'Ten Minutes Late for Reality' by Lou Morris (c) 1988, 1989, 1991, 2002, 2015. Forty-three:

Forty-three:

   "Hey dudes, I gotta go to the bathroom!  I'm not messing
around; I'll never make it to this security place.  And you
dudes should come on in with me; I might try to escape or
something, ya know?"

                                 - The Dead Eye--setting up
the stupid guards.


   "Kill-M-All!" Emmerick exclaimed, pulling himself free of
a sticker bush.  "Thank thy gods I found you!  Methought I
was stuck on ye wacky plane by meself!"  He hopped over a
pricker brush and ran over to greet him.
   "Oh, hello," Kill-M-All nonchalantly replied, leaning
against a particularly large pine tree.  He looked about this
particular neck of the woods, the same forest that had half
of it cut down to accommodate a brand new shopping center,
complete with ten video stores, a McWendy's, and a M-Kart
store.  The other half of the forest bordered on The Generic
Corporation's Death Adventure Safari, the supposed world's
largest of its kind.  He looked back at Emmerick.
   Emmerick stopped short.  "Oh, don't ye give me thy
lines," he snapped, "'Tis useless to disguise your hysteria."
   Kill-M-All smirked.  "What hysteria?" he asked; "A nice
peaceful land populated by technological idiots?"  He ripped
a small limb off of his pine tree.  "Back when we were
fighting that ice dragon, that was hysteria."  He swatted a
pine cone with his branch.  The cone sailed into a nearby
bush.  "Compared to that, this is paradise," he announced.
   A United States army helicopter, from the nearby Fort
Dix, choose to flutter by at that moment.  It whipped the
air, spraying the both of them with pine cones and needles as
it dusted the woods (or the Prospertown forest as the woods
are more commonly known as).
   Kill-M-All spat out a few pine needles, then announced,
"Metal dragons.  Let's leave."
   Emmerick wholeheartedly agreed, along with the rest of
him.  "But how and where?"
   "Don't worry thy head over such matters.  What we should
be doing is figuring out where Kaye-Boom is, not where we
are.  He's our ticket out of this wacky-world."
   "Ticket?  What's a ticket?"
   "I mean scroll!  Picky, aren't ye?" Kill-M-All
complained.
   "Scroll.  Yes, but how do we do that?  I mean find
him..." Emmerick asked, not yet convinced.
   "We walk," Kill-M-All answered flatly.
   "We walk?"
   "We walk 'til we get lost.  Then we walk some more, and
finally, just before we're sick of walking, we'll run into
him.  That's the way it usually happens in all thy ballads."
   "Just stupid enough to work..." the elf remarked.
   And so, they walked.
   Then they got lost.
   Then they walked some more.
   And finally, just before they were sick of walking, they
stumbled upon him.
   Too bad "him" wasn't Kaye-Boom, but some Cassvillite
feeding his dog in the near dusk light.
   "What the hell do yer think yer doing?" yelled Mr.
Bluehaul, Roy's angry father.  "On my back lawn?"
   His back lawn just happened to be the same section of
pine forest that Emmerick and Kill-M-All walked around and
got lost in.  They had spotted his porch light, assumed it to
be a signal from Kaye-Boom, and came to investigate.  That's
when they found Roy's dad, feeding his dog.
   Mr. Bluehaul was a typical Cassville person--a man in his
mid-to-late thirties with a hardly shaven face and scruffy
hair, and, of course, a recently polished shotgun.  He made a
point of pointing it at the two intruders on his property,
just to make the point.
   The point wasn't very well taken.  Emmerick had never
seen a shotgun before, so all hopes of fear was lost on him.  
Kill-M-All had seen one before, being wielded by that strange
monk who tried to gain followers in that food place, but he
took it as a loud noise maker.  All in all, the both of them
weren't very impressed.
   "Don't you two get tight lipped with me!  Who the hell
are ya?!"  He stepped closer, dropping a can of doggie chow,
which his faithful companion dolefully cleaned up.  "Well?!"
   Kill-M-All, not wanting to use his real name, if you call
it a real name, decided to use his alias.  "Dar," he said.
   "Don't der me, you jerk off!  What the hell is yer name
before I blow yer dering head right the hell off yer dering
shoulders!!"  He was pissed!
   Kill-M-All, not one to take kindly to harsh words,
unsheathed his broad sword from, well, his sheath.  Emmerick
did the same with his long bow and a few silver tipped
arrows.
   At the sight of the two strange men revealing their
weapons, Mr. Bluehaul became ill at ease, to say the least.  
He whistled a high pitched note and barked out, "Sick 'em,
Shadow; rip 'em apart!"
   His dog, a large hound, looked up from his pile of doggie
kibble.  It looked slightly annoyed at his master, then at
the two uninvited dinner guests.  "Gr!" it growled, showing
all who cared to look, his kibble stained canines.  It glared
at the tall one then at the small slender one.
   Emmerick glanced at Kill-M-All and vice-versa.
   The black and brown retriever jumped from his stance and
leapt for the two strangers at high speed, barking and
growling all the way.  To any modern person it would be
frightening, to say the least
   All of a sudden though, it stopped being frightening.  In
fact, it also stopped barking and growling.  It stopped
living.  This was because it now had a rather long and sharp
sword sticking out of its head, impaling it to the midsummer
soft earth.
   Mr. Bluehaul wasn't very happy.  Not at all.  He revealed
this fact to Kill-M-All and Emmerick by pulling the trigger
on his shotgun.
   Needless to say, he missed.  This was partly because
having an arrow shaft stuck in one's head does nothing to
help with accuracy.  He fell over dead, just to make the
point.
   "Any other of thy bright ideas?" Emmerick complained.