A Summertime Journey

special occasions was so grotesque that after their defeat by the prince of the north during the great battle of Kari-Kar, he ordered all evidence of the cannibals destroyed. Any historical document declaring their name or kingdoms burned to join the ashes in hell for eternity.
They were flesh eaters and would have humans cooked over an open flame on a spit turning slowly in the corners of the great dining hall. The younger the meat, the better—they often used the children of the newly captured slaves. The elitists had concubines, whose sole purpose was the production of food. For the royals, their delicacy was human fetus. They had a large wooden table with holes for the blood to drain; bowls set under the table captured the gruesome elixir. The females believed the blood of a pregnant woman held magical properties that would make them look and feel younger. The chef would masterfully extract the fetus of a living woman in the great hall for all to watch. He would quarter it, and the head served to the guest of honor. Watching the chef work was part of the dining experience and part of their dark arts ritual. After their defeat, their lineage was scattered across the four corners of the earth for centuries, only to one day converge in a small Western town during the 1900s. Lance and Jeremy are oblivious of their dark heritage and, unlike their forefathers, have kind souls. That is why Emma was charged with protecting Lance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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I LOOK OUTSIDE THE side window of the car and see the landscape, flat and bare, no green, no trees, no bushes, no defining landmarks at all for as far as the eye can see. The only presence is the orange hue of the sky and the red dirt of Sheol. I think, We must be in the desert, but how did we get here? Did I fall asleep? The familiar horizon of distant mountains that surround Boise is now gone. I elbow Jeremy and, in the same instant, realize I don’t smell that putrid smell anymore. Did I get used to it? “Dude, did I fall asleep?” I ask.
Jeremy is staring out his window and slowly turns to me, groggy, crust forming around the corners of his tired eyes. “I don’t know, man; I must’ve fallen asleep, too,” he says as he straightens his arms and legs at the same time to stretch in the backseat. I look to the front of the car, and Joey looks perky and happy, with both hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles white from gripping so hard. I notice that none of the gauges on the dashboard are working. Are they all out, or is this car even on? I listen and can hear the sticky tires as they meet the hot asphalt, so I know the tires are moving. Now I can hear the engine; I must’ve gotten used to the sound while I was asleep.
I can see the back of Charlie’s head. His head looks perfect, not a hair out of place. I look at the rearview mirror on Charlie’s side and for a brief moment, as brief as the flicker of a candle flame, I see a demonic face instead of Charlie’s. I quickly look away and then back at the mirror. The face has disappeared, and I can see the defining cheekbones and dimple in his chin. Well, I’m wide awake now, my heart is racing, and I suddenly feel very thirsty, and I have to pee.
“Joey, how long have we been driving?”
“I don’t know; three days, I think.”
What the hell; there’s no way I have been sleeping for that long. But then again, nothing has made sense since we left the rooftop of the Thriftway.
“We’re almost there, boys—how much longer do you think, Joey?” says Charlie as he pinches one of the cords on his corduroy pants.
“Couple more hours, I think.”
“Well, does anyone have any water, or can we stop for some water?” I ask.
No one answers, so I slump down into my seat where I can barely see this strange world pass me by through the window. Fuck, I have to pee, I think.
And Charlie says, “Pull over, Joey, and let Lance drain his main vein.”
Damn, he is reading my mind again. I stuff my hands into my pant pockets, and my right hand wraps around a silver-dollar-size rock. It’s cool against my sweaty palm. Where the hell did the rock come from? I don’t remember putting a rock in my pocket. My thoughts turn back to the scary fact that Charlie is in my head. Dread consumes my mind and overcomes any other thoughts, and with it: panic. I know I must stop trying to think, because of Charlie. My eyes flicker toward his head again and then back to the mirror—nothing—good. My thumb is caressing the rock, and my index finger finds the familiar groove it settled in on top of the rooftop, but I don’t realize it’s the same rock. I think back to when tonight was normal—Bear wrestling with Jeremy on my couch, getting high in the cabana, the rooftop of the Thriftway Building Center playing soldier, and it helps me settle down. The car suddenly jerks to the right, sending all of us sliding to the left on the vinyl seats, and comes to a premature stop, engulfed in a plume of red desert dust.
Charlie swings open the creaky passenger door and says, “Get out, everyone, and piss to your heart’s content.” We all exit the vehicle, and as soon as I’m standing erect, my whole body tenses up and stretches toward the orange sky. That feels better. I thought that dick was never going to let us stop. I immediately look toward Charlie to see if there’s a reaction. Nothing. My thumb again caresses the rock. I pull the rock out of my pocket, and I realize it’s the first rock I threw off the roof.