Round trip Jones Throw Down

Inside the Silio on Golding's pig farm 3:12AM

With a roar, Ethan grabbed the spear with two hands and lunged forward, pushing RTJ across the length of the rectangular metal box they ended up in when the trapdoor opened. The masked wrestler started to push back to drive the spear deeper into the angry slashers chest, but like lightning, Tiny was in the hole and cut the spear clean in half. Jones swung the end he still had like a bat, but Tiny parried it easily with the flat part of the sword, then drove his mask into the bridge of what we thought was our friend’s nose. I instantly keyed on the Swordsmen's body language; if this was Round Trip Jones then there wasn't much any of us or our conventional weapons could do to hurt him. If this was a clone? Well, in that case it was no holds barred anyway. Instinctually I went for Scourge, but shooting into combat is never great idea, and with the way my body's been it was a terrible idea, but I had just the thing for a situation like this! I went to my jacket pulled out a nice round,black, shiny eight ball I've been saving for just the right moment. I reckoned it’d be a great calling card if people started finding dead monsters around with 8 balls smashed into the head.

I tossed it as hard as I could and it was a direct hit!  It bounced with a crack off the back of Tiny's head and flew directly right at me. I only had to move slightly to catch it on the rebound which saved my pride... slightly... a little.

Jones monkey flipped the stunned samurai into the wall.  Tiny slid down and landed in a heap. Jones kept up, but I timed it and aimed it perfectly.  It would have hit him right between the eyes, but unfortunately he grabbed the eight ball out of the air before could collide with his huge masked head, and without a moment's hesitation tossed it back at me. Struck me right between the eyes. It ricocheted off my huge dome with enough force that I thought it snapped my neck. I heard it land somewhere that seemed 1,000,000 miles away. Needless to say, I wasn't super jacked about this 8 ball idea anymore.

I had barely collapsed to one knee when my attacker went for a kick that would've drove my head  a 1000 yards and through the uprights, if the Goliath with 1/2 a spear in his chest hadn't grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out of the way.

The masked man's momentum caused a full out Charlie Brown.  He flipped completely backwards and landed on his face. He was up fast, but it wasn't Lucy waiting for him when he did - it was one of the angriest, meanest killers on earth.

Magloofabits went to return the favor with the kick that would've knocked a man's torso from his waist. With the casualness that made the whole thing look more like dancing, Jones ran away to the right and kicked Ethan's prone leg out from under him. The momentum sent him flying back first into Tiny who was doing his best to get to his feet.

Before I could do anything about it, I was lifted up gut wrench style into power bomb position. He spun and I thought I was about to fall victim to the world's most deadly running "lygar bomb," and in reality, I probably would've preferred it. He took a few steps and launched me into the air. I landed without much harm on my buddies, but my 230 pound frame probably didn't do them any favors.

I suspected we looked more like the Three Stooges than trained killers trying to get to our feet and get our breath. For a second I was starting to believe this was our partner - he was strong, fast, and a hell of a fighter. But that all vanished when I got my composure.

When he tossed me, he launched himself into the air. And upon my release, fell flat on his front hands out like he was doing a push-up, or at least that's how he was when we got to our feet. He sat and stared at us like a snake.

"That ain't him," I spit out with my blood.

"Nope," said Tiny.

"Nobody cares I have a fucking spear in my chest?" snapped Ethan.

"So where's the real deal?"  I said over my tongue, which was moving across my chipped tooth in an effort to survey the damage.

"Hope he ain't dead," said Ethan, in an uncharacteristic show of any emotion that was not rage. His faced changed from nightmare to sad clown.  "Tiny, he better hope the real him's not dead," as Tiny pulled the spear out of Ethan's chest and handed it to him.

"This is better than the other clones. A lot better," I said, still trying to shake the cobwebs.

"Yea.  Why did you hit me with a cue ball?" Tiny asked.

"It was an 8 ball," I answered.

"Sorry, I couldn't tell on impact," he responded plainly.

"It's ok - good on you for knowing what hit ya by feel."  I was legitimately impressed.

"Thanks, buddy," he said.

"Welcome," I said, not taking my eyes off of what ever wore my friend’s appearance.

We all charged it, and though we were in it's space in a couple of strides, it rolled up to it's feet to greet us. It rolled through us, landing strategically placed blows on all of us as it pirouetted through and around us. All of us ended on opposite sides of the room from where we started. Team us was much worse for ware.

Then, without warning, the thing charged.  It was the only mistake it made so far; it wouldn't get the chance to make another. As if we planned it, we created our kill zone. Ethan ran straight at him at top speed; they would've met up and semi-crashed head-on, unless me and Tiny got there first.

We looped around on either side of fake Round Trip Jones - me stopping a step behind, and Tiny a step ahead. We snapped shut like a trap!

I swept his legs at the same instant Tiny went airborne and connected with a brutal spin kick. The wrestling world called the maneuver "Total Elimination;" most people hit with it weren't conscious enough to call it much of anything.

Ethan has been in place in case the it somehow dodges our play, but it turned out to be an unnecessary precaution. It landed on the back of its neck with a velocity that looked like he was dropped on the floor and folded up like an accordion then flipped over. It ended up sitting upright on his ass. Tiny leapt over him, getting behind him, and delivered a couple of stiff kicks to the spine for good measure,then proceeded to go for the thing’s mask.

Wasn't sure why, I certainly never asked. Neither one of us had ever seen Jones without his mask on. I suspect it was more of a symbolic act of humiliation. Either way, I'm glad he did.

The thing had no face. No features at all. My nerd brain competed with my survival instinct and tried to remember what twilight zone episode thing lack of faced reminded me. Luckily, the survival instinct won out. Between eyes was a timer. It's cliché, but like all clichés, 100% true. Time slowed to a crawl.

0:05

"Fuck me," said Ethan diving for it.

0:04

Tiny backed away.  He wasn't sure why, but he knew he should.

0:03

Ethan grabbed the thing by the ankles. "Weird," I thought.

0:02

Was I messing it up with "Eye of the Beholder?”

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How I almost Fucking blew it!

The bayonet went through my armpit and up through the back of my shoulder. The thing that stabbed me hissed at me. It looked like the illegitimate step child of Ken Burns and Ray Harryhausen. Confederate grays hung off its skeleton frame in tatters. The fact that I wore blue when last we may have met probably had nothing to do with it running me through, but the irony was not lost on me.

At any rate, I had only been asleep 20 minutes and I planned on waking up in 4 hours next to the goddess I went to bed with, then grabbing brunch at the Red Rock just before they stopped serving it at 3PM.

I'm generally excited to see our fearless leader Donna Matrix’s name on my caller ID, but not at 6AM the morning after a legendary date night.

"Rise and shine, buttercup," she said coldly.

"What?" I said, but it came out more like "warrggglr?"

"I need you to relearn English, get dressed, and get down to the hanger." She hung up without another word.

And while I hated her for it, I did just that.

15 minutes and one mortal wound later here I was.

I saw the rest of the team fighting other undead soldiers from other wars. Oracle reckoned it  was a spell gone wrong, since the shambling Ken Burns film just stood on in the parking lot across from That's Entertainment until someone walked off the sidewalk and into the Lot.

Then they did what most reanimated Skeleton Soldiers do.

It felt like it took a week to raise my revolver aim it and fire.

The shot blew the Bonney jerk back. Then the weirdest thing happened. I blinked, and the sun was replaced with fluorescent lights; the raging battle was replaced with the dull pink and light blue walls of the infirmary.

Then sleep again.

"Rise and shine, buttercup"

Visions of Bill Murray being serenaded by Sonny and Cher spun through my head before my eyes defied me and pried themselves open.

This was the 2nd time in as many wake ups I had been arisen by a women 100% of the male population would give a limb to wake up to. But I was not pleased. She looked calm, clean, neat, and composed. Not like someone who had gone ten rounds in all the World Wars. It was not so much that I had been out long enough for her to shower and change that had me worried, but the fact she had gotten a haircut that bothered me. My brain got hung up on "how long I've been out" just long enough to roll a bit too far into my mental intersection where it got T-boned by a speeding "what happened?"

Something to the effect of "I got stabbed" and "this is what happened" skidded into the debris. The flaming wreck of words was just too much to push out through the the overpass tunnel I call my face. All that I could squeeze out was a little bit of go-cart that said:

"I like your hair."

Then sleep.

Next, I woke up in my clothes. Sitting in my room on the edge of the bed.

Tiny ran by, then put the brakes on, sliding to a comedic stop.

"There you are, dude."

My face must have said, "What the holy fuck?"

"The dead army guys had a some sorta poison on their gear. It killed the civilians it hit instantly."

Tiny was pretty good at reading me.

"We’re all good. No one else was slow enough to get hit."

"I was immune?"

"I wouldn't say immune.  You sat in the sick bay for 3 days..."

My change in posture stopped Tiny in his tracks before I got the words out.

"I was out for three days?" I knew I wasn't going to like the answer even before Tiny said it.

Tiny took a deep breath.

"It's the 27th. You went down the 20th."

I think I said, “Shit.”

"You sat in the Infirmary until Wednesday."

"Then they moved me here?"

I could see Tiny grin through his mask.

"Theeeeennn you got up and did Trick or Treat Radio."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"Was I a mess?"

At that, Tiny beamed like a proud poppa!

"You were great! Great review, concise and insightful."

"I should get poisoned by Civil War skeletons more often."

"I wouldn't say no. It's been quiet - no police all week."

I couldn't remember doing the radio show or coming down to my room. I remembered waking up to Matrix a few times, but I was not 100% sure that was real. You would think time would mean nothing to someone like me. I've had and wasted more time than any 20 fellas. But this last time was bothering me.

"Don't be worried. Silica pretty much swapped out your blood. You lost a lot of blood before that. Skip 13 said the poison was a mix of classic European alchemy and plain ol’ American mad science. One of it's tricks is that it keeps you dehydrated to stifle your immune system..."

"... Since most folks die right quick..."

" ..... It was made for people like us."

"Well, people like me any way."

I was sick of traps. And vendettas. I'm just a dude tryin’ to do my job. Like a plumber or an electrician.   ‘Cept clogged pipes seldom come back for revenge, and if that was even a thing the ones in my bathroom would be on a watch list for sure.

Tiny was saying something about not worrying about lost time, and that the blackouts were probably natural. I was about to ask if Matrix had got a haircut when something Tiny said cut my pity party short.

"Rehearsal" I said.

"When I came by, and you weren't here, I thought you’d went down to rehearsal." A lot of folks think Tiny sounds like Christopher Walken. I think he sounds like the voice in a dubbed kung fu movie. Right then, Tiny was not ANY making sense.

"Show?”

The next few minutes made zero sense. We had booked a last minute show, but I had no recollection of it. Worse still, I had lost valuable promo time. My brain scrambled to make some sense of this crazy situation. The company was in no position to have a loss. We were so far in debt that one show - not even a really successful one - would make much difference. But a bad one, a loss, could shut us down. You hear a lot of dumb expressions like:

"Can't get blood from a stone."

"I have nothing to give."

Well, I reckon those creditors aren't cosmic warlords or crazy time displaced wizards. Two long goes by without a check and the situation escalates quickly.

"Don't worry man, you're sick. Ravenshadow and the Ketchum's will pick up the slack.”

Our manager Jack Ketchum, his assistant Michael Ravenshadow, and his ditzy artist son Jack Jr. were supposed to be in charge of promoting us. As you may be able to guess from our current financial situation, they don't. And when they did it might be better if they didn't. Tiny's suggestion was equivocal to telling a new mother to leave her newborn in the care of Jason, Freddy, and Leatherface. In reality, our career would be safer in the hands of fictional serial killers.

"Sooooo," he said, and the “s” came out more like a whistle. "Looks like you're on the clock then."

"Looks like," I answered. "When is it?”  Not that it mattered - anything less than 6 months was not enough lead time to do it right.

"Next Saturday, May 2nd."

That day sounded familiar, but he didn't give me a chance to ask why.

"Free comic book day, and the Fight of the Century - not much competition there."

"No pressure!" he added.

I'm not sure if the levity was for his benefit or mine.  Sure didn't help ME any.

We sat for a few minutes and made more small talk.  A few jokes and a borrowed PWG disc later, he was gone, and I was left to put myself together.

In what felt like one long lousy morning. I'd been stabbed, poisoned, my brain compromised, and left with a oppressive amount of work.

Never did make it to Red Rock.