Devils Desk 2 by Mark Tufo

Author:Mark Tufo [Tufo, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mark Tufo

8

By late afternoon BT was convinced Mike could have sat on his butt, scooting along like a dog with anal glands that needed popping, and still travel faster than the crawl he was moving at now.

“Mike.”

“I’m trying!”

“I’m only asking if you want to call it a night. We’ll rest here.”

Mike looked around; there wasn’t so much as a patch of tall saw grass to hide behind. “Sorry, man, I can’t think much past the misery.”

“Fuck me if I don’t want to do this.” BT rooted around in his bag. “You! Look away!” BT was pointing a meaty finger at Trip, who had become increasingly curious. “I’m going to give you a little something to take the edge off,” BT told Mike as he popped the top off the syringe.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said this was a lethal dose. I promise I’ll try and move faster.” Mike held his good arm out to hold him away.

“Relax. If I kill you, it won’t be by wasting something valuable. Just don’t flinch; I’m only going to give you a little.” BT grabbed his arm.

“While you have the needle in me try not to remember that time I borrowed your lawn mower.”

“You mean the brand-new battery-powered one I’d spent a small fortune on that you somehow ran over with your car? That one?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Do you remember that you put the three biggest pieces back in my garage? Did you think I wasn’t going to notice?”

“I just needed to stall until the new one came in.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should have just waited for the replacement?”

“Not until you started yelling at me, no. Oh. Thats—” Mike nearly dropped as his eyes involuntarily rolled up and his breathing shallowed.

“You should have maybe let me do that. How much did you give him?”

“The recommended amount, .2 milligrams per kilogram of body weight, so about 32 milligrams.”

“Uh oh,” Trip quickly put out the joint that was hanging from his lip and lightly smacked Mike’s face.

“What? What is it!?” BT asked in alarm as he put the syringe away.

“You used your body weight.”

“Oh shit.” BT helped prop up the slumping Mike. “What have I done? I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“You had morphine, any chance you have Narcan?”

BT shook his head. “It was intended as a one-way journey, if all else failed.”

Trip smirked and nodded. “He’s not in danger of overdosing, but he’s not going to be much help either for the next couple of hours.”

“Freel pretty goof.” Mike was wearing a slanted grin. “Muuuch better.”

“I bet. I’m sorry, bud. I gave you too much,” BT said.

“Too munch frun? Heh heh.”

“This is just shitastic. Trip, let’s sit him down. I want to gather some wood and see if I can build a travois.”

“Want to play pattycake?” Trip asked.

“Fuck yeah!” Mike shouted enthusiastically.

“NO! Mike, your shoulder is screwed up.” BT gave Trip a withering look.

“Fright, fright,” Mike touched his nose and pointed back at BT.

“I could go for a beer,” Trip said, sitting next to Mike.

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