The Post-Apocalyptic Tourist's Guide to Louisville: a novella by Stephen Lawson

Author:Stephen Lawson [Lawson, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

‘A boy named Susan

A boy named Susan

Ain’t never losin’

With a name like Susan!’

“That’s how the song went. I’m not gonna sing the rest to ya’, though, on account of the pack’s hungry and waiting. We didn’t exactly want to burn the building down, hence not soaking you in gasoline or lighting you up with the bottles. Gasoline’d mess with the taste anyway.”

“Wait...what?” Filson said. “Are you saying—”

“That’s right,” the yellow man said. “My name’s Susan.”

He stared into Filson’s eyes as he clenched the knife, hoping for a snicker. He didn’t want this execution to be anticlimactic. It was better with a final provocation.

“Well that’s a lovely name, Susan,” Filson said finally. “I’m going to share a secret with you too.”

“What’s that?” Susan asked.

“The reason alcohol feels so cool on your skin—” Filson said. “It evaporates quickly, and that breeze just carried away most of the vapor.”

Filson pulled the broad trigger on the flamethrower, engaging the pilot light and the valve control in one smooth motion.

Susan’s legs ignited as he jumped back, howling in pain and horror. He flailed, trying to put out the fire with his jaundiced hands even as the air filled with the crackle of fire and the smell of roasting Susan.

Filson opened up on the others as they darted for cover. A cadaverous woman leapt at Filson’s back, and Thursday swung with the Slugger, catching her in the midsection.

A withered youth darted out, table leg held high, and Thursday connected the sweet spot perfectly with his head.

As though in slow motion—for he would remember it that way later—he watched two things happen. The first was that the Slugger smashed the joint at the left temple of the youth’s skull. The side of the kid’s jaw detached at the same time his left orbital socket crushed inward. The kid fell in a heap on the roof, eyes rolling and extremities twitching with shock as dark blood oozed out of his left ear.

The second thing that happened—which Thursday realized even as he swung the bat— was that he couldn’t see the branded Louisville Slugger logo. He’d swung with it facing the youth. At the same time the kid’s skull caved in, the bat shattered at the grip, sending fragments of “Cornelius,” “best best man,” and “Oliver,” flying into the air.

The proof of his connection—gone in an instant.

Filson sprayed flaming napalm at the kids, who’d come out of hiding with more alcohol bombs. The latex exploded in their hands and the kids screamed, falling from the edge of the roof in flaming agony. Thursday didn’t see Molly among them, though, and wondered for a split-second where the crafty waif had disappeared to.

Thursday still held the grip of the shattered bat, which now had a thick, jagged point where it had broken. He shoved this under the sternum of another attacker, and pulled it free as the cadaverous man fell to the rooftop, wheezing from the wide gash in his lung.

“Gahhh!” Filson yelled. Thursday turned, and saw Molly pulling Susan’s knife down the inside of Filson’s thigh from behind.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.