When Science Found Hell | Part 1
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Thunder and lightning rage over the bar that sits just three miles past the county line, out on rural Highway 7. The parking lot is gravel. The paint is chipped and missing from most of the walls. A neon sign flickers off and on, barely bright enough to fight the cloudy gloom. A beater pickup truck sits in the parking lot, which is quickly turning from packed gravel into a huge mud puddle with rocks in it.

High above, deep in the clouds, a dog howls with fear. Inside the bar, the TV blares the news headlines silently across the bottom of the screen as old country classics echo out of the tinny speakers of the ancient jukebox shoved in the far corner.

A lone man, haggard and mean-looking, sits at the bar sipping whiskey from the bottom of the well while the bartender leans his back to the bar and studies the news running across the silent TV. "Science finds hell," the bartender says, echoing what the news scroll is reporting. "How's that even possible?"

"My thoughts exactly," the lone man says. "It's like a vegetarian stumbling across a barbecue joint." "So what?" "Ain't nothing gonna come of it because those are two different worlds." The bartender looks over his shoulder at the lone man and frowns. "What are you talking about?" the bartender says. "Science and religion," the lone man explains. "Oil and water, heat and cream."

"Eating cream?" the bartender asks. "You can't make whipped cream with warm cream," the lone man says. "Everyone knows that." The lone man downs his rotgut and holds out the empty glass then turns it upside down. "Switching to beer, Leo?" the lone man says. "Pour me a glass of your best high life. Hell, pour me a pitcher. I'm in the mood to do a little drinking."

The lone man chuckles. "Science finds hell," the lone man says, still chuckling. "They didn't have to look far. Been on this here earth for a good long while, if you ask me." Leo, the bartender, sets the pitcher of high life down in front of the lone man. "Here you go, Chet," Leo says. "12.50. Put it on my tab," the lone man, Chet, says, then snaps his fingers. "A glass, please."

"No can do, Chet," the bartender says and takes the pitcher back. "Missy has been up my ass about bar tabs this week. Gonna need you to either pay your full tab or pay for this pitcher. Your choice. $12.50 it is," Chet says and digs into his pockets for random bills and loose change. He slaps everything he has on the bar. "There you go. That five is wet," Leo says. "Why do you have a wet five in your pocket but all the rest are dry? Why is it wet?"

"Another mystery, just like science finding hell," Chet says and shrugs as Leo counts out the money. "Two bits over," Leo says. "Keep it," Chet says and points at the pitcher. "My beer, sir." "Asshole," Leo says and sets the pitcher back in front of Chet, then fetches a semi-clean glass from under the bar. Chet pours himself a beer then looks around the bar.

"What?" Leo snaps. "Salt," Chet says. "For the foam. Are you serious?" Leo asks. "Since when have you put salt in your beer?" Chet frowns, then scrunches up his face. "Hard to say," he responds. "Just give me the salt, will ya?" Leo hesitates, then grabs a dusty old salt shaker from its spot, next to a dusty bottle of cognac. "Here," Leo says, handing the shaker to Chet. "Knock yourself out."

"Don't mind if I do," Chet says and sprinkles salt over the foam. Then he takes a sip and smacks his lips. "Savory. You're a real fucking weird-" Leo starts to say but is interrupted by the door suddenly being opened. "Jesus Christ!" A huge man shouts as he races into the bar. The storm outside is worse and the wind nearly rips the door off its hinges as the man struggles to yank it closed.

"Holy fuck! It's literally raining cats and fucking dogs out there!" The man yells. "You're off early, Billy." Leo says and pours a bourbon. Neat. Then sets it on the bar before the huge man even has a chance to shake the water from his ball cap. "Thanks, Leo." Billy says. Crossing to the bar, he lifts the glass, tips it at Leo and Chet, then downs the bourbon. He slams the glass onto the bar and shakes his head. "Double it up, Leo."

"That kinda day?" Leo asks. Billy points up at the muted television and sets his bulk down on a bar stool. "Fuck yeah, it's that kinda day. You see what's happening on the news, and they even reporting half the shit I've seen." "Like what?" Chet asks, sipping his beer. "Did you dipshits not hear me when I came in?" Billy asks, then nods to Leo as a glass half-filled with bourbon is set in front of him.

It is literally raining cats and dogs. Can't you hear that? That's Hale. Big Hale. Sure it is. If Hale had tails and could beg for treats...

"Bullshit." Leo responds. "Go see for your own damn self then!" Billy says. "I think I will." Leo responds and walks out from behind the bar. "And if you're full of shit," "Which he is," Chet interjects, "Then don't play in that damn Tammy Wynette song." Leo finishes.

"And if I ain't full of shit?" Billy asks. "Free drinks for everyone!" Chet announces and holds up his glass. "Free drinks for Billy," Leo says. "Deal!" Leo goes to the front door and shoves it open against the storm. Rain and wind rip through the gap and tear at Leo's bar apron. He sticks his head outside then pulls it back in quick and yanks the door shut. He whispers, then shakes his head, and looks at the two men seated at the bar.

"He ain't lyin'. Cats and dogs have fallen from the sky." Leo glances up at the ceiling and winces with every soft thud. "Makes sense," Chet says. "This is what happens when you fuck around and find hell." "None of this makes sense," Leo says, still wincing at the soft thuds from above. "It does if you fuck around and find hell," Chet says and lifts his glass. "That's science." He laughs hard. The two others don't join in.

"They melting?" Billy asks, turning his attention from Chet to look at Leo. "What?" Leo asks. "The cats and dogs," Billy says. "When they hit the ground, are they melting?" "Yeah," Leo says quietly. "It's pretty fucked up." He slowly makes his way back behind the bar, then just stares at the rack of clean glasses waiting to be put away. Almost robotically, Leo picks up and puts away each glass until the rack is empty.

Then he finally looks over at Billy and shakes his head. They was hitting the pavement like sacks of wet cement, Leo says. I saw a tabby cat burst open. Then it just turned to red goo and spread out in the gravel and water. Yeah, Billy says. I ain't seen nothing like it, Leo says and looks over at Chet. You should take a look. It's insane. I'm good, Chet says and downs his glass of beer before refilling it.

That's the stuff. You were saying you seen some shit today, Billy? You know Amy Everett? Tall chick with the rack? That's Amy Herbert. Amy Everett's got the lazy eye in the rack.

"Oh, right. Yeah, sure," Leo says. She walked in two hours late this morning with her underwear on the outside of her pants, Billy says. That gets Chet's attention, and the man swivels on his barstool to face Billy. "You don't say," Chet asks. "Keep talking." She had a G-string floss in her jeans when she walked through the door, Billy says, and a sports bra over her blouse.

She came right in and went to her desk like nothing was wrong. "Who finally told her she had her skivvies on the outside?" Chet asks. "Laura Connor," Billy says. "The office manager. Know what happened next?" "No," Chet says and sips his beer.

"That's why we're listening to you tell your tale, dumb shit." "She stood up and slapped the shit out of Laura," Billy says. "Just one, two, three. I don't mean back and forth from cheek to cheek." "Nah." "She lifted that palm and gave Laura's left cheek three strikes hard enough to split skin." "Well, damn," Chet says. "You got other stories? This one ain't done," Billy says.

"That so?" Chet responds and taps the bar. "That we are gonna need a couple more pitchers. Leo?"

Two pictures of high life on Billy here in honor of his terrible, horrible, no fucking good day. Hi. Sorry, did I startle you? When you're used to hearing a certain type of commercial, something like this can, well, take you by surprise. That's kind of how it is with the Lexus RX, a vehicle that has continued to defy expectations for over 25 years, from the first luxury vehicle of its kind.

to the first hybrid luxury vehicle, to the only plug-in hybrid worthy of the RX name. We understand you want more than the everyday SUV and isn't being understood an amazing feeling? Experience amazing at your Lexus dealer. He drinks free, Leo says. Not you, asshole. It's fine, Billy says when Leo gives him a look. Put them on my tab.

Sure thing. Hey! I thought Missy didn't want tabs no more. I said Missy has been up my ass about bar tabs. Billy's ain't one of them. You fuckers wanna hear this shit or what? Sorry. Sorry. It got so much worse that it's hard to reconcile.

"Do tell," Chet says and moves four barstools closer, so he's seated right next to Billy. "Unless it's all too traumatizing for you. If that's the case, then I'm happy to sit here and drink beer with you in silence." "Well, understandably, Laura starts to scream and cry," Billy says, continuing his story. "She ran her pear-shaped self right to the ladies' room, so Hal comes out of his office shouting to know what the hell is going on."

Amy doesn't like that. She shoves one at the desk, I think it was Mike's, all the way across the office. It just went sliding as if it was made of paper and the floor was ice. Billy sips his bourbon then swallows hard. Hal is yelling at Amy to calm down and that's just making Amy madder and madder and madder until she, uh... Billy stops talking and stares sightlessly at the bottles lined up behind the bar.

"Billy?" Leo asks. "Until what, goddamnit?" Chet snaps. "No need for suspense, Billy. Out with it." Billy swallows hard. "Amy walks right up to Hal and punches him in the face," Billy says, and downs his bourbon then taps the glass. Leo fills it immediately. "I can still hear the crunch of bone. It was like she hit an unripe melon, but so much worse."

"Was Hal alright?" Leo asks. "No, Leo. Hal was not alright," Billy says. "That crazy woman shattered his fucking face. He hit the deck and blood was everywhere. Hal was screaming for help. Then Amy took a stapler from the closest desk and crouched over Hal. She was gonna bash his brains in if I hadn't stopped her." "How'd you stop her?" Leo asks.

"Tackled her like I was back in high school," Billy says. "Just wrapped her up and took her down." Billy turns his head, so what little light the bar has can catch the puncture marks on his left cheek. "Took a few good licks myself. What the fuck are those?" Chet asks, leaning in close for a better look. "Did tiny little vampires attack you or something?" "Staples," Billy says. "Amy opened the stapler up and went at me."

Billy swallows again. "So I gave her a hard wallop upside her head and that was that?" Billy says. Leo and Chet share a look, then return their attention to Billy. "How do you mean that was that?" Leo asks. "You kill her?" Chet asks. "Jesus Christ, Chet!" Leo says. "What?" Chet protests. "Look at the guy. He gives me a hard wallop and he'd kill me before my body can hit the floor. Maybe." Billy says.

His entire body shudders. "Possibly. She was still breathing when the paramedics arrived." "What about Hal?" Leo asks. "He was still breathing too," Billy says. "Not well if his face was as busted in as you say it was," Chet says and nods at one of the pitchers. "May I?" "Knock yourself out," Billy says. Chet does and fills his glass quickly. "Then what?" Chet asks as he sets the glass down and hunts around.

Where'd the salt go? Billy and Leo share a look. Leo sighs. Here, Leo says and hands Chet a salt shaker. Why'd you move it? Chet asks. I thought you were done, Leo says. Drinking? Does that look like I'm done drinking? Chet snaps. Fool. Chet shakes out a couple of dashes of salt and the excess foam on top of his beer dissipates. Then he drinks half the beer down, belches, and smiles at Billy. Well?

"What happened after that? Everyone get to go home?" Chet asks. "No," Billy says. "Quigley pulls up about five minutes after the paramedics. The sheriff and not a deputy?" Leo asks. "Why didn't he send Kevin or Tanya or one of them? I'm sure Quigley's got other things to deal with." Chet and Leo glance at the TV, then go back to looking at Billy. Billy just stares at his drink.

Laura's like Quigley's first or second cousin, Billy says. She called him from the ladies' room after getting bitch-slapped by Amy. Bet he didn't like Amy hitting his kin, did he? Chet comments and refills his beer. You got enough salt there, Chet? Leo asks. Something is off, Chet says. I think your tap lines need cleaning.

"You'd know," Leo says. "Laura comes out of the ladies' room and starts spouting off," Billy says, ignoring Chet and Leo's exchange. "She's yelling and yelling. What's she yelling about?" Chet asks. He sips his beer and grimaces. "Still needs more salt. Let the man finish his story," Leo says to Chet. "And easy on the damn salt. I just filled that shaker last month."

"Laura's yelling about how we all tried to kill Amy and how I..." Billy swallows some more, then coughs a little. He clears his throat, takes a drink of bourbon, then continues. "She looks at Quigley, who was busy interviewing all of us. Then she points at me and shouts, 'He did this!' She points at you," Leo asks. A particularly loud thud comes from above, and Leo glances at the ceiling. "What did you do?" Chet asks.

"Nothing," Billy says. "I looked at Quigley and shook my head. He'd already spoken to me, so he knew my story. Others backed me up that I had to tackle Amy." "Yeah, but why is Laura pointing at you and saying you did it?" Chet asks. "I don't know!" Billy shouts. He shakes his head and downs the rest of his bourbon. Leo fills it back up for him. "I just don't know." Quigley get her sorted out. Leo asks.

"No." Billy replies flatly. Chet and Leo wait for Billy to continue. When he doesn't, Chet leans over and says, "And then what happened?" "Quigley gets up in my face and asks me what I did to Amy." Billy continues, "Then he agrees with his cousin and says I am the one that slapped Laura, even though everyone saw it was Amy who did it." "Family man," Chet says. "Blood helps blood around here." "What the shit does that even mean, Chet?"

Leo snaps at him. Chet shrugs. "So Quigley is in my face and I'm not liking it so much," Billy says. "He's telling me to put my hands behind my back, but I do not want to put my hands behind my back. I knew right then that if he cuffed me, I was as good as dead." Chet's glass is halfway to his lips, but he pauses. Then he sets the glass down and gives Billy a hard stare. "Billy?" Chet asks. "What did you do?"

"I protected myself," Billy says. "I grabbed Quigley by the throat and shoved him as far away from me as I could. Then when the others came at me, I just started swinging. I was throwing wild punches left and right all the way to the office's front door." "Hold on now," Leo says. "Are you telling us you fought your way out of your office? That's what I'm telling you," Billy replies.

"You fought all your coworkers?" Leo asks. "And the sheriff too, sounds like," Chet says, still staring at Billy. "How bad you hurt them, Billy?" Billy shrugs. "Billy, how bad did you hurt them?" Chet asks again. "I watched you play ball back when you was a kid. I know how hard you can hit, even now that you've gone all soft from being married and having kids."

"It was alright when I left," Billy says after a long pause. "Most of them were breathing." "Jesus," Leo mutters. Lightning flashes outside so bright that even through the single, narrow window the bar has, it's almost blinding. A crack of thunder booms out so loud it could split the universe in two. "Buck," Chet says, eyes still on Billy. "I should've stayed home and drank." "I took Quigley's cruiser," Billy says.

Keys were in it, and it was closer than my pickup. "You stole the sheriff's car?" Leo asks. "I didn't see it in the parking lot." "I had to go home first," Billy says. "Check on Maria and the kids. The storm had gotten worse and I didn't like how the light was. Twister light, if you know what I mean. But the family was fine, I'm sure, right?" Leo asks. "No," Billy says. "They weren't fine, Leo.

Billy jumps up from his seat and the bar stool goes flying out behind him and crashes into an empty table, knocking over a couple of chairs like bowling pins.

With one of his huge hands, Billy reaches across the bar and grabs Leo by the shirt collar. He yanks him close and presses his nose to the bartenders. "I was so worried about them, but when I got inside, all Maria could do was ask me question after question," Billy says, his eyes blinking rapidly, his breath ragged.

Billy shoves Leo away and looks behind him. He sees the stool across the bar, then just grabs the nearest one and sits back down. "Gimme the bottle," Billy says. "Sure thing," Leo replies and slides the bourbon across the bar to Billy.

Then he takes a couple of slow steps back and eases his phone out of his pocket. "Billy?" Chet asks. "What did you do to Maria?" "Me?" Billy laughs. "You think I'd hurt the love of my life? I didn't do a damn thing to that woman. What happened to her, she did to herself." "Okay." Chet says, keeping Billy's attention as Leo dials 911. "What did she do to herself?" Billy snorts and laughs.

"A lot," he says. "Oh, she did a lot." Then Billy fixes Chet with a cold look and grins. The grin slowly reaches his eyes and mixes with the madness.

She snapped her own neck, Billy continues. Then she threw herself against the wall and told me to get her the kitchen knife. And not the cheap one she leaves out on the counter in that damn block. But the good knife in the drawer. I'm a good husband, so I did what she asked. I know how to listen. You got your wife the kitchen knife she asked for, Chet says. Even after she snapped her own neck?

"Women," Billy says and shrugs. "They are hard to figure out." Chet glances at Leo, but Leo shakes his head and slides his phone back in his pocket. "Alright, Billy," Chet says. "I'd rather not ask this, but are the kids okay?" "Kids are fucking fine," Billy says. "They're out in the minivan." "In the parking lot?" Leo asks and whips his head toward the front door. "They're fine," Billy says.

"Put the storm in!" Leo tries to continue. "They're fine!" Billy shouts and throws the bottle of bourbon at Leo's head. The bartender manages to duck in time, but the bottle collides with half a dozen others, sending glass and liquor exploding everywhere. "Gonna play me some Tammy Wynette!" Billy says as he stands and walks off to the dark corner where the old jukebox sits. Leo grabs a towel and tries to wipe as much liquor from himself as he can, while Chet keeps an eye on Billy.

911 was busy? Chet asks, out of the corner of his mouth, and smiles and nods when Billy glances back at the bar. Yeah, Leo says, picking glass out of his hair. You think one of us should go check on those kids? Chet asks. I'm afraid to go see what's out there, Leo replies. I don't think it'll be good. No, me neither, Chet says. Country music blares from the speakers.

"That's not Tammy Wynette," Chet says. "I've never heard that song before." Billy does a quick shuffle with his feet, then spins and points at Leo and Chet. "Then she said I needed to slice her face off!" Billy shouts over the music. "So I did, 'cause I'm a good husband and I listen." Chet lifts his glass in salute and sips from his beer. "You still got your scattergun back there?" Chet asks Leo.

"Got my hand on it right now," Leo says. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking I'd rather not be Billy's next story," Chet says. "She screamed at me to keep cutting!" Billy continues to shout from across the room. "I did! Cutting and slicing and cutting and slicing until not a pinch of skin was left on her! She has never been so beautiful!"

Billy sprints toward them, and Leo brings the sawed-off shotgun out from underneath the bar. Billy skids to a halt and frowns. "What the fuck is that for?" Billy asks. "All I was gonna do is see if y'all wanted to go out to the van and see Maria's new body. She has never been so beautiful." "I'm sure she is," Chet says and stands up. Without taking his eyes off Billy, he scoots down the bar, then reaches back over it and flips a switch.

The speakers cut off and the music goes away, leaving a quiet ringing in the place. "What the fuck did you do that for?" Billy snarls at Chet. "That song was for me! They picked it for me! You fucking drunk ass bitch!" Billy races at Chet. Leo squeezes the trigger. The shotgun would have been deafening, but a harsh crack of thunder from above steals its glory. Then silence fills the bar. "Oh fuck!"

"What did I do?" Leo whimpers after a couple of seconds. "But you had to," Chet says. He inches towards Billy's motionless, face-down body. "Hey, Leo?" "Yeah, Chet?" Leo replies. "How's about you take your finger off that trigger?" Chet suggests. "I'm well within that spread, and I'd rather not catch a back full of buckshot if I can help it." "Right," Leo says and eases his finger to the outside of the trigger guard. "Be careful."

"Careful is the only plan I got," Chet says as he stands over Billy. Blood flows out from under Billy's torso and pools about the still man's body. Chet circles Billy a few times, then finally crouches down and pokes Billy right in the ass cheek. Nothing. "He ain't breathing," Leo says. "I can see that, dammit," Chet says. "Try 911 again." "But four, he's dead, right?" Leo responds. Chet looks up at Leo and frowns.

"Yeah, he's fucking dead, asshole. That's why you're gonna try 911 again. We got a dead man here on the floor." Chet trails off as he looks over at the front door. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "And Billy's family may be out in that minivan of theirs. We know Maria isn't doing so hot if what Billy said is true, so I'm thinking we call in the professionals to take care of this shit." Leo nods and tries 911 again.

He winces and tosses the phone onto the bar. "You gotta hear this," Leo says and taps the speaker button. "Is what you two are?" A shrill yet deep voice echoes out of Leo's phone. "Just two lost little bitches, stuck in that dive bar like a pair of perpetual losers. Pathetic! That's what you two are. Pathetic! You killed the one good thing in that bar. Billy knew how to listen and to be done.

Leo kills the call. He doesn't pick his phone back up. He just leaves it there on the bar despite the fact that it's sitting in a pool of condensation that's dripped down from one of the beer pitchers. "That was 911?" Chet asks.

"Uh, yeah." Leo says. Chet stands up and moves away from Billy's body. Then he glances toward the front door again. "One of us should check on the kids." Chet says. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Leo replies. "No way am I going out there. Not in a fucking storm where it's raining cats and dogs." "They could still be alive." Chet says.

"Who the fuck are you?" Leo snaps. "Why do you care about a couple of white trash kids, huh? Since when do you grow a conscience or a heart?" "Calm the fuck down, Leo." Chet says. "You don't know jack shit about me. I knew you were a loser in school so they kicked you out." Leo says. "Then you were a loser in the army and they kicked you out of that too. You're such a fucking loser that they probably kicked you out of hell." Chet nods, then glances past Leo to the TV.

There's a scene of literal fire raining down on some coastal town, while a massive tsunami grows and grows out on the horizon. The camera cuts back to the anchorwoman. She has her head in her hands and is sobbing while the man stands behind her with a machete. Then it goes to commercial, and Chet focuses back on Leo. "Set that shotgun down," Chet says. Leo looks at his hands like he's surprised by the sight of the weapon. Then he smiles wide at Chet.

"You know what?" Leo says and aims the shotgun at Chet. "I don't think so." "What you doing, Leo?" Chet asks. "I'm listening," Leo says. "Don't you hear it?" Chet shrugs and casually reaches behind him until his hand finds the back of a chair. "Sure, I hear it," Chet says. "I'll just have a seat right here so we can listen together."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Leo says in a manic tone filling his voice. "Sit down, you fucking drunk loser! Gonna do just that," Chet says and shifts his weight to his back foot as he drags the chair closer to him. Then he lifts it and flings it at Leo. The shotgun goes off and wood explodes everywhere as most of the chair is obliterated. Chet feels a sting across his left cheek but ignores the pain as he hurries to the bar where Leo is frantically trying to pull the spent shells from the shotgun.

Chet lurches over the bar top and snatches the shotgun from Leo's grip, then throws it across the bar. It collides with the jukebox, shattering the heavy plastic front. "Fucking loser!" Leo yells and grabs for Chet's throat.

Chet slaps Leo's hands away, picks up the pitcher of beer that's still full, and slams it into the side of Leo's head. The bartender grunts then collapses. Chet doesn't waste a moment and hurries around the bar. He drops down, flips Leo over onto his stomach, yanks Leo's hands behind his back, and looks about for something to tie them with. He sees a roll of duct tape sitting next to the soft drink dispenser.

In seconds, he has Leo's wrists wrapped with enough duct tape to keep a gorilla still. "All right now, Leo," Chet says, and hauls the man up onto his feet. He walks him out from behind the bar and sits him down on a bar stool. "I think we should have ourselves a little chat, don't you?" Leo, dazed and bleeding, doesn't respond. He slumps over the bar, his chest resting against the rail as his cheek falls into some spilled beer.

"Mistake," Leo mutters. "Damn right that was a mistake," Chet says, giving the back of Leo's head a hard smack. "I told you that you don't know shit about me." "You loser," Leo says. He starts to wriggle his wrists, but Chet gives him another hard smack and he stops. "Questions," Chet says. "Why'd y'all go crazy on me?" "I'm a good listener," Leo says. "You need to be a good listener too."

Thunder erupts above, and the entire building shakes. "This have something to do with that?" Chet asks, and points up at the TV. "Hell talking to you. That it, Leo?" "Hell has been talking to all of us," Leo says. "But we weren't listening. Now we got it. No choice no more."

"Gotta be good listeners," Chet asks. "Yes!" Leo exclaims and tries to lift his head up from the bar top. Chet slams it back down. "You stay right there, Leo," Chet says. "We still got some talking to do." Another explosion of thunder rocks the building. Chet frowns as dust drifts down from the ceiling. "I need a drink," Chet says. He moves back behind the bar and fetches the duct tape.

Then he walks back out and wraps tape around Leo's legs and arms, securing him to the barstool he's sitting on, with the threat managed for the moment. Chet returns to behind the bar and pours himself a fresh pitcher of beer. Without hesitation, Chet grabs the salt shaker and shakes until the foam is gone. Then he drinks straight from the pitcher and doesn't stop until it's drained dry.

With a loud belch and a wipe of his mouth, Chet drops the empty pitcher on the floor, then leans his elbows on the bar and looks at Leo. "My problem is I ain't never been good at listening," Chet says. "So whatever hell is spoutin', it's fallin' on deaf ears." "He'll listen eventually," Leo says. "They all will." "They? Who is they?" Chet asks. "People," Leo says. "All the people will listen, and then we will be right."

"How you fuckin' figure that?" Chet asks. "There's nothing right about any of this. Not with you, not with Billy, not with the fuckin' pound dumping its strays on the roof, not with Billy's family, not with the whole fuckin' world!" Chet points at the TV. It's back from commercial, and the man is trying to chop the anchorwoman's head off with the machete, but his aim is terrible, and he's mostly mutilating her skull and shoulders.

Ain't nothing right about hacking some woman's head off on fucking live TV. There definitely ain't nothing right when no one tries to stop the motherfucker. You just have to listen, Leo says. Yeah, well, we've already been through that, Chet says. Listening ain't my strong suit. There is one last massive crack of thunder. Chet winces at the pressure the sound creates inside the bar. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the place and put back in in a split second later.

Chet works his jaw a few times until his ears pop. "It stopped." Chet says after a couple of seconds. "I don't hear no thuds anymore." "All dogs go to hell." Leo says and laughs. Chet smacks him again, hard. "Shut the fuck up." Chet says and turns his attention to the single thin window. Sunlight is filtering through the dirt and grime that coats the pane while staring at the front of the bar and the sunlight fighting its way through the nasty window pane.

A thought hits Chet. It is not a thought he enjoys, but something in him says that the thought ain't gonna go away anytime soon unless he does something. "Stay there," Chet says and walks to the front door. "I'll be right back." "I won't!" Leo yells as Chet opens the front door and walks out into the parking lot. The gravel is barely visible under the several inches of rain and dog and cat goo that fills the lot. Chet turns his head and looks at his pickup truck.

The windshield is obliterated and the cab and hood are caved in from the impacts of the dogs and cats. The faded paint is coated with goo stains. The passenger side mirror is on the ground, half submerged in yuck. "Shit," Chet says. "Won't be going nowhere in that." His attention turns to the minivan parked opposite his pickup truck. The windows are all steamed up. "Holy shit," Chet says, and sloshes through the inches of liquid over to the minivan.

"Someone's still alive." He grabs the handle to the side door, pulls hard, and slides the door wide open. The smell hits him first, shit and blood. Chet's eyes see the back of Maria's skinned head as her body rests in the passenger seat. But Chet's attention is immediately pulled away from the grotesque sight to a sight that makes his blood run colder, colder than it has run all day, which is saying something. The two child seats in the middle of the van are coated in blood.

"Ah, shit," Chet says. Then he looks at the windows again. Condensation drips down the glass. "Hello?" Chet calls into the minivan. "Anybody in here?" There's a sound from the back. Chet leans into the minivan and looks toward the back seat and the cargo area. He nearly pisses himself when he sees two blue eyes peering out from under matted blonde curls as they stare at him from over the edge of the back seat.

"Hey there," Chet says, and slowly holds out a hand like you would with a scared dog. "I'm Chet. I'm a friend of your daddy's." The second the words leave his mouth, he knows they are the wrong thing to say. The eyes and the curls disappear instantly, followed by barely controlled sobs. "No, no. Your daddy ain't gonna hurt you no more," Chet says. "He's dead now." The sobs grow louder. "Fuck," Chet says. "Shit. Fuck. Shit."

He holds his head and turns in a circle, surveying the parking lot as he tries to figure out what to do. "What the fuck do I know about kids?" He mutters to himself. Then he snaps his fingers and runs away from the minivan. He stops halfway to the bar, turns back around, and hurries to the minivan. "Stay right here!" He calls into the van as he closes the sliding door. Then he's off and back to the bar.

Bursting through the door, he sees Leo still taped to the barstool. Except the barstool is now on the floor, and Leo is trying to roll and wiggle himself over to the shattered jukebox and the shotgun. Only problem is, Billy's corpse is in the way, and Leo has gotten himself stuck. Chet freezes up at the decisions he has before him. He hasn't had to do this much thinking in a long while.

He unfreezes, races over and finds the shotgun in the jukebox, removes it, turns, and races to the bar. He grabs a container of maraschino cherries, turns once more and sprints to the front door. Then he pauses, walks back, and kicks Leo in the stomach. "Stop trying to start shit, Leo!" he yells down at the man. Then he's racing out of the bar and back to the minivan. Chet pulls the sliding door open once more and glances toward the cargo hold.

No blue eyes or matted curls. "Hey, sweetie," Chet calls out. "I have something yummy for you. You know those cherries you get on Sundays? I got a whole jar here for you. They taste like sweet, sweet candy." There's no response, but Chet realizes it's not exactly silent in the minivan. He can hear something from back in the cargo hold, but the back seat is blocking his view. Chet leans out of the minivan and looks toward the rear of the car.

Tucking the sawed-off shotgun into his belt, Chet walks to the back of the minivan and grabs the rear hatch's handle. He takes a deep breath and lifts. The cargo hatch slowly rises and Chet steps back out of its way. The jar of cherries fall from his hand and flops into the goo and muck at his feet. "Jesus God, no!" Chet mutters as he stares at the nightmare before him.