Rubber soles clanked on the pavement. The sheriff approached the overturned Honcho and kneeled down. Inside the cab, Oren was unconscious and dangling in place from the seatbelt. Blood was streaming down his face. The sheriff stood up and noticed the river of gasoline gushing from the lacerated tank. He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a pack of Camels. There was a small matchbook. He took one out, struck it, and lit his cigarette. Then he dropped the match onto the torrent of gasoline and the truck went up in flames.
With the glowing heat rising above him, the sheriff nonchalantly marched back to his Harley and flicked the depleted Camel into the marsh. The deputy approached.
“We couldn’t find the priest,” he informed him.
The sheriff looked out over the illuminated bayou and shrugged. “The crawdads will get him,” he said.
The army of motorbikes roared back into the dark—back towards Mer Rouge. The priest was dripping with marshy water. He rushed up to the flaming Honcho and reached inside and undid Oren’s seatbelt and pulled the unconscious man out. Laying on the pavement, the priest slapped his cheeks to bring him to. “Come on,” he urged Oren. “We gotta get outta here.” Oren lifted his head from the daze and saw his truck overturned and on fire.
“What the fuck?!”
The priest helped him to his feet. “Run!” he ordered. The two men sprinted as the Honcho exploded and launched into the air. They turned around to see the truck momentarily suspended in the air before it landed right side up on all four tires. The flames were completely extinguished.
“Goddamn,” said the priest. “That is one indestructible truck.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 