Dead Duck by Micheal Maxwell

Author:Micheal Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thriller, Fiction
Publisher: Maxwell Boo, LLC
Published: 2020-05-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MANDY STOOD IN the center of the packed room, took a look around, sighed, and let out a curse. All around her, the terrible cliched pump-pump-screech of cliched techno music filled the old warehouse. Roughly two hundred ravers were writhing around like zombies. She supposed they would consider it dancing, but to Mandy, it looked like puppets being yanked back and forth by a deranged puppeteer. Some of them held pacifiers in their mouths or tied around their necks. Some of these pacifiers glowed in the dark or had blinking lights in them.

How did she ever let Raven talk her into coming out here? She knew the answer but standing in this sea of zoned trippers, it was hard to remember. The truth of the matter was she came here for the drugs. It certainly wasn’t the men. There was an alarming number of forty-something dudes on the floor, desperately clinging to the rave fad that dominated the late nineties.

And it wasn’t for the music, either. The beats were the same and everything else sounded like flying saucers crashing into one another.

But Mandy heard about the drugs and figured it would be worth it. She knew it was irresponsible, but tried not to care. She was twenty years old and lived the first eighteen years of her life chained to her mother’s strict Catholic upbringing. Mandy spent the last two years experimenting with things her mother scorned: secular music, sex, and drugs. Admittedly, she didn’t even like half the drugs she tried, but Raven told her that some of the drugs you could get at these isolated raves were mind-blowing.

The rave—if you wanted to call it that—was located in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Mandy and Raven drove an hour and ten minutes to get to it, and half an hour of that time was spent maneuvering down unmarked back roads and several gravel roads. It was in a warehouse that apparently was once some sort of lumber mill. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that it smelled like old cedar and lots and lots of BO. Hygiene was not high on the list of priorities when it came to three-day backwoods raves.

“You look miserable!” Raven shouted at Mandy from behind.

Raven was flanked by two guys. One was clearly stoned. He was staring at Raven, unblinking, and stroking her hair as if she were a cat. Mandy figured he was on ecstasy. The other guy was far too into the music; he looked like he was having a mini-aneurysm every time the bump-bump-bump of the beat hit.

“I sort of am,” Mandy said. “Throw in some Pearl Jam shirts and the cast of The X-Files and this would be the nineties.”

“Here, then,” Raven said. She held out her hand, cupped into a loose fist. “Maybe this will help.”

Mandy took the offering and found a single ecstasy pill dropped into her hand. She’d done it before and, for the most part, enjoyed it. But she wasn’t sure she’d enjoy it here.

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