The Last Horror Novel in the History of the World by Brian Allen Carr Read Free Book Online Page B

 
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
       
     
    Old Burt takes Manny’s shotgun, gives it to Tyler, takes Tyler’s pistol. “Shotgun’s the best weapon to protect against intruders,” he says to Tyler, “and Manny can’t shoot for shit.”
    “What are you gonna do?” asks Tessa.
    Old Burt looks at her, “I got an arsenal in my house,” he says, “automatic rifles, grenades, a flame thrower.” He nods, “I’m gonna try to get over there, make massacre on these little nigger hands.” Then Old Burt opens his Bud. “Bill W. asked for whiskey on his death bed,” Old Burt says, “he was the founder of AA,” he sips the beer, “nurses refused him, said he was out of his wits with the pain, said he would regret it. I’m not certain how. He died a day or so later. You think God gets mad at you for falling off the wagon right before you die?” Old Burt asks.
    Blue opens another beer, “Who gives a shit?” he says, and Old Burt and Blue cheers.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Below the tree house, the hands are growing thicker, festering like a business of flies, climbing each other, knocking each other down.
    “They know,” says Old Burt. “It’s time,” he chambers a round in the 9 mm, tucks the gun in his waist band. “The zip line will hold me?”
    “Tested at over 300 pounds,” Blue says.
    “I’m well under that,” says Old Burt.
    “This is crazy,” says Tessa.
    “What part of it?” asks Rob.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     

    Old Burt zips out into the air above the black hands. They seem aware of him, follow him down the line.
    He lands in a clearing, draws the 9mm and blasts two rounds, runs toward his house.
    The hands give chase, begin to circle him in the road. He fires two more rounds, then throws the unloaded 9, draws his .38.
    He jumps over a progression of hands, shoots once and a hand explodes, its fingers toss in several directions. He kicks a few away from him, runs on, fires another shot.
    There is a stalled F-150, and Old Burt jumps on the hood of it, climbs to the cabin roof, surveys the hands surrounding him.
    He reaches his free hand in his pocket, pulls out a Miller. He cracks it open, begins chugging away.
    Several of the hands have reached his legs. He kicks again, fires again. The beer is empty. He flings the empty can down at the hands. He places the mouth of his .38 to the side of his head. He waves goodbye toward the tree house. Old Burt cocks back the hammer. Old Burt squeezes the trigger.
    His brains are forced out his skull in a gush, and the hands climb upon him, begin to scrape him apart.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “Know why he drank Coke so much?” asks Tyler.
    Everyone in the tree house is silent.
    “He said it was the most racist drink he knew. He said that used to, years and years ago, it was made from wine and cocaine and sold as a sex drink, and that lots of people in Europe loved it. He told me the Pope drank the stuff, and gave the inventor a medal for it. He said that, when Coke finally got to the states, that they had to take the wine out because of some temperance movement, but that, for a long time, they’d left the cocaine in. He said that at first, they only sold the stuff in drug stores that black folks couldn’t go to on account of Jim Crowe laws, but, when they figured out how to bottle it, that black folks could drink it, and white folks had this idea that blacks were drinking the stuff and running around raping white women, so they decided to take the cocaine out to stop all the raping.”
    It is quiet again.
    Then Tessa asks, “Tell me again why the hell you hung out with him?”
    Tyler doesn’t answer her.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     

    “What now?” says