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. . .

“Hey Junior!?


“Put that bottle of Jack Daniels back in the camper, ya jizzbucket! We’ve got something here.”

Junior shuffled, stinking of pure-grade American booze, back to the camper. He stashed the Jack in his Confederate Flag styled sleeping bag, and turned on the radio, just for the hell of it. Pastor Reginald of The Church of Scalptree was on the airwaves, spouting obscene themes regarding the inferiority of ‘the coloureds’ and the ‘Mexicunts’. Junior, in a strange drunken moment of clarity and thoughtfulness, switched the channel over to a number he thought would be funny, or at least interesting, he twiddled the dial to FM 0.666! Junior was expecting channel 666 to be some good heavy metal or something similar. The radio crackled a bit, then a bit more. Static and crackle and pop continued on uneventfully………

“Junior!?” For the love of Trump, get your ass over here NOW!”

 “Yep, on my merry way, Captain.”

 Junior took a mighty sip of Jack, stashed it back into his Good Ol’ Boys sleeping bag, and staggered with a mix of vigour and dizziness out of the camper and into the harsh light of the campfire. Junior picked up his rifle, slung it round his shoulder, and let out a large, obnoxious burp before heading off carefully deep into the woods where Captain was asking for him. His helmet’s flashlight wobbled around, as did Junior himself, half a bottle of Jack was sloshing around in his stomach, a stomach that was becoming ever more nervous as he ventured towards Captain, brushing branches off his face every ten seconds or so. “Fucking piece of shit leaves! LEAVE me alone, trees”, Junior would say to himself each time in an attempt to make himself feel a bit less anxious.

“Junior, got your gun? We might need it.”

“Got it, boss”, Junior shouted, trying to sound calm.

Junior started a slow jog towards Captain. Eventually after many branch jabs and uncoordinated stumbles, he got to where Captain was.

“What’s going on?”

Captain was staring at the ground, with a look of confused horror on his dimly lit face.

“What’s going on? Well, THIS is what’s going on.”

Captain grabbed Junior’s helmet light, guides Junior by the head, and shines it on the ground.

“That’s a bear carcass. Mutilated. All fucked up! What the fuck could’ve done this to a damn bear?”

Junior snapped his eyes onto the bear’s body. Upon doing so, he vomited, hard! Jack Daniels and Macaroni and Cheese fountained out of Junior’s mouth and the majority of the golden liquid fell onto what was left of the bear’s body.

“God damn, man”, Captain barked, “That shit is just plain nast…….”

Captain was interrupted mid-eloquence by a startlingly loud, bubbling, gurgling noise. The noise was accompanied by a smell so awful that Junior AND Captain vomited. The bear’s carcass was the source of the sound and smell. The body of the beast was turning red and purple; it also seemed to be changing shape in some places. The leg stubs were getting sharper, narrowing to a point. The head was getting noticeably bigger and bigger, and very faint sounds of chattering voices started flying around from all directions in the general area. Junior and Captain hightailed it the hell out of there, think a Dukes of Hazard style getaway, only with flecks of vomit flying off their clothes. June and Cap ran all the way back to their campsite without looking back once. Cap tried hurriedly to get his satellite phone working by the campfire. June went into his camper and leaned against the window ledge to try to gather whatever thoughts he had running in his mind. Then, the static crackling of the radio stopped abruptly, and a voice started talking……..




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