Sam and Colby: The Penitentiary

63

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

The car flying down the road. Ray rolling onto his back. The car's headlights illuminating Ray's silhouette against the cement.

And then the sound.

There was no screaming, no yelling, no crying out. Just a loud, godawful crunch. Then the sound of tires screeching to a halt so suddenly that they skidded across the pavement.

The car door opened and closed and a man ran back down the road, looked down at the squashed and dismembered Ray on the cement, and let out a short squeak.

"Oh my go—holy shi—I fucki—oh no. No, no, no, I've got to... I've got to call the police. Do I leave? No, no. Who would do that? Why would I leave? I need to call the police," he muttered maniacally to himself. He ran his hands through his hair, stared down at Ray again, then turned and threw up. For at least five minutes.

"Can't the dude fucking call someone already?" Jake whispered.

"There might not be any service out here," said Sam.

"Dude's probably got an Android," Corey joked.

"What the fuck are you guys talking about? He's got to go into town. I don't exactly see a payphone just sitting on the side of the road," Blaze said.

"A pay—oh my god, it's the 70s," Corey said, as if just remembering.

"When did people even start carrying cell phones?" asked Colby.

"Cell phone?" asked Blaze.

"Shit. Like... I don't know. Apple didn't release a phone until about 2001 or 2005 or something," said Sam.

"Apple?" asked Blaze.

"I want to say mid 90s," I replied.

"So how the fuck do you guys call the cops?" asked Jake.

"Payphones, landlines," Blaze said.

"Fucking oldies," Corey said.

"So we have to wait for him to drive into town and call someone then?" asked Sam.

"Pretty much," replied Blaze. "But we need to leave before the police get here. They'll survey the scene and we need to be long gone."

"We need to... god, we have to make sure he's dead. If he is, then we need a new fucking plan," I said.

"He looks pretty fucking dead to me," Blaze said.

"Someone needs to go check," I said. We all looked at each other for a minute before Blaze rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I guess I'm more used to it than you guys are, anyway," he said. He quickly got up out of the grove and slunk over to the street, stared down at the mangled body, kicked it a few times, and then looked over at us.

"Yup. He's dead," said Blaze.

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"Ey, fresh meat! Uppity, let's go!" Waco yelled.

"What!" I screamed, sitting up.