Killer Koala Bears from Another Dimension by P.A. Douglas

Author:P.A. Douglas [Douglas, P.A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2013-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

10

Frank opened his eyes, feeling calm and breathing normally. He was slouched over in the passenger seat of the Jimmy and cruising down the road in a fast clip.

He assumed it to be early morning. An orange hue flooded the sky much like the rising sun. His jumbled thoughts collected slowly. Everything was beginning to make sense.

It had just been a dream. It had all been a bad dream.

The killer bears weren’t real. Kathie was fine and driving the vehicle. Captain was probably at the apartment chewing on the sofa. He would tend to misbehave when they left him alone. Especially when taking a longer than normal hiking trip, but he didn’t remember planning a hiking trip. Sure, the sky was beautiful, perfect for such and adventure. But he wouldn’t have planned something like this unless it was the weekend. And sure as shit not around the same time as that art show at the Recreation Center. He was pretty much guaranteed to get called in at least once on the weekend of those silly openings. There was always something in need of repair.

Perplexed by the situation, he sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t feel like he had been sleeping in the car very long.

“Were we headed, hon—” Frank started to say. He turned and looked at the driver and jumped in his seat. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Names David Outlaw. Most people just call me Outlaw.” The large, gruff man nodded while keeping his eyes on the road. “Gave me a scare there for a second, kid. Glad you came around. Hell, I’m glad I came across you at all. My car is kind of M.I.A., if you want to call it that. No way we would a-gotten out a-there on foot.”

Frank stared dumfounded at the driver. He studied the man for a moment. His large forearms were covered in tattoos long faded and blotchy from sun exposure and age. His jeans were grease stained and rolled over his work boots. His shirt was a button-up. It too was covered in grease stains. There was a large tear in the shirt just under his arm revealing some of the man’s armpit. The nametag on the shirt read: Outlaw Tires. Under that was a name tag: David Outlaw. His chin was covered in scruff and a poorly groomed salt and pepper goatee. He wore a worn baseball cap on his head. The John Deer logo embroidered on the front had an oil stain so bad it was almost unreadable.

“Wait… what?” Frank said, scratching at his head.

“Kid, that fall you had must a-been worse than it looked,” Outlaw said, looking away from the road for just a second.

“What are you talking about?” Frank looked straight ahead, the road wound left then right. “Are we on 105?”

“The fall… You fell from the second floor of that apartment. I saw it happen. Was a nasty little spill. Hell, knocked the wind right out a-you. For a second there I was thinking you weren’t comin’ back around.

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