Slopmeat

One of the bank tellers lay on the floor with his guts spilling out into his cupped hands, eyes wide, a blood bubble forming between his parted lips.

“If you wanna end up like him then just go ahead and do something stupid! You’ll see where it gets you!” Coursen informed the rest of the small bank’s personnel and the handful of customers that were currently laying face down on the cold stone floor. “Stevie here is just dying to plug some more of you bastards!”

Stevie smiled, showing a mouth full of gold teeth as he waved his sawed off shotgun around ominously. He flashed his grin over at Hamilton, who had just disarmed what passed for a security guard in this hole-in-the-wall bank located in what could hardly be called a town. Unincorporated burg was more like it and that was being generous. Hamilton had stripped the guard of his gun and kicked him in the ribs for posterity’s sake before assuming his watch at the front door.

“Let’s get the money and get the hell out of here!” He called to the other two as he scoped the town’s main road through the single glass door, keeping an eye out for the cops.

“You heard what the man said!” Coursen shouted at the stunned bank tellers. “I need someone to empty out the drawers double time or everyone here is going to be leaving in their own personal body bag! You!” He addressed a young girl in a pretty pink dress who was currently shivering on the floor. “Get on yer feet and make it happen pronto!” He shoved his .357 Magnum in her face as she peeked up at him from behind dainty fingers. “Get moving!”

She got up quickly and began filling canvas bank sacks with cash, her hands trembling so badly it took a concentrated effort to stuff the bundles of money in without dropping them on the floor. When she had four bags full Coursen approached her and relieved her of the load.

“That ought to do it. Yer a real sweet heart baby, don’t let anyone tell ya different.” He told her then placed the .357 to her forehead and pulled the trigger, ending her short life in a spray of blood and bone. She flew backward about three feet, landing next to one of her co-workers, who rolled over and began hollering at the top of his lungs. Stevie took this opportunity to make use of his sawed off again, pumping two shells into the man’s chest.

Chaos ensued as the one remaining teller and the four customers broke from their positions on the floor and made a run for the door.

“Round ‘em up boys!” Coursen hollered and Stevie and Hamilton open fired into the people as they ran helter skelter into each other in their panic. Hamilton, double fisted now that he had the security guards .38 along with his own .45, whooped as he fired both guns into the melee, taking out three of them just before they made it to the door. The security guard got up to make a mad dash for it and was cut down by his own gun seconds later. Coursen took care of the last customer, an elderly lady, while Stevie jumped over the counter and headed for the back of the bank.

“Stevie, come on! We don’t have time to screw around with the safe! Let’s blow before the cops get here!”

Stevie nodded and hopped back over the counter, running towards the door. Suddenly the sound of a police siren took over the relative silence that ensued after the gunfire.

“Everybody to the car now!” Coursen yelled and the three hastily made their exit. Hamilton was the first one to the car so he dove behind the wheel, started the old Charger up and slammed it into gear, impatiently waiting for the other two. When they piled in he peeled away from the curb, tires screeching and smoking, the smell of burning rubber permeating the car. Minutes later they were passing a sign that said: ‘You are now leaving Hanson Prairie. Come back soon!’

Looking in the rear view mirror, Hamilton saw the town’s only police car stop at the bank, two officers getting out to survey the damage no doubt. Probably figured they could get some information and the make of the vehicle from a witness inside, little knowing there was no one left to tell them anything, except for the surveillance camera’s that is.

“We shoulda wore masks,” Stevie said as he loaded more shells into the sawed off. “They’s gonna know it was us that done it.”

“Like they wouldn’t have guessed anyway.” Coursen said from the back seat, counting the money. “We’re the only escaped cons in this state as far as I know of.”

“Yeah, but still…” Stevie said, his voice trailing off as he looked out the window at the bland dessert landscape that blurred by.

“Just shut up and keep that sawed off ready for more action.”

“Okay.” Stevie said, fishing around in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Can this thing go any faster?” Coursen asked Hamilton, who looked up, catching the other’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

“I got it to the floor.” The driver said dourly, licking cracked, brittle lips.

“Punch it through the floor then. The state trooper’s are gonna know where we’re headed soon enough. We gotta make time.”

“Sure thing.”

When they had left San Antonio heading west on interstate 10 the day before they had been driving a Honda Civic Stevie had stolen from a used car lot. When they held up a gas station in Hondo Hamilton had spotted the old Charger and they had made the switch, but not without an argument over it with Coursen, who felt that the Civic would be more reliable. They were heading into the dessert where there was going to be long stretches of nothing. The Honda got better gas mileage and had cold AC, whereas the Charger was a throwback to the rough and tumble days of the 70’s, AM radio and all.

“If that piece of crap overheats I’m gonna hold you personally responsible.”

Coursen had told Hamilton, who nodded eagerly as he slid behind the wheel of the muscle car, hot wiring it quickly and gunning it so that he could hear the engine roar.

Presently, Coursen looked up from his counting and eyed the miles of nothing that surrounded them.

“Where the hell are we?” He asked no one in particular and, since Stevie was no good for anything but muscle power and shooting anything that moved, Hamilton answered him.

“We just passed a sign that said it was 54 miles to Alpine.”

“How are we doin’ on gas?”

“We could be doing better.” Hamilton said, looking at the gauge for the first time since they had come upon the sleepy little town of Hanson Prairie. “We’re down to about a quarter of a tank. Shit, we should have got gas before we robbed that bank.”

“Nice goin’ dickhead. Think this piece of crap can make it to Alpine on that?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who should be paying attention to stuff like that! You guys are in the car too…”

“Yeah, but you’re the one driving!”

“So?” Hamilton retorted, enraged. “Why ya gotta pick on me, huh? Why don’t you ever blame stuff on Stevie? He’s as much a part of this as I am!”

“Because Stevie is a total moron, alright?” Coursen said and Stevie looked back at him, hurt by the remark, and Coursen shrugged.

“I love yer black ass buddy but you’re dumb as a sack of rocks. All I expect from you is to kill people when it’s necessary, ya dig?”

“I guess so…” Stevie replied doubtfully and Coursen slapped him on the back affectionately.

“Look, I couldn’t do this without you bro, you know that.” He said and Stevie smiled a big, stupid grin.

“Well what about me? Yer always riding my ass about something!”

“I couldn’t do this without you either dude, it’s just that I expect more from you then I expect from him because somewhere inside that thick skull of yours is a brain that I wish you would use from time to time! Are ya with me?”

Hamilton, though he was still a little upset, couldn’t help but take that as a compliment.

“Yeah, I got ya man.” He said, feeling pride swell up within him. Coursen didn’t dish out niceties all that often, so you had to take what you could get and appreciate them when they came along. “Look, I’m sure we’ll come along another little town before we run out of gas and when we do we can make a pit stop and get something to eat. I’m starving. You hungry Stevie?”

Stevie rubbed his big belly and smiled. “I’m always hungry!” He said and the three of them laughed.

“You better hope so.” Coursen said when their amusement subsided, returning his attention to the stacks of cash.

“How much money did we get?” Stevie asked enthusiastically, sticking his big legs out the window.

“I don’t know, just let me finish counting.”

“Well can you give us an idea? A couple hundred, a couple thousand, what? Jesus, just answer the freakin’ question.” Hamilton said with a hint of irritation and Coursen hit him on the back of the head with a closed fist.

“You want to end up in the middle of the dessert with your head blown clear into next week? Who’s in charge here, huh? Just let me count it and then we’ll split it three ways. Christ, yer such a freakin’ vulture.”

“Yeah…” Hamilton muttered, rubbing the back of his head. Coursen, of course, was their undisputed leader. He had been the one to come up with the plan for escaping the joint, had been the one who orchestrated all of their subsequent crimes. In the end, Hamilton and Stevie were really just hired thugs riding on his coat tails. Everybody has their part to play in the grand scheme of things…

The miles passed and the gas gauge began to edge toward empty, causing Hamilton’s palms to get sweaty. If they ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere because he had failed to check it at the last town he would never hear the end of it, unless Coursen lived up to his promise and put two slugs in his head and dumped him in a shallow grave for his negligence. He couldn’t remember when he had last seen a sign for Alpine and as the miles passed he became more and more agitated.

And then, through the heat haze of the dessert he saw a sign that marked an approaching town and he felt relief flow through him like cold water. Things were going his way at last. This would prove to Coursen that he wasn’t as dumb as the other made him out to be.

“We got a town coming up just a ways up the road.” He said, trying to keep his voice even, as if he knew all along that everything would be just fine.

“They better have a freakin’ gas station.” Coursen mumbled but Hamilton could hear the relief in his voice that echoed how he felt.

When they were twenty five yards or so away from the sign Hamilton could finally read it and at first he wasn’t sure if it was a hoax or not; possibly some stoner had planted a phony sign out in the middle of the dessert just to mess with people’s heads after they had been behind the wheel too long. Hamilton squinted his eyes against the sun’s glare, wondering if he was reading it right and sure enough he was. ‘Welcome to the town of Slopmeat’ it said.

“Slopmeat?” Hamilton said and Coursen gave a grunt from the backseat. “What the hell kind of name is ‘Slopmeat’?”

“I’ll be damned if I know. Maybe it’s somebody’s idea of a joke…”

But then before them a town appeared, shimmering in the dessert heat like a mirage. It didn’t look very big and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was a town nonetheless. As they got closer they saw a distinctive sign for a gas station, though it wasn’t a name that any of them recognized.

“What a weird lookin’ place.” Stevie said, and for the first time in days the big oaf said something that made sense. Coursen didn’t appear to take any notice.

“Let’s gas up and see if they have some place decent in this shit hole where we can get us some grub.” He instructed and Hamilton pulled into the lot of the dusty, rundown gas station, pulling up next to the pumps. He shut off the car and got out, looking along the road at the little burg before them.

The town looked as if people who were either mentally challenged or high on some powerfully wicked hallucinogenic drugs built it. The buildings appeared to be leaning at strange angles and seemed almost grotesque in their structure. There were doorways that looked as if they were built to accommodate something larger than human beings and oddly enough they were more round than rectangular. What also leant an air of creepiness was what looked to be some kind of clear slime that coated the outsides of the buildings, like a shiny, lacquer paint, but more organic looking then chemical.

“Well don’t just stand there, pump us some freakin’ gas.” Coursen said as he climbed out of the car and headed toward the shack that served as the cashier’s stand. “I’m gonna ask the proprietor where the nearest greasy spoon is…”

“Why howdy strangers! Welcome to Slopmeat! Need some gas do ya huh?”

Coursen spun around and saw standing there next to the pumps one of the most inbred, hillbilly types he had ever seen this side of Alabama, complete with overalls and stained brown teeth.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right.” Coursen said after a moment, eyeing the odd looking man as if he were an exhibit at a zoo.

“Ya came to the right place then, that’s for sure, yup.” The gas station attendant said, then laughed in a manner that was downright disturbing. The resonance was a high-pitched squeal that sounded almost like the whine of an insect.

Hamilton shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he glanced over at the town and then back at the attendant. The man’s eyes were set very wide apart and his face had a certain curve to it that didn’t seem natural. His lips seemed too close to his chine, his forehead sloped in a manner that cavemen would be jealous of. All of a sudden Hamilton just wanted to gas up the car and get the hell out of dodge as fast as he could; this place was making him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. He made his way over to the pump and, selecting regular unleaded, he removed the nozzle and stuck it into the tank.

Stevie was looking at the man with unabashed awe and the other turned his gaze on him and tipped him a wink.

“I’ll bet your hungry.” The attendant said. “We got us some real good meat right on up the road.”

“Why, you read our minds.” Coursen said, apparently oblivious to the ghastly nature of the man and the town. “We’re so hungry we could eat just about anything right now.”

“Well, we don’t serve just anything, we serve the only thing: good fresh meat.”

Hamilton finished gassing up the car and returned the nozzle to the pump.

“Ya know,” He said loudly, trying to get Coursen’s attention away from the attendant, whom he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of. “I’m not that hungry. Maybe we should just press on and get something to eat a little further down the road, maybe in Alpine.”

“What?” Coursen said, not looking at him, his eyes glued on the bizarre attendant. “Are ya nuts? This guy is telling us that they got some good, fresh meat right here and you wanna go someplace else? What the hell is wrong with you?”

There was something in Coursen’s tone that didn’t sound quite right to Hamilton, something that sounded, well, off. It was like the gas station attendant had gotten inside of his mind and was doing his thinking for him, programming his responses. He looked over at Stevie and saw the same rapt expression on his face; his usually dull look amped with some boundless, unexplainable joy. Hamilton shook his head. He didn’t know what suddenly made him feel this, but he felt that if he too looked into the gas station attendants eyes he would start thinking like them, would somehow fall for the ‘charms’ of the demented hillbilly.

“Ain’t you hungry too?” The attendant asked him and as carefully as he could he averted his eyes, avoiding the others gaze, looking skyward as if he were surveying the clouds for an unexpected afternoon rain shower.

“Naw, not that much.” He said as he took in the pale blue sky that seemed to stretch to infinity.

“Well your friends want to eat and the diner is just down the road. They got some nice cold beer there too.”

“Man could I ever use a beer.” Coursen said, rubbing his throat as if it was so dry it pained him. “How much do we owe you for the gas?”

“You give me ten dollars and we’ll call it even.”

“Now that’s what I call a deal! Ya gotta love the cheap gas out here in these parts!” Coursen said and handed the man a twenty.

“I ain’t got change. Business has been awful slow.”

“Then keep it. That’s how much it would have cost us in the city anyway.”

“That sure is kind of you. You give a little, ya get a little I always say.” He said and laughed in that high-pitched insect like whine again and as he did his throat seemed to flutter like something was undulating inside of it. Hamilton had never felt so disgusted in his entire life and it was like Coursen and Stevie didn’t even see it for Christ’s sake! They just laughed right along with him.

“Now you boys wander on down the road and get yourself a good meal and you’ll feel alright, better then you ever have I suspect.”

“Sounds good.” Coursen agreed and what he did next turned Hamilton’s stomach even more: he extended his arm to shake hands with the attendant. When the hillbilly reached out his own hand, for a moment it looked to Hamilton as if his fingers were squirming like the legs of a centipede, and when they wrapped around Coursen’s own they appeared to ensnare it momentarily until they finally let go. Hamilton shivered, then decided to take control of the situation.

“Ya know,” He said loudly, trying to get the other guys attention. “I guess I am hungry after all. Why don’t we head on down to that place he’s talking about and get us a bite before we all starve to death.”

“Now the man is talkin’ some sense!” Coursen beamed and hopped into the back of the car as Hamilton walked around and got behind the wheel.

He fired up the engine as the two shut their doors, gunning the motor, not once looking back at the attendant. He figured he would just punch it and blast on out of this peculiar little shit hole before Coursen and Stevie even knew what was happening and then, once they were outside the town limits and down the road, maybe the two would snap out of the fog they were most surely in.

Hamilton pulled out onto the road and jammed the pedal to the floorboards, the g-forces pushing them all back into their seats, the Chargers engine roaring.

“What the hell are ya doin’?” Coursen demanded and before the other knew it Stevie’s thick, powerful hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing for all he was worth.

“I suggest you slow down and pull over at the end of the street there.” Stevie said in the clearest voice Hamilton had ever heard him employ. “Right now!”

Hamilton couldn’t breath and stars were beginning to pop and sparkle before his eyes, little blue ones that always indicate something bad is happening. Giving up, he eased his foot off of the pedal and the car slowed, rolling gently to the side of the street.

“Put it in park.” Stevie said and Hamilton did as he was told. The hands relaxed on his throat and then Stevie was smiling again as if nothing had happened.

“Man am I hungry.” He said and Coursen agreed with him.

“Yeah, let’s go on in. You gonna come in and get something bro?” Coursen asked and Hamilton nodded weakly. It was apparent that something was working some sick mojo on their heads and if he didn’t go with them God only knew what kind of trouble they would get into. Somebody had to look out for them.

They exited the car and approached the door of the ‘diner’. Unlike every other diner Hamilton had ever seen, this one was a stark, boarded up building, devoid of any signs or windows. The door, akin to others he had noticed, was large and round. The sides of the building were shiny with the organic lacquer. Hamilton shuddered as they passed through it and into the foyer. Before them was a steep, wide staircase that descended into the bowels of the building and Coursen and Stevie instinctively headed down it, Hamilton trailing hesitantly behind them.

‘I’ll just keep my eyes open and stay on my guard’. He thought. ‘If I see anything unusual I’ll try and get these guys out of here as quickly as I can…’

And then another thought hit him, one of self-preservation.

‘If it really looks out of line then fuck it, it’s every man for themselves.’ He reached in his pocket and fingered the keys that were lodged securely in his tight jeans and felt a little better.

At the bottom of the stairs a large room revealed itself and at that exact moment the sounds of dining and conversation rose to greet their ears, seeming to come from out of nowhere. More inbred hillbilly types were sitting hunched over rickety looking wooden tables and an aroma suddenly announced its presence to Hamilton’s nose, one that made his stomach turn instantly. It was all he could do to control his gag reflex lest he should splatter puke all over his size eleven hiking boots. He looked at the ‘food’ that was piled atop a platter on one of the tables and for a moment he thought he was going to lose the battle and the eggs he had for breakfast were going to make a second appearance. The ‘fresh meat’ the gas station attendant was talking about was nowhere to be seen and in its stead was a pile of something that looked worse then month old road kill. It lacked any sort of discernable animal form and was piled on the plates in a large, roundish clump, sort of pinkish in color.

“Man does that smell good!” Stevie exclaimed and when Hamilton looked over to see what Coursen thought he was pleased to see that the other wasn’t sharing the big guy’s opinion; he was wrinkling his nose and looking at the meat with speculative eyes, as if reality was somehow settling back into his head.

Glancing around, Hamilton noticed that none of the patrons had even looked up from their food nor stopped their conversations when they had walked in, like they should have in some bumfuck little town, where strangers were the welcome treat from their endless monotony. That in itself was enough to make Hamilton think of blazing a hasty retreat, not to mention the disgusting substance they were ingesting.

Suddenly a waitress approached them.

“How y’all doin’ today?” She asked in a husky drawl, showing them to a table. “I take it y’all are going to want the house special?”

“What’s that?” Hamilton asked, not really wanting to know but unable to stop himself.

“Why slopmeat, of course.” She said and smiled, revealing several missing teeth.

“Do you have anything else?” Coursen asked and Hamilton felt a surge of relief. Maybe the other had finally snapped out of his daze.

The waitress looked offended and all conversation stopped for a moment, the place going deathly silent.

“There is nothing else nor should there ever BE anything else!” She said sternly, her gaze ominous and penetrating. “We serve slopmeat and that’s what our customers always want. We aim to keep them happy.” She finished, her acerbic facial expression lightening up, and suddenly the other patrons stopped staring and the talking resumed, as well as the sounds of their dining.

“I think I’ll pass.” Hamilton said, hoping the other two would catch his drift and they could get the hell out of here.

“Yeah, I’m not that hungry either I guess.” Coursen said and Hamilton smiled and looked over at Stevie expectantly, hoping for him to decline so that the three of them could get out of this strange little town before something really uncanny happened.

“I guess I’ll have the slopmeat.” Stevie said, much to the other’s surprise, and the waitress nodded as if to say ‘excellent choice’ and she disappeared through a door in the back only to reappear seconds later with a platter covered with the disgusting meat. This she placed in front of Stevie with a big smile and through her partially open mouth Hamilton was sure he could smell breath as rotten as flyblown garbage. She set a fork and knife down for him and just as Stevie was taking his first bite Hamilton knew he was definitely going to puke; he could feel his stomach twisting and his gorge rising quickly. He got up from the table and bolted from the room, ascending the stairs two at a time. At the top, where the foyer had been and should very well be, there was now an elongated hallway but in his panic to find a private place to barf he paid this little mind and headed down it in hopes of finding a bathroom. The hallway twisted and turned endlessly and when he couldn’t contain himself anymore he leaned against a wall-which was sticky with the organic, shiny lacquer-and just let himself go. Vomit splattered down the wall and onto the floor, the remnants of the bacon and eggs he had enjoyed before the bank job. He panted for a few moments when he was done, struggling to get himself back under some sort of control, gagging at the bitter taste in his mouth.

It was then that he heard the sound of all hell breaking loose coming from the dining room, and for a long moment he couldn’t make any sense of what he was hearing. He wiped off his mouth, straining to listen, when it became clear to him that it was agonized, tortured screaming. No discernable words just a gut wrenching caterwauling loud enough to wake the dead.

He turned and ran back down the hall toward the stairs and it was then that he recognized it as Coursen’s voice, his erstwhile boss sounding as if he was in a great deal of pain.

Then another sound rose above the din of the screaming, the sound of something clomping and sloshing up the stairs, accompanied by a high pitched whiny drone, much like the sound made by the gas station attendant.

Irrational fear took over and Hamilton turned and careened down the hall the other way, desperately hoping to find an exit from the building. The hall continued to twist in impossible angles but at no juncture did there appear to be an end.
Then, from right behind him, the high-pitched whining grew in volume and against his better judgment he turned around and looked.

It was Stevie, yet it wasn’t Stevie. It had Stevie’s head and shoulders but the rest of him was lost in what looked like the body of a giant cockroach, it’s thorax huge and swollen, it’s legs as thick as broomsticks.

Hamilton screamed, wanting to turn and run, but he found himself looking into what used to be Stevie’s eyes and all at once he couldn’t move. The eyes were wide and yellow and glossy, staring at him intently, paralyzing him. Suddenly his screams became stuck in his throat.

Stevie smiled and the shiny, organic lacquer type substance drooled out of his leering mouth.

Hamilton knew that he should look away, that if he did his paralysis would break and he could run, but it was like his muscles had atrophied and he was no longer in control of them. All he could do was stand there and watch as the thing that used to be Stevie inched closer and closer, and when the insect legs finally wrapped themselves around his torso and began to drag him towards it, he pissed his pants.