Straight looked at the map he had laid out on the hood of a car. Mulligan and Rauzchek gathered around him. Dago had gone back into the store with Rauzchek's arm. He had the idea of picking up a cooler and putting the arm on ice.

“There it is,” Rauzchek shouted, his finger jetting forward and stabbing the map. He had found Emases Street.

“Okay,” Straight replied. “Looks like we just need to head north until we run into it, and then we can decide which way we need to go from there.” Mulligan and Rauzchek nodded in agreement as Straight folded up the map and put it in his back pocket.

Dago came out of the store with a bright red cooler and a bundle of rope.

“You couldn’t get a less noticeable color?” Straight asked.

Sorry they didn’t have camo. Just be glad they had one at all.”

“What’s the rope for?” asked Straight with hesitation.

“Making a sling.” He replied as he unbound the rope and looped it through one of the handles on the cooler before looping it through the other one and tying it off.

“Here you go.” He said, handing it to Rauzchek.

Rauzchek took it and then fumbled, trying to put it on with one hand. Dago took pity and assisted him before he got himself tied up in it. When they were done, the cooler was hanging neatly just below his severed stump. The rope crossing over his opposite shoulder.

As they walked down the street, they could hear sporadic gunfire throughout the city and occasionally a ship would fly overhead. What was strangely missing from the streets was any sign of life. Straight had hoped that they had been rounded up for evacuation, but he feared that they were cowering in their homes waiting for the fighting to end. Now was probably a good time to take an assessment of his new team.

“Hey, Ballsack. How’s the arm doing?

Dago snickered.

“A lot better since I took those pain meds, and the names Rauzchek.”

“All right, Rauzchek. Are you going to be able to handle a gun okay if we run into trouble?”

“Ya, I’ll be okay. I mean, using a rifle might be a bit of a challenge, but I’ve got a pistol. I’ll be able to handle my own.”

“Okay, good.” Straight thought about it for a second. “Do you want mine so you’ll have two?”

“What the hell am I going to do with two pistols and one hand?”

“I just thought you might want a back up.”

“I don’t know do you want a back up rifle?”

“Well, no. But I mean…”

Rauzchek “So, there you go. I might be a god damn cripple now, but I don’t need a sympathy gun.”

“I’m special needs. I’ll take a sympathy gun.”

Straight looked back at Mulligan, who was waving his gun around like he was practicing to become a majorette.

“Jesus Christ, why does he still have a gun?”

“I tried to take it from him but he threatened to shoot me. I figured it was best if I just waited until his meds leveled him out a bit,” Dago said.

“Fuck you! You ain’t taking my baby.”

“Mulligan, we’ve talked about this. You don’t need a gun,” Straight pleaded.

“I love him!”

“You shot me in the fucking arm,” Rauzchek snapped.

“I’ve named him Spatula!”

“What kind of name is Spatula for a gun?” Straight asked.

Dago shook his head. He had already heard the answer.

“Because he’s not a gun, he’s my baby that poops bullets,” Mulligan said, like that explanation answered everything.

An eye roll and “Okay, just put it on your back until you’re ready to use it. I don’t want anyone else getting shot.”

Mulligan did so with a glower.

“Rauzchek, any special skills that we should know about? Like marksman, knot tying, or some other boy scout badge bullshit,” Straight asked.

“Nope, nothing.”

“You know, I actually joined the boy scouts just for the knot tying badge,” Dago said. “I did not like the camping trips. Wish they had a gender identity badge. Not saying it matters. Just saying that sometimes I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Hey Rauzchek, did Dago ever tell you he’s a pedophile?” Mulligan asked.

Rauzchek’s jaw dropped.

“Ya, it’s something I’m into, but I don’t normally go around telling people I just met,” Dago said.

Rauzchek stopped. “And you guys are cool with that?”

“Oh, pedophilia? Yeah. Dago, why don’t you tell him why you’re into pedophilia,” Straight said.

“Jesus man, I don’t want to hear that shit.”

Dago turned to face him. “I know it’s not for everybody, but it’s not like it’s the worst thing I could be into.”

“No, it really could,” Rauzchek replied.

“Just tell him why you’re into it,” Straight insisted. They were all standing around in a circle now.

“I can’t speak for all pedophiles, but for me, it’s weird. I can’t quite explain it, but I guess it’s because… You know what? I’ll just come out and say it. I like the way my dick feels in their meaty little grip. That and when you…”

“WHAT THE FUCK! STOP!” Rauzchek pleaded.

“Oh, no. It gets better.” Straight said through a wide grin and tears in his eyes. He was having a hard time holding his laughter back.

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like fucking peds is much different than fucking ma-anus. Did I say that right? Oh, well. You get the point.”

“STOP. PLEASE GOD STOP!” Rauzchek pleaded.

Straight was holding his side, about to fall over from laughter.

“WHAT? YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? THIS GUY IS OVER HERE TALKING ABOUT FUCKING LITTLE KIDS AND TAKING IT IN THE ASS, AND YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY?

“I do,” Mulligan said, raising his hand.

“Dago thinks pedophilia is about having sex with feet, not little kids. Not sure what getting fucked in the ass has to do with it,” Straight said.

“What? I didn’t say anything about getting fucked in the ass.”

“Yes you did!” Rauzchek replied. “You said fucking little kids wasn’t any different than getting fucked in the ass.

Dago took a second, trying to think of what he’s just said before catching the flaw in Rauzchek’s thinking.

“I said manus.”

“Yes, you said your anus.”

“No. I said manus. M-A-N-U-S. It’s Latin for hand. And while were on it PEDO is latin for feet. So maybe if you guys weren’t illiterate fucking retards you’d understand I was talking about a foot job not being much different than a hand job.”

“Hey, I take offense to that.”

“Sorry Mulligan. No offense meant,” Dago added.

“Really? You just called us illiterate retards, and you meant no offense?” Rauzchek asked.

“No. I meant offense to you, but Mulligan is retarded.” Dago put up a hand before Mulligan could correct him. “Sorry, special needs and illiterate. I didn’t mean to call him that, because that would be an asshole thing to do. But once again, fuck you guys.”

“Is he serious right now?” Rauzchek asked Straight.

“About Mulligan being special needs? Ya, but he’s cool though. Just takes some getting used to.”

“No. About the pedophilia and shit, or is he just fucking with me?”

“Oh yeah. He believes it. We’ve tried to correct him, but he sticks with it.”

“Guys.” Dago said, pointing up.

Everyone’s eyes went upward. They were standing right underneath a street sign reading Emases st. 300.

“Okay, we need to keep an eye open for 321.” Straight threw a glance over his shoulder at the building behind him. “Were at 304 now so it has to be on the other side of the street. Evens this side. Odds that side.”

“Yup, there’s 303,” Rauzchek said.

“Okay, so across the street and a block up.” Straight said.

“So, what are we looking for?” Rauzchek asked.

Straight shrugged. “Just has an address.”

“So, what? Were just supposed to walk up to the door and knock? These aren’t even houses, they’re apartment buildings.”

“Look, that’s what the goddamn thing says. I don’t fucking know what were supposed to do.”

They crossed the street, not even looking for cars as the streets were abandoned.

“There it is, up there!” Dago shouted, pointing to the stoop of an older building. There was an urge to rush to the door until Straight put his rifle in the combat ready position, setting the rest of them on unease.

Mulligan fumbled for his gun but couldn’t find it on his back. He turned in circles, thinking that would somehow help him reach further back. If only he had reached over his other shoulder, he would have been able to grab it. But before he could figure this out for himself, he knocked over a trash can siting next to the stairs of their destination. It rang out with a thunderous clatter. Mulligan jumped, pulling his rifle from his back instinctually and then was mesmerized by the sudden appearance of it. He gave the trash can a quick kick to show it who was boss. A green alien ejected itself from the can. Mulligan jumped and opened fire on the little beast, dumping almost half a clip into the alien, the can, and the surrounding area before he ceased fire and just stared at the motionless creature.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Straight demanded.

Mulligan looked at him wide eyed and pointed at the creature with his rifle.

“Dude, that’s a toy. You shot the shit out of a toy,” Dago said, nudging the thing over onto its back. Big bulgy eyes starred back up at them, its lifeless mouth gaping open. “I think it’s a puppet. You shot a puppet.”

“It’s all green and hairy, and I saw it move. I thought it was an alien.”

Dago peered into the can “Straight? The puppet isn’t the only thing in the can.”

“Is there more puppets?” Mulligan asked with excitement.

Dago shook his head. “It’s a naked man.”

“Shit, did Mulligan shoot him,” Straight asked.

“I’m pretty sure he got him in the hand, he’s wearing the puppet.”

“Fuck man, get him out of there,” Rauzchek said, rushing over to help.

“There’s no point. He’s fucking dead.

“Oh shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Mulligan cried.

“You didn’t kill him,” Straight said to Mulligan before turning to Dago. “He didn’t kill him, right?”

“No, he didn’t kill him. The way he’s crammed in here, I’m guessing he’s been dead for a while.”

“Then why didn’t you start with that. I mean, that sounds like the more pertinent information than he was goddamn naked.” Rauzchek snapped.

Everyone took a second and cranked their heads in Rauzchek’s direction.

“I mean maybe to you a naked man in a trash can is important, but to the rest of us it’s not so fucking much.”

“Dude, I think you need to take another hit off your pain killers,” Dago said.

“I just fucking took some.”

“Well take some more, you’re clearly in pain.”

“I’m not. I’m just pissed the fuck off. Okay, I’m in pain, but I’m more pissed off.”

“Because you’re in pain,” Straight replied.

“Dude, let it go. He’s stage three,” Dago said.

“Stage three?”

“Ya there’s like seven stages of acceptance. He’s on stage three, anger. He’s already been through shock and denial.”

“And you know this how?” Rauzchek asked.

“Dude, you spend seven days strapped to a torture rack and you get to know those seven stages pretty well.”

“Holy shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t be,” said Straight. “That’s what he did for his last vacation.”

“That’s not all I did. Don’t make it sound weird or anything. I also went scuba diving.”

That was it Rauzchek had enough of these guys. He pushed past them and tried to open the door, half wishing that it would explode when he did and the shrapnel would kill them all. His only hope was that he would live long enough to see the others die. It didn’t. It shuddered instead. The others jumped at the sound. Their guns drawn in anticipation. The only one that didn’t draw his gun was Mulligan. He was still transfixed on the puppet. He knew he’d seen it somewhere before.

Rauzchek brought his arm back to knock on the door as fingers tensed on triggers.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

There was the moment of a breath where nothing happened and then hearts stopped as the door knob turned, and the door opened with the creak of a nun’s legs to reveal Bachula ill-fittingly dressed in orange pants and a yellow shirt that had been practically shredded to fit his oversized torso. But the best part was the pimp hat with the feathers that matched the yellow fur coat perfectly. He looked like some prehistoric bird.

“Greetings, fellow humans. How can I help you?”

“Bitchola.” Straight sneered.

“It’s Bachula. Fuck. I mean, I’m not… I’m human, just like you. My name is Larry Dirb.

Rauzchek looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “That’s not even a real name.”

“Larry Dirb is a real human name,” Bachula replied.

“We totally know it’s you. We can see your eye patch,” Dago said.

“I have pink eye.”

“Okay. What about your mouth that opens up in four different directions?” Straight asked.

“It does not,” Bachula said, reaching up to his mouth, then noticing his hands as he did so. “Crap.” He frantically fumbled at his chest plate, hitting a button. A small voice answered back, “Yes, sir. Did you need something?” “Fuck, me.” He fumbled again, looking up to see the guys staring at him. He slammed the door.

Rauzchek turned to look at the other three and shrugged.

Straight lowered his rifle and shrugged back.

The door flew back open. Before them stood a black man with the same orange pants, yellow coat, and stupid hat. He smiled a toothy grin.

“What the hell is this? We still know it’s you,” Straight said.

“No you don’t,” Bachula replied.

“Sir, I have HR on the line and they want you to clarify your previous statement,” the little voice said.

Bachula reached up and smacked his fur jacket, shutting off his communicator.

“Can I shoot him,” Rauzchek asked.

“We just saw you. We know it’s you,” said Straight.

“He ran away,” Bachula said before realizing that he was still wearing the same clothes. “And he gave me theses clothes as he did. Really great guy. Or at least he seems like a really great guy. I had never met him before. I wouldn’t know.”

“Stop playing games,” Rauzchek said pointing his pistol between Bachula’s eyes. “I’m the goddamn sandman. I will put a bullet in your head and take your arm as my own.”

“For Phucya’s sake, chill the fuck out.”

“I will end you.”

“Can you please have him put the gun down?”

Straight put his own gun down and shifted his weight to one foot. “I don’t know. He seems pretty adamant on killing you. Maybe I should just let him do it.”

“Really? You would let him kill a fellow humane being?” Bachula said pleading his case, making sure to make eye contact with each and everyone of them until his eyes fell upon the corpse sprawling out of the trash can. “For Phucya’s sake!”

The word Phucya echoed from the rooftops and surrounding areas making Straight and the others glance around nervously. Bachula hurried along the conversation, paying no attention to the echo.

“Did you guys kill him?

“What? Who?” asked Straight.

Bachula nodded and pointed toward the carcass on the ground.

Dago followed his finger to the body and then back to Bachula. “No. We didn’t kill him. You’re the one wearing his clothes.”

“No I’m not! I got these off line after researching what black people wear. That guy was alive the last time I saw him and living in his tiny home with his funny friend.”

“I killed him?” Mulligan asked.

“No man, you didn’t kill anybody,” said Dago, examining the ever growing puddle of blood surrounding the trash corpse. He kicked at the puppet nervously. It squished against his foot. He knew that squish. He’d kicked many a used sock late at night with that same squish. He could feel the wetness against his big toe. God, why did he have to wear sandals today. He jerked his foot back and tried to think of something else, but his mind immediately went to the naked man in the sweltering trash can masturbating violently. His tick infested dick thrusting in and out of the hand sized hole. The matted green felt of his unconscious sex partner absorbing the homeless man’s stench as it dripped from his brow. The puppet’s head flopping back and forth with each throw of ecstasy, causing its mouth to open and close.

Dago shook the thought from his head. “No Mulligan, you didn’t kill anyone.”

“He clearly did. That guy was alive just ten minutes ago,” Bachula said.

“Oh, so you personally came out here and checked on him, did you?”

“Well, no. But I saw his tiny metal home shaking. I think he was having a seizure.”

“He had a seizure and you think Mulligan is the one that killed him?”

“I guess it could've been the seizure, but he had so many of them I didn’t even think about it. It was really weird. I don’t think I’d ever heard someone talk during a seizure. He just kept saying, oh yeah, oh yeah with the occasional comment about being dirty. You could always tell when the seizure was almost over because he would let out a series of grunts before going silent.”

Dago casually covered his groin. He had the strangest erection right now.

Mulligan turned his head so he wouldn’t have to see the bullet riddled ragamuffin.

“You fucking killed me. You better have the goddamn decency to look me in the eyes.”

He looked back, and now the puppet was looking at him.

“That’s right, look at me, mother fucker. I want you to know what you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Mulligan said, the tears in his eyes hidden behind his visor, but that didn’t stop him from trying to wipe them away.

Straight’s broke in, “Bachula, or whoever the hell you are, we’re here. Now what?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The fucking address you gave me. 321 Emases st. Poconoko.”

“Who told you that word!”

“Which word?” Straight asked. “Emases or Poconoko?”

“That one!” Bachula said.

“That doesn’t really answer the question,” Straight replied.

“I’ve been holding onto a box. I was told that someone would come and that I would know it was them when they spoke that word.”

Dago leaned in toward Straight “ I’m guessing it was Poconoko. The other one is just the street name,” he whispered.

“Ya, think?” Straight said in a condescending tone.

Bachula reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box with a lock on it.

Rauzchek held out his hands expectingly.

“Inside this box contains everything that you will need to complete your journey.”

“Awesome. You should've given us that first,” Rauzchek said.

“You know what? Fuck you guys. You’re ruining this for me,” Bachula said, breaking character. “I’m really trying to make this game fun and entertaining, and you guys don’t give a shit.”

“This isn’t a game,” Straight said.

“Of course it is. You’re on a treasure hunt and a quest to save the planet.”

“Not cool when you’re actually going to blow up the planet.”

“I could’ve just killed you. You know what? I don’t even care.” He shoved the box into Rauzchek’s hands. “I hope you have fun figuring it out,” he said slamming the door on them.

“I was going to help you with the first clue, but now you can just screw off.”

Ignoring the voice coming from the other side of the door Rauzchek moved down the stairs back toward the other guys.

“It’s got a lock on it.”

Straight fished into his pocket and pulled out the key, and met Rauzchek at the bottom of the stairs. Rauzchek handed him the box. Straight took it and sat down on the stairs while the others gathered around him. Even Mulligan was able to pull himself from the puppet corpse he had been staring at. Straight opened the box. Inside he found a red lens, a flashlight, a piece of paper with an arrow on it and a rolled up scroll that looked like it had been aged with coffee and a lighter and bound inside a metal ring. He picked it up and took the metal ring off and returned it to the box before unrolling the scroll. On it was a hand-drawn map of what he assumed was a small section of the city. He could see the street they were on and the river to the east. There were also some other roads and named landmarks. He studied it for a moment and then handed it to Dago.

“Any idea what we do now?” Straight asked.

Dago looked over the map.

Mulligan held out his hand. “Can I see the flashlight?”

Straight picked up the flashlight and rolled it over in his hand. He tapped it against his palm a few times, as if testing to make sure it was just a flashlight. He handed it to Mulligan. Worst-case scenario, they had to use the light on their rifles if he broke it.

Mulligan took the light and turned it on. No light came out of it. He shook it. Still nothing. So he did the only reasonable thing and pointed it at his eye.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mulligan screamed, almost dropping the light.

Everyone looked at him, and Dago moved close closer.

“What’s wrong?” Dago asked.

“This things got a stupid purple light.”

Everyone’s eyes went to the flashlight and then to Dago’s Hawaiian shirt, which was sporting a chaotic mess of glowing designs resembling a psychedelic collection of Warshak tests.

“You really need to wash your clothes,” Straight said.

Dago looked down, noticing their concern. “The towels in the hotel are scratchy.” His eyes then went to the flashlight “let me see that,” he said, snagging the flashlight before Mulligan could even hand it over, then shined it on the map. Two marks lit up. He handed the flashlight to Straight.

“See if anything else in that box glows.”

Straight took it from him and shined it in the box while he moved around the contents. “I’ve got some on this arrow.”

“Let me see it,” Dago said, holding out his hand eagerly.

Straight handed over a piece of paper with an arrow on it and the flashlight.

Dago handed the flashlight to Mulligan as he moved to the stairs, spreading the map out on the stoop.

“Shine the light on the map, Mulligan,” Dago said.

Mulligan did so, and the two marks on the map lit up. Dago moved the arrow onto the map and saw the two marks on the arrow light up. He kept the map pressed flat while he positioned the arrow until the marks on it lined up with the marks on the map.

“That’s it we have our next destination.”

They looked down at the map.

“If we’re here.” He pointed at their location on the map. “And that’s our destination.” He moved his finger across the map. “We’re going to need a car.”

They took a look around. The streets were a parking lot of abandoned cars. Even if they were able to get one, how would they get it through the traffic?

“I think I can see his soul,” Mulligan said.

Everyone turned toward Mulligan, who was pointing the flash light at the overturned trash can. Its contents glowed like toxic waste, with light so bright it threatened to burn out their corneas.