained where it was needed, but it also prevented anyone from asking why his shirt had piss stains all over it, which Zelda had been gracious enough to refrain from up to now.
Zelda nodded approvingly. “Clever.”
“Thank you,” said Bucky. “Now what's your poison?”
“Excuse me?”
“I think we've earned ourselves a drink, don't you?”