Scapegoat by Adam Howe & James Newman

Author:Adam Howe & James Newman [Howe, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Honey Badger Press
Published: 2018-10-04T18:30:00+00:00

Lonnie moved toward the doggy door—

And stopped in his tracks.

Pork Chop was buried waist-deep in the floor.

He grinned up at Lonnie. “I’m kinda stuck.”

“When you say ‘kinda’…?”

“I’m stuck.”

“Mikey!” Lonnie shouted through the floor. “We gotta move, man!”

“I’m working on it!”

Lonnie cut an anxious glance between the burning merch and the gas-hissing oven. “Work faster, dude!”

Mike gripped Pork Chop’s legs in a tight embrace, struggling desperately to yank him down through the hole. Pork Chop’s kilt draped over his head like a cloak. Mike gave a cry of disgust as Pork Chop’s junk slapped down upon his head.

Lonnie said, “What’re you homos doing down there?”

“Just say the word and we can switch places!” Mike shouted.

Lonnie swiped the sweat from his face as the fire leapt from the burning merch to the sofa. The flames lapped at the ceiling and left black streaks there like demonic claw marks. “Ah, Jesus! You gotta hurry, Mikey!”

Pork Chop screeched in pain as Mike tugged on his legs and Lonnie attempted to cram the flabby folds of his gut down the hole from above. Its jagged edges scraped the skin from his belly. “I’m not gonna fit,” P.C. cried. “Just leave me!”

“You die, I die!”

“Don’t be a hero, man!”

“No, you dumb shit, you’re blocking my way out!”

Pork Chop gasped as something cold and wet slapped against his legs. He feared he’d been disemboweled on the twisted metal; that it was his own guts he felt slopping down his legs. “Mikey? Mikey, what is that?”

“Mud,” Mike said, slapping another fistful onto Pork Chop’s ample hips.

Pork Chop giggled girlishly. “Kinda tickles!”

Choking down his disgust, Mike continued slathering Pork Chop with mud.

When that was done, he shouted up at Lonnie five words he never thought would come from his own mouth…but tonight was just full of surprises: “He’s all greased to go!”

“Here goes nothing!” Lonnie said.

Lonnie took a running start and kicked P.C. in the gut, his foot sinking ankle-deep in doughy flab. Pork Chop gave a pained woof and plunged down through the hole, landing splat on his back in the mud next to Mike. Before he could catch his breath, gravity shot him down the slope like a cannonball. “Shiiiiiiiiiit!”

Lonnie scrambled down through the hole. Noxious black smoke poured out after him. “Close call,” he wheezed as he joined Mike beneath the RV.

“Jesus, Lonnie. What the hell did you do?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Mike shook his head. “You’re incredible.”

“That’s what your mom sss—”

“Just move, asshole!”

They slithered through the mud to the rear of the motorhome. There the ground angled sharply down, like a gut-check Wet N’ Wild ride. Confirming that the coast was clear, as much as they could in the dark and pouring rain, they exchanged a steely nod before breaking cover and sliding down the slope to the bottom of the embankment—

Where a heavyset man wearing a tan county sheriff’s uniform waited for them. He was favoring one leg; the other was splinted with a stick, strapped with a belt.

His pump shotgun was pointed their way.

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