I unfurl my treasure map. Bitefighter—my loyal buddy and 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire—sits on one end, and I hold the other end down with a straightened arm. I drew this thing a few days back when I was in a mountain dew n’ pizza-induced trance, after eating three large pies and downing 5 gallons of dew. I trust it with my very ballsack.
For a long while, we stare perplexedly at the squiggles and stick figures I’ve etched onto the map’s surface. I turn to Bitefighter.
“Pizza levels are low. Want to trek 3000 miles to New York and get the real stuff?”
He lifts a furry little leg, and lets out a hissy, almost-silent fart. “Rowf.” (Translation: Nah—I’m feeling lazy. Let’s get something from around here.)
“Right.” I turn back to the map. It’s filled with badly drawn robots, zombies, cartoonishly sexy soccer moms…my eyes lock onto a crayola-red square labeled HOLE FUUDS. There’s a series of annotations next to it:
“HERE THERE BE HIPPIES.”
I turn to Bitefighter again. “Want to chance it?”
He looks conflicted, then answers: “Roof.” (Translation: We’ll have to wear gas masks or we’ll die from their BO. We’ll also have to slather ourselves with patchouli to blend with their stank. Still…I’m not sure…)
I start rolling up the map. “Dude—we’ve played ‘The Last of Us’ like a gazillion times. We know how to navigate through a hostile population of feral half-humans.”
He strokes his little doggy beard, squinting up and to the left…then concedes the point. “Arf rowf roofarfskies.” (Translation: Okay—let’s do it.)
A few minutes later, we pull up to Whole Foods, watching from afar as a mob of crystal-gazing freakshows wander in and out of its sliding glass doors. Bitefighter and I exchange a nod, slap on our gas masks, and start scuttling toward the entrance like special ops ninjas. We grab a cart and hustle through the aisles, throwing in cookies, cakes, salt n pepper kettle chips, mango slices…,an, so much tasty goodness! Okay, we’re almost done—we turn down the hot food aisle and start sprinting towards pizza.
Suddenly, the cart breaks through a line of ankle-high hippie beads and sets wind chimes a-jangling.
FUCK! HIPPIE BOOBY TRAP!
They snap out of their wheatgrass induced trances. A sea of unwashed flesh converges on me and Bitefighter, clawing at us with dirty, Gollum-pale fingers. Our gas masks fly off and we inhale giant lungfuls of unwashed armpit.
“Oh God!” I gasp. “It kills! It KILLS!” I clutch my throat as my eyes starts watering. Bitefighter’s crying like a beaten puppy. In a few more seconds, we’re going to suffer death by stank.
Only one option left. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Superman busts through the window, both fists out. He hovers above us and inhales the vast sea of BO into his yellow sun-charged lungs. Then he falls to the ground, curls into the fetal position, and starts gasping and hacking.
“Rao save us!” he coughs. “Worse than Kryptonite!”
Me and Bitefighter slap our gas masks on, grab a few boxes of pizza, and hightail it out of there.
Holy effin balls that was close!
Is a hippie horde standing between you and a delicious box of Whole Foods pizza? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book