By Tony K.
I see the note as soon as I entered my house. A hastily scrawled
message on paper by the phone. Godfather called at noon, "Pack your
gear, we’re headed for Atlanta Idaho."
"Good hell." I mutter, "How did he know where to find me?"
A brief call to his unlisted number confirms it. Godfather
and Scorpio are on the way to pick me up. There is nowhere to run
and few places to hide. My fate is tied to theirs.
They arrive 20 minutes later, Godfather in a faded blue Chevy
pickup and Scorpio in his Ford Van. My hesitation at joining these
two is based purely on my survival instinct. Godfather reminds me
of a psycho killer on methadone and Scorpio has a tendency to wave large
caliber handguns in peoples faces. I might be able to handle their
weirdness if they have enough beer. However a quick count of their
cooler contents shows a definite lack of alcoholic beverages.
"This won’t do." I scream, "You can’t take me on
a journey of this magnitude without the proper supplies."
A trip to the store calms me, but I am going to have to keep
a close eye on these two. They obviously aren’t thinking clearly.
On the way out of town we stop for gas. While the treacherous attendant
fills Scorpio’s tank half full (siphoning the rest for his own nefarious
needs), Scorpio and Godfather argue over the shortest route to our destination.
They decide that the road through Idaho City is closer, and we’re off.
Two hours later with darkness closing in we realize our error.
The road to Atlanta is closed from this side. Even road graters with
chains on their tires have been turned back. After checking two more
routes we are forced to go back the way we came and take the main road.
This road is open. We are on our way. I finally begin
to relax when the van gives a sickening slide to the left spilling my beer.
Scorpio lets out a low moan from the drivers seat and the Godfather begins
blowing his horn and blinking his lights.
"Yee Gods," I think, "What now?"
A swift check at the back of the van reveals a flat.
"No problem," I say sipping the remainder of my drink,
"Get out the spare. I’ll supervise while you two change it."
Scorpio emits a long wailing sound, "You don’t understand.
There is no spare."
The Godfather begins to chuckle mirthlessly as I slump against
the side of the van. Is this it then? Our glorious quest ended
before it began? Scorpio has given up. I can sense it
in his spineless jibbering. He keeps muttering about, "being doomed
and just getting home as quickly as possible."
Godfather is ready to push on, but the front of his truck is
so loaded down with dogs and ammo that I will never fit.
After much debating and several beers it is decided that I and
the dog will wait there while Godfather and Scorpio go back down the mountain
to get a vehicle capable of towing the van.
After two and a half hours in freezing darkness I’m beginning
to think I’ve been abandon here, "Where are those boneheads?"
Suddenly they're back. Crashing to a stop against a large
boulder they both stumble from the truck. Scorpio’s mood has changed
considerably and I can tell they’ve been hitting the pipe pretty hard.
They are screaming, "On to Atlanta!" In between tokes and
fumbling for flat repair tools. It is now midnight however, and my
mood is black. I want to camp here get some sleep and make a fresh
start of it in the morning. They will have no part of that.
Insisting that we can be there in three more hours. Three and a half
hours later they finally realize their error and we stop to camp for the
night . Forced to wait until morning to cover the remaining seventeen
miles.
A cold and evil dawn greets us that next day. Snow and
treachery hang in the air. Seventeen miles of uncharted terrain to
go and we’re low on gas. Despite all this my mood is more upbeat.
After all we are Boneheads and heavily armed. We can prevail over
all. A violent thrust into the center of town is all we need to set
things right, but it is not to be.
The people of Atlanta don’t stir much in the middle of April.
Instead they barricade themselves in their concrete shacks with plenty
of beef jerky and ammo, preparing for the flocks of tourists that will
soon invade. One more band of crazies in broken down vehicles does
not impress them. These are our kind of people but we can’t seem
to communicate with them. Instead they sell us beer at $10 a twelve
pack and give us directions to the hot springs.
The next few hours are a blur of freezing cold, damp wood, and
beer. Once we get the fire going nice and hot Scorpio insists we
abandon it and go to the hot springs. As soon as we arrive at these
fetid waters he strips down and dives in.
"It’s glorious." He gasps, "You should jump right in."
We let him flounder there for a few moments and soon the hot water and
heavy pot intake puts him into a comatose state. We prop his head
out of the water with a stick and then hastily leave this tragic scene.
The Godfather and I spot a small pond back by the road and feel
it deserves investigation. We are just settling down with beer and
cigarettes to enjoy this tranquil scene when an ancient Ford LTD with New
Mexico plates arrives and disgorges one large women and three teenage boys.
I can tell at a glance that these people are trouble. They are the
kind of garden variety white trash that seem to show up in places like
this.
"This is no good." I mutter, "Where are the firearms?"
"Back at the truck." Godfather grumbles as he tries to
slouch closer into the rocks.
Fortunately these simpletons are too distracted by the freezing
water of the pond and we are able to make our escape. By now a raging
snow storm has sprung up to cover our retreat.
We stumble back to the hot springs only to find Scorpio swimming
around and shouting about, "The beneficial qualities of a warm mineral
bath followed by a brisk snow rub down."
We leave him half submerged and choking on moss to shuffle back
through the snow to our campfire.
Scorpio arrives soon after a shivering wreck and he and the Godfather
turn to the pipe for comfort. All that cold day they blazed away.
Stopping only to eat like fiends or stir the fire. I watch the snow
pile up and question the wisdom of my being here. Near evening I’ve
had all I can stand. I tear the pipe from Scorpio’s limp fingers
and jam it to my lips. If I’m going to die in this mountain wasteland
at least I’ll die happy.
A few tokes later and I start to unwind. This isn’t so
bad. Learn to embrace the cold. Ignore those two jibbering
about wolf packs and waterfalls. Just go with the flow of nature.
But something is still not right. The quiet, the serenity, what is
lacking? Gunfire.
The very purpose of this mission has been over looked.
We set out to conquer this town but have been reduced to wandering drunkenly
through the woods. Now, under cover of dark is the time to seize
the initiative. A few well aimed blasts from the shotgun should send
these primitive mountain screwheads running for cover.
Quick pick up the firearm. Push the shells into the breech
with trembling fingers. Now a double pump explosion of lead that
echoes into the still night.
"Take that you evil cowards!"
"Fear the Boneheads! We shall rule 10,000 years!"
But what’s this? Off in the distance the sound of return
fire? Several meager popping noises from the nearby town.
This is more than Scorpio and Godfather can take. Both come to their
feet, screaming in despair and blasting into the darkness! For several
minutes this terrible catacophy goes on. Bad craziness, random silliness,
all too horribly real on this treacherous Idaho Saturday night. Then
suddenly it’s over. Scorpio slumps to his seat weakly waving his
gun and slurring his demands for more ammo. The Godfather is deep
into the pipe ignoring all. And I, I am left to wander back to the
van. Carefully laying the gun down its barrel too hot to touch.
I wonder, "Was it all worth it?" This strange journey into the heart
of the homeland. Had we won the battle or lost a war?
At this point the only thing to do is pass out in the back of
the van. Curl into my sleeping bag and try to forget the cold.
Dawn. The rays of sunlight pierce through the vans windows
with cold indifference. It is time to flee. We have been here
too long and done too many terrible things to keep this up much longer.
Things do not look good. Scorpio is hiding in the back of his van
and refuses to come out. Godfather madly dashes about the camp with
an ax breaking up the last few logs for our fire and I am left to watch
for wolves with only 6 rounds of ammo left.
I’m taken by surprise when the creature shows up. A huge
lupine beast with slathering jaws and a hungry look. We scrambled
for our guns as quickly as possible but know we are doomed. The thing
can be on us in a flash, tooth and claw. Scorpio lets out a yelp
and points to the collar around the canines neck, a thick chain with spikes.
This creature is domesticated? What kind of deranged buffoon would
keep a killer like this? We aren’t about to stay to find out.
Immediately everyone runs for the vehicles.
We are dangerously low on gas however and have to beg to acquire
fuel at $2.00 per gallon before slinking out of that desolate burg.
Once safely out of town I throw open the sun roof and let loose
a couple of rounds.
"That’ll give them something to think about!" I shriek,
"We’re not beaten yet!"
Scorpio is cackling maniacally by the time we hit the paved roads,
all sense of dignity lost. Some how we make it home to lick
our wounds, reload, and prepare for next months assault on Atlanta.
After all we are the Boneheads and we shall rule for 10,000 years!
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