Revenge of the Flunkies Page 2

look.

  Slowly, Sheriff Haas reached up and closed the hood.

  Right behind the Pinto, just in front of the woods, was a gigantic contraption. It was made from rusty old scrap—car parts, washing machines, old tires, a toaster—all put together into some kinda huge machine. It was fifty feet tall and shaped kinda like a water tower with three legs. Two long metal arms—like snakes with big claws at the end—reached all the way to the ground. Sitting on top was some Flunkies, working the controls.

  They is ugly cusses. About three feet tall with fat bellies and big round heads. They is orange—the color of. . . oranges. Big puffy lips full of nasty teeth, the nastiest looking teeth you ever seen—long, pointy and sharp.

  When they saw us—I don’t know how, becuz the one thing I forgot to mention is they got no eyes, ears or noses—they got excited and started making that weird noise they make, like thick bubbling mud.

  The sheriff translated: “They said they’re going to stomp us into the ground!”

  They started jumping up and down like monkeys, grabbing at the levers. The engine backfired once, shuddered, and a couple of parts fell off as the thing started walking forward in a strange, wobbly kinda way.

  We screamed and ran for the trailer. I looked back just in time to see one of the iron legs swing forward and plant itself right on top of the Pinto.

  “There go yore cah, Wote! Good thing they didn’t hit th’ bumper, or th’ whole thing mighta ’sploded!”

  “Dang!” shouted Haas, “I left the shotgun in there!”

  We all ran for the trailer with the Flunkies right behind us. I heard a loud screech and whine as the thing swung another rusty leg forward.

  We was about twenty feet from the door when a big metal foot come crashing down right next to me. I heard a loud thump, then a gust of wind and pieces of scrap knocked me to the ground. The Flunkies was all upset becuz they missed me, and they was bubble-talking like crazy.

  Haas yelled, “They say they want pancakes for dinner!”

  As Arlin helped me up, I could see the foot that had stomped the Pinto lifting into the air, taking part of the car’s roof with it.

  Ledo and Haas were in the trailer, screaming something at us. I jumped outa the way just in time so’s not to get hit by a tailpipe them Flunkies threw at me. They were hanging over the side, shaking their fists and being obnoxious.

  Me and Arlin ran into the trailer. Haas and Ledo picked the door off the floor and tried to set it into the doorway, but Ledo lost his grip, and it just landed outside in the yard. “See?” I said, “That kinda thing wouldn’t happen if you’d quit busting my door!”

  With a loud squeak, the Flunky buggy waddled forward another step. There was an awful crash, and half the trailer was gone, replaced by a heap of scrap metal: the same foot that had trampled my Pinto.

  “Thet gonna be hard to fix, Wote!”

  “I doubt you could do it yourself,” said Arlin, calm as ever, “but your insurance probably covers this kinda thing.”

  The ceiling over our heads began to squeal and crumple. Then a big piece of it was gone, ripped out by a metal claw. Thru the hole I could see Flunkies shaking fists at us.

  “You gonna pay for that!” I shouted, shaking my fist back.

  Then we heard that squeak again, the same sound the thing made every time it took a step. Haas screamed, “We gotta get outa here!”

  No sooner we ran thru the door than the buggy dropped a foot on the trailer, smashing what was left of it to pieces.

  We took off down the road. I could hear the machine pulling its foot outa my trailer with a loud squealing of metal. Then came a ‘thump’ as it planted its foot on the road. I was running like crazy. Another ‘thump’ . . . then a third. It was gaining on me—fast!

  A moment later it got kinda dark, and I realized I was in the shadow of one of its feet. I veered to the left just in time to hear it stomp the ground right behind me.

  I ran into the woods screaming like a lunatic. About a hunnert feet in I was completely outa breath and couldn’t go no more.

  Leaning up against a tree, I tried to catch my breath. It was hard to see through the woods, and I was making so much noise panting like a dog, I couldn’t hear nothing else. Far as I could tell, though, there was no sign of the Flunkies—or my friends. Or Sheriff Haas neither.

  My mind went back to my trailer: “There goes my beer!”

  I was all confoosed and didn’t hardly know where to go next. Figgering the Flunkies probably thought I would keep following the road, I decided to head back the other way—towards what was left of my trailer.

  Creeping thru the woods as quiet as a mouse what weighs three hunnert pounds and trips a lot, I finally came to the edge of my yard and saw the sheriff up ahead, crouched in some weeds by the side of the road.

  He waved me over, saying, “Jeez, Walt, I could hear you a mile away. Where’s Ledo and Arlin?”

  “Dunno. I took off into the woods. I think they did the same.”

  We could see the road for about a quarter mile till it went around a bend. “Where are the Munkaheenies?” he said.

  Took me a minute to figure out he was talking about them Flunkies. I shrugged. “Dunno. Guess they headed down the road.”

  We sat there for a while, looking around and listening, but there was no sign of the Flunkies. Finally the sheriff pointed to the squashed Pinto. “I’m gonna try to make it to your car. The rear section looks okay. With any luck, the shotgun will still be intact.”

  “Good thinking, Sheriff.”

  I stayed hunkered down while Haas crept out into the yard. The Pinto was about a hunnert feet from me. He was almost half way there when I heard the sound of the Flunky-mobile coming back up the road. The sheriff heard it too, and he crouched down in the grass. (With my bad back, I don’t always keep the grass cut very short.)

  They didn’t see neither of us, becuz they wasn’t looking our way. They was moving at a slow pace, searching the woods along the road. I poked my head up. Even though I couldn’t see the sheriff, I could see his trail in the grass, getting closer to the Pinto.

  Just then I heard Ledo yelling from the edge of the woods on the other side of my yard. “Hey Wote, there yo is! I been lookin’ everwhere!” He started walking toward me across the yard. “Where yo been hidin’?”

  I motioned for him to get down, but he just kept walking. Sometimes I can’t believe how dumb he is. He hollered, “Whatcoo doin’, Wote?”

  I looked to see if the Flunkies had noticed him, but they was still down the road a ways, checking out the woods.

  The sheriff tried to get his attention, too, but he was kinda off to his side, so Ledo didn’t notice.

  Halfway across the yard, in front of the Pinto, Ledo was walking into plain view of the Flunkies. I whispered, “Get down, you idiot!”

  Sheriff Haas threw a gas cap at him, trying to get Ledo’s attention. I think he meant to hit him on the arm, but it beaned him on the head instead. Ledo screamed, “Yow! What was thet!” He turned toward the sheriff, rubbing his head and sneering. “Sheriff! Whatcoo doin’?” Haas was waving his arms and making faces, despritly trying to get Ledo to drop down in the grass. Ledo didn’t get it. “How yo like it I bash yo in th’ haid. . .”—he looked around, then picked up a tailpipe—“wit’ this?”

  Ledo’s back was to the Flunkies, not that he would have noticed them anyhow; by now he was piping mad, which made him even dumber than usual. He raised the tailpipe up over his head, ready to bring it down on Haas.

  The sheriff gave up on trying to be quiet, what with Ledo threatening to bash his head in and all. “Ledo, you idiot! Get down! The Munkaheenies are right behind you!”

  “Yeah? How stoopit yo think I is? Mebbe I bash yo haid first, then turn ’roun’!”

  “I was trying to get your attention, you moron!”

  “Well yo gots it!” He swung the tailpipe at Haas, but the sheriff dropped on his back just in time. The pipe missed his head by an inch, swiping nothing
but tall grass. Before Ledo could lift it for another swing, Haas backhanded his wrist, knocking it from his hand. Ledo stumbled backward, and just when he got his balance, the sheriff kicked him in the gut, sending him flying into the grass.

  They was both so hot now that neither one was paying much attention to what was going on around them. Haas landed on top of Ledo and they was fighting like wildcats.

  All this commotion got the attention of the Flunkies. They was pointing toward Ledo and Haas, bubble-talking like crazy. They threw their buggy in gear. The engine whined, the machine rattled and squeaked, then swung a leg in our direction.

  I looked at Haas and Ledo—neither had noticed the Flunkies. Just past them, in the rear of the Pinto, was the shotgun. I took off across the yard as one metal foot pounded the road.

  “Get the gun!” I shouted, but they were too busy fighting to hear me. “They’s coming! Get the gun!” The Flunkies took another step: a grinding squeal followed by a loud thump. The buggy was gaining speed. The thumping came faster and louder as it waddled up the road toward us.

  I was about halfway to the car when I saw Arlin come walking out of the woods on the other side of my yard. Good thing, too, becuz I was getting out of breath. “Grab the gun!” I yelled, pointing to the Pinto.

  “Beg pardon, Walt, I couldn’t quite make out what it was you said.”

  “Grab the gun, Arlin! Out the car! The Gun!” I was almost to the car, but I hadda stop. I thought my lungs was gonna explode. I was bent over, wheezing, feeling like I