Revenge of the flunkies, p.1
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       Revenge of the Flunkies, p.1

          
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Revenge of the Flunkies
Revenge of the Flunkies

  Glen Solosky

  Copyright 2014 Glen Solosky

  Copyright ©2014 by Glen Solosky

  All Rights Reserved.

  No Part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Hi, I’m Glen Solosky.

  Thank you for buying one of my books! I hope you enjoy it.

  I’d love to hear from you! Please drop me a line at sruvius@gmail.com. Tell me what you like about the book, what you don’t like, anything at all. I personally respond to all my emails.

  With apologies to H. G. Wells

  Revenge of the Flunkies

  (as told by Walt hisself)

  It was about four months since I used my superier branes to drive away them Space Flunkies. I didn’t expect I’d ever see them, or Sheriff Haas, no more.

  I had sold the sheriff’s watch, and after paying off some dets and buying a small quanity of essenshuls (mostly beer), there was enough money left over to buy me a real nice car—a ’75 Pinto. It was in good shape except the body was rusted out, the tires was no good, a family of possums was living under one of the seats, and the engine didn’t run. Me and that skinny Randy kid what lives down the crick a ways rebuilt most of the engine on account he knows something about cars. It was all done except for one part: the head gasket. I had a hard time finding one so I hadda order it special. By the time it came in the mail, Randy had left with his folks on vacation to Talladega.

  The mailman don’t like me, probably becuz I like to do stuff like paint the handle of my mailbox when I see him coming. I think he knew Randy was helping me, and that the kid was leaving for Talladega, so, just for spite, he waited till he was gone to deliver my package. I’m gonna get him good. Maybe I’ll leave a dead rat in the mailbox for him.

  I was getting antsy for putting the gasket in, so I asked my friend Ledo if he knew anybody what could do it. He said, “Don’t talk so stoopit, Fat Wote. I been workin’ on cahs since I was three week old. Aint no problem puttin’ a gasket on a Pinto! Jeez, you sho’ is lucky you call th’ right guy.”

  So he came over one Saturday afternoon. Me and Arlin set up lawn chairs and watched while Ledo worked on the engine. I was kinda tired, so I spent most of the time watching with my eyes closed.

  By and by, we got to talking on the subjeck of the Flunkies: “I had a dream about them a week ago,” I said. “Dreamt I heard them come falling out of the sky just like they did that night. Woke me right up. It seemed so real, I hadda take a look out the window just to make sure it didn’t really happen. ’Course, I didn’t see nothing.”

  From under the Pinto’s hood, Ledo mumbled, “They evah do come back here, I just bash they haids in. Haw!”

  “Well,” said Arlin in that slow, soothing voice that could put anybody to sleep, “I imagine they’re probably a million miles away by now.”

  “If thet piece o’ junk make it thet far!” said Ledo. He turned toward me, leaning on the grill and shaking a monkey wrench at me. “Thet reminds me o’ sumpthin’ Carl Fleaslap tole me th’ other day, Wote. He say somebody been stealin’ all kinda stuff from his junkyard. He say they’s tons o’ scrap missin’. Cah parts, scrap metal. Happen ever night this week. He been sittin’ out there tryin’ to catch ’em, but he keep fallin’ asleep.”

  It was getting late, and Ledo said he was just about done, so I decided to go in and heat up some leftovers. Arlin put on the TV, and by the time Ledo came in it was dark outside. After dinner, we cleared junk off the sofa and started watching the Creature Feature. Ledo flopped down and stretched his legs halfway across the room.

  “Whassis stoopit moovie, Wote?”

  “War of the Worlds. It’s about some spacemen what come from space.”

  “Haw! Spacemen! Who gonna believe thet? What idjut come up with this stuff?”

  It’s hard to watch a movie with Ledo in the room. He gets all nuts and slappy. “Lookit thet! Them Mars men drivin’ around in a buggy shootin’ everbody! Haw haw!”

  After that movie there was another one about some where-woof or something. We fell asleep. That night I had another dream about them Flunkies. In it they was walking around outside, talking that weird bubble talk of theirs.

  Next morning, we ate pizza crust I found in a box behind the sofa. Arlin said he wasn’t hungry, which is just as well, becuz I don’t think there would have been enough for the three of us anyhow.

  We was just finishing up when Sheriff Haas come busting my door in. At first I wasn’t even sure it was him. He didn’t look like hisself; his clothes was all torn and dirty, he had a beard and long hair and his mustash was overgrowd and hanging over his mouth. His sunglasses was gone, too, and I could see by his eyes he was scared outa his mind. He stood there for a minute all wide eyed, looking at us like he wasn’t sure where he was. Finally I said, “Whatchoo doin’ bustin’ my door down? Aint you supposed to be dead?”

  Hearing my voice musta snapped him out of it. He walked over to me and grabbed my arms like he was trying to convinse hisself I was real. “Walt,” he said, “it’s really you.” He looked at Ledo and Arlin, then around at the trailer. Then, in not much more than a whisper, he said, “I’m home.”

  “This aint your home, and this time you gonna pay for that door.”

  He looked back at me and his eyes got even wider. “We have to leave here . . . now!”

  “What? I aint going nowheres.”

  “But you have to—”

  Arlin stepped forward. “If you don’t mind my asking, Sheriff, where have you been all this time? I reckon it’s been about four months now you been gone.”

  “Yeah,” said Ledo, all squinty eyed, “how’d you get back here? We seen you go up in thet buggy with them Flunkies. We figgered you was et.”

  Haas looked at him kinda blank. “Flunkies?” He looked out the window. “That’s not what they call themselves. I been with them so long, I learned their language. They’re Munkaheenies from a planet called Munkahoonah.”

  “Haw! What kinda stoopit names is that!”

  As I listened to the sheriff’s story, I thought I heard a plane engine outside. It seemed to be getting louder.

  Haas said, “They decided not to eat me, but use me for slave labor instead. I spent four months changing light bulbs and shoveling coal. The whole time all Bzaumbie—that’s the name of their leader—talked about was getting revenge and cooking Walt.”

  “They did seem slightly disgruntled last time we seen them.” said Arlin.

  The sheriff looked at him, blinking. “They couldn’t make it all the way back to Munkahoonah. Something was wrong with their engine, so they decided to come back here to get revenge. They arrived a week ago. I just managed to escape this morning.”

  I rubbed my chin. “A week ago, huh? Mebbe that wasn’t no dream. . .”

  Ledo said, “They been here a week? Where they at?”

  “The same place as last time. Down in the old quarry.”

  “Let’s go. I gonna bash they haids in!”

  Haas grabbed Ledo’s arm. “Wait! If we head out there, we’re going to need more firepower. They’ve been going out at night and finding all kinds of scrap metal, hauling it back, and using it to build something . . . something big.”

  Arlin said, “Fellers, do you suppose they’re the ones been stealing scrap from Carl’s junkyard?”

  I grabbed my shotgun, and as we stepped outside, I heard the plane getting closer, but now it sounded a little different—like the engine was sputtering. I said, “Let’s ride into town and get some guns from the sheriff’s office.”

  Ledo said, “We can take yer Pinto, Wote! It’s all ready to go.”

  We climed in the car. The box the head gasket came in was on the back seat, so Haas just threw it behind his head on that little shelf under the rear window. I turned the key, but nothing happened. “Ledo, I thought you said this thing was ready to go.”

  “It is! You just aint doin’ it right, Wote. Here, gimme thet key!” He tried to start it, but still the only sound we could hear was that plane getting closer.

  Sheriff Haas threw the shotgun on top of the gasket box, then jumped out and looked under the hood. “Hey Walt, I don’t think this thing’s going anywhere soon.”

  “Whatchoo talking ’bout?” said Ledo as we got out to take a look. “I just fixed thet thing myself last night!”

  The Sheriff was right. The car didn’t have no engine!

  Ledo scratched his head. “What the—?”

  By now the plane was so loud, we couldn’t hardly hear ourselfs talk. Its engine was sputtering, and there was a new sound—like wood cracking and splintering. It sounded like a Sherman tank was coming thru the woods. It kept getting louder and louder, until it sounded like it was right on top of us.

  Then the cracking stopped, and there was just the sound of the engine idling.

  All this time we was standing in front of the car. I think we all realized at the same time that the open hood was blocking our view from whatever was making that noise, but we was afraid to
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