The 1952 pickup truck shook, rattled and rolled down the back road, its exhaust spewing great clouds of black, nauseating smoke. Scabs of rust had spread across the battered body like leprosy and years of sun and dust storms had weathered its vibrant red finish to a sickly shade of pink. An old kewpie doll, with glass eyes and painted lips, dangled from the rear view mirror.

   Hunched behind the wheel and fighting to stay awake was a short, scrawny man by the unlikely name of Delbert Ripple. Tattoos festooned his spindly arms, stretching from his shoulders clear down to his wrists. Amongst them were a Tweetie Bird, a fire-breathing dragon, assorted knives and daggers, and a leering skull with a rattlesnake curling through its empty sockets. There was a pin and ink letter on each finger of his right hand, which, together, spelled out the word "doom." His long, gaunt face, with sunken cheeks, held only a tad more flesh than the skull on his arm. The ash of a half-smoked cigarette was threatening to fall into his lap.

   His identical twin, Albert, was slumped in the passenger’s seat, finishing off the scraps of a bag of Doritos. When he was finished, he blew up the bag and popped it, sending the remaining crumbs flying around the cab.

   "Jesus H. Christ, Albert! Why’d you go and do a dumb ass thing like that?"

   "Because I felt like it, that’s why." Albert ferreted under the seat and came up with a package of Hostess Twinkies. "We better come across a convenience store right quick. I’m damn near out of snacks."

   Delbert stared out at the Kansas farmlands; a seemingly never-ending patchwork of greens and browns and tans. The entire damn state was nothing but corn and soybeans and wheat, stretching clear toward the Colorado border. "Yeah, right, sure. There’s no convenience store, way out in these boonies. And, if there was, it would probably only sell corn chips and Wheaties."

   Albert shifted his butt, trying not to sit on a broken spring. "When you killed that old man, back there, I wish to hell he was driving a Caddy instead of this hunk of junk."

   "Oh, that would be just great; two rednecks, like us, driving around in a Cadillac. That would catch the eye of every cop in the state."

   "And this crapmobile won’t? It must have a hundred-and-one vehicular violations."

   "You know; Momma was right about you; you’re nothing but a whiner. Wah, wah, wah."

   "The old bitch always liked you better. Always."

   They passed a small, blink-of-an-eye town, consisting of nothing more than a tractor dealership, four houses, six  trailers and a grain elevator.

   "Christ," hissed Delbert. Hooterville, U.S.A.."

   Dusk was approaching, painting the horizon with splotches of pink and purple and rose. Up ahead, a possum scuttled from the underbrush and raised itself on its haunches, startled by the headlights. Gunning the gas, Delbert hit him straight on and chortled as he heard the body thumping along the undercarriage.

   "Road pizza! Maybe I should stop so you can grab yourself a snack."

   "You are a totally crazy asshole." Suddenly, Albert leaned forward, squinting into the distance. "I think that’s a --- yeah, yeah, yeah --- it’s a goddamn convenience store! Oh, man, what a stroke of luck!"

   "Should I stop?"

   "Christ, what a stupid fucking question! Yeah, man; you should definitely stop!" Albert opened the glove compartment and pulled out a Ruger .357 Magnum. "And it’s my turn to pop the clerk."

   "No it ain’t. It’s mine."

   "Bull crap! You got the last one, in Missouri. Yeah, for sure, ten miles out of Joplin."

   "Yeah, yeah, yeah, now I remember. That old woman, right between the eyes. Man-oh-man, her false teeth came sailing out and nearly caught me in the head."

   Delbert eased the pickup over to the side of the road and they sat for a few minutes, casing the joint. Gas pumps, four in all, with a horde of insects swirling beneath the halogen lights. The usual ice chest, air pump and racks of oil cans. And, strangely enough, not a single car in the lot.

   Albert released the cylinder of his .357, spun it around and flipped it back into place with a flick of his wrist. "Looks like a cinch. The clerk must have hoofed it in. I don’t see any car or truck or anything."

   "I don’t like that word ‘cinch’. Remember that time, outside of Tulsa, with the state cop?"

   "Yeah, so, big deal. We filled him with more holes than a sieve."

   "Still, it was too damn close for me."

   "Who’s the whiner now? C’mon, c’mon, let’s get it done. I don’t want to celebrate my birthday out here."

   Letting out a long hiss of breath, Delbert drove the pickup across the parking lot and around to the back of the store. He sat there for a few moments, listening to the chirping of crickets, and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something didn’t seem quite right. A chill coursed down the length of his spine, nestling in that little hollow just above his butt.

   "I don’t know, Al. Maybe we should pass on this one."

   "For Christ-sakes, let’s get this show on the road."

   "My sixth sense is acting up."

   "Well, your sixth sense ain’t worth two cents."

   Albert clambered out, reached into the bed of the truck and pulled a pair of wire cutters from a small toolbox. Then skirting the rear of the building, he located the phone wires and gave them a snip. He waited for his reluctant brother, impatiently rearranging some gravel with his boot, and they marched silently around to the front of the building.

   It had gotten darker, the fields across the street lost in shadows. The only activity was the insects churning around the halogen lights, reminding Del of a chorus of tuning forks. Then, somewhere in the distance, a dog let out a long, mournful howl.

   Albert tucked the .357 into his belt, covering it with his denim jacket, and they entered the store, a small bell tinkling over the door. A young Oriental woman looked up from her magazine, offered them a quick smile and returned to her reading. It was the usual setup; racks of candy up front, four aisles of food and basics, and the coolers at the back. Albert wasted little time in heading out in search of snacks, leaving Del rooted to the floor, wondering why in hell the place was so God-awful cold. Cold as a frigging meat locker! So cold, in fact, that his breath was streaming from his mouth like cigar smoke.

   "Hey, lady."

   The woman’s head jerked up, a brow raised in question.

   "Why’s it so goddamn cold in here? I got goose bumps for crying-out-loud."

   "Trouble with air conditioning," was all that she said, her eyes giving him the once-over before returning to the magazine.

   Del squinted, searching his memory bank. The woman looked familiar, very familiar; somewhere, sometime, in the not too distant past. Hey ----- uh ----- have we ever met?"

   The woman raised her eyes without moving her head. "I don’t think so." She giggled. "But, you know, like they say; all Orientals look alike."

   "Hey, Delbert!" shouted his brother. "Don’t just stand there like a statue. We got things to do."

   "Yeah, yeah, hold your water!" Del made his way down one of the aisles, shivering and rubbing his hands to keep warm. "Christ, Al; it’s as cold as Antarctica in here."

   "Still griping, huh?"

   "And Suzie Wong, up there, looks very familiar to me."

   Rolling his eyes, Albert opened a cooler, reached in and grabbed a container of milk. He twisted off its cap and took a long swig, suddenly gagging and spewing the milk across the glass door of the cooler. "Eeeccchhh! What in the hell is this shit? Aaahhh!" Turning the container upside down, he stared in disbelief as a green cottage cheese substance oozed out and plopped to the floor. "Fuck me, man! What the Christ is the date on this crap?"

   "C’mon, Al; I think we had better get the hell out of here. This place doesn’t feel right to me."

   "We just got here. I gotta get my snacks. They probably overlooked this milk, is all. In the far reaches of Kansas, it can happen."

   "Yeah, just like God overlooked giving you a brain."

   "Gimme five minutes more," hissed Al, craning his neck to see if they had drawn the attention of the clerk. But she was still deep in her magazine. "Five minutes is all. Then I’ll pop Suzie Wong and we’ll snatch the cash and skedaddle."

   Delbert knew that there was no sense in arguing; when Al made up his mind, he made up his mind. Sighing, he made his way toward the newspaper and magazine rack, heart thumping, his eyes on the prowl. After thumbing through a magazine, he turned his attention to the newspapers and immediately saw that something was wrong, very wrong. They were all yellowish with age and came from a number of far-flung cities: The Des Moines Register, The Fort Wayne News-Sentinel and The Kansas City Star, The Tulsa World and The San Antonio Express-News. What in the hell was going on here? A store in the middle of the boondocks wouldn’t carry all those editions and old ones too by the looks. Frowning, Del snatched up The News-Sentinel and the bold headlines fairly screamed: ‘Young Clerk Killed in Tragic Holdup’. Throwing it aside, he picked up The World and there it was, front and center: ‘State Policeman Slain in the Line of Duty’! Holy shit! These newspapers were recounting all their holdups and murders! And, then, he spotted the Oriental woman’s smiling face on the front page of The Little Rock Democrat-Gazette! ‘Part Time College Student Executed During Late Night Holdup!’

   "Albert, get your butt over here, now! C’mere, c’mere, quick!"

   "What in the hell has got you riled up, now?"

   "Look at this shit! You’re not going to believe it!"

   Albert wandered over, unconcerned, tearing open the top of a bag of cheese twists. "Your imagination is running wild, bro." Reaching in to pull out a cheese twist, he instead came up with a long, fat worm, squirming in his fingers! "Holy fuck!" he shouted, tossing it aside and dropping the bag. Dozens more worms slithered from the bag - big, slick ones, the size of fingers!

   "This is the frigging Twilight Zone! We gotta haul ass and quick!" Reaching inside of his jacket and pulling a revolver from a shoulder holster, Del rushed toward the counter, thumbing back the hammer. "I’ll plug the bitch and grab the cash!"

   "Hey, man, it’s my turn!"

   "Screw your turn!" Without slowing his stride, Del took quick aim and fired at the clerk. "We don’t have time to argue!"

   The bullet struck the woman in the forehead, making a squishing sound, and exited the back of her head, pulverizing a pack of cigarettes on the rack behind. Unfazed, she gave a broad smile as though it was nothing but a mosquito bite. "Good shot, Delbert. You’re a reg’lar Annie Oakley."

   Not believing what he saw, his eyes as large as saucers, Del quickly diverted course and made a mad dash for the front door. But, no matter how hard he tugged, it wouldn’t open! Cursing, he kicked the glass with his boot, once, twice, three times, but the glass failed to shatter! The little bell tinkled ominously overhead.

   "That woman ain’t human!" screamed Delbert, as he scurried up an aisle, making a beeline toward the back of the store. "C’mon, c’mon, I think I noticed a rear door!"

   As they dashed along the aisle, panic-stricken and desperate, all hell began to break loose. Caps started to pop of soda bottles, sending geysers of hissing liquid high into the air! Bags of potato chips and pretzels and corn chips bulged and danced on the racks, their entrapped occupants struggling to break free! A jar of Spanish olives, tottering on the edge of a shelf, fell and smashed on the floor, sending fat green beetles scurrying in every direction! A box of elbow macaroni started to tremble, swarms of maggots squirming behind its clear plastic window! The lights began to flicker, threatening to go out!

   Just as the twins thought that escape was within reach, they suddenly skidded to a stop, alarmed by a strange scuffling sound coming from the back room. A sickly, putrid stench wafted on the ice-cold air, causing them to gag, Albert retching up a wad of his Hostess Twinkie.

   "Ah jeez, ah jeez," warbled Del, taking a frantic step back. "What ----- what the hell, now?"

   The lights flickered, went out for a few seconds, and flashed back on.

   "God-damn-it, I told you, Al; this fucking place ain’t right!"

   And, then, they shuffled around the corner; a dozen terrible sights, with slimy, worm-infested skin, empty eye sockets and dirty, mildewed clothes! The leader, a tall skeleton, with patches of moldering brown skin, clicked forward, a Smokey the Bear perched cockeyed atop its skull and the baggy remains of a dress uniform draped over its bones. The jaw creaked, a patch of brown skin fluttering to the floor.

   "Howdy, twinsies,’ croaked a voice. "Remember me: Officer Gordon Hodges from Tulsa, Oklahoma? You shot me full of holes and there I was - a loving husband and father of three. Now, it’s time for a little bit of even stevens."

   Delbert’s brain whirled back to the sign that he had seen out front: EVEN STEVENS – milk, bread and cigarettes. "Hey, man! It wasn’t me that plugged you. It was my brother, here, Albert! He did it, not me!"

   "You lying sack of shit!" screamed Albert, backpedaling up the aisle. "You whacked the guy, Del, and you damn well know it!"

   The skeleton rattled closer, teeth barring into a fiendish grin. "It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me. What’s good for the goose, is good for the gander."

   With surprising speed, one of the walking dead, leapt to the top of a counter, scurrying along on its hands and knees.

   Del heard the tinkling of a bell and turned to see his brother once again at the front door, screaming and kicking frantically at its glass. The Oriental woman, having transformed into a hunched gnome, was shuffling in his direction, a strange mewling sound coming from what was left of her throat. Del started to run in their direction, firing off his five remaining shots as he went; each of which plopped straight through the woman and struck his brother in the chest! Albert flew back against the door, where he started to slide slowly towards the floor, leaving a long smear of blood down its glass!

   "Oh no, oh no – oh, Jesus, no! Al, it was an accident! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, Al!"

   Delbert ran toward his brother, tears welling in his eyes, but slipped on one of the green beetles and fell, striking his head against some shelving. As he lay sprawled on the floor, trying to grasp what had happened, he felt a pair of skeletal fingers grabbing hold of his neck.

   "No, no, nooooo! Oh, please, no!"

*** * ***

   Officer Vince O’Neill spotted the old pickup parked a couple of hundred yards out in a soybean field and slammed on his brakes, swerving over to the side of the road. Damn, if it didn’t resemble the stolen truck in the APB: early nineteen-fifties, rust-eaten fenders, salmon to pink in color! He was too far away to read the license plate, so he got out, pulled his Baretta automatic and cautiously approached the vehicle, his wary eyes trying to cover every direction at once. The old man, who owned the truck, had been murdered and the suspects were reported to be armed and dangerous. The door creaked open on rusty hinges and he peered inside, noting the empty junk food bags, candy wrappers and crumpled packs of cigarettes. There was a strong stench of stale sweat and spilled whiskey.

   A lone hawk, riding the air currents, suddenly swooped down, buzzed the ground and flew off with a squirming rodent in its talons.

   Excited by his discovery, O’Neill rushed back to his cruiser and snatched the mike from the radio. "Dorothy, are you there? Hey, Dot! Answer me if you’re there."

   "Yeah, yeah, I’m here, Vince. What’s up? You sound a bit out of sorts."

  "I found that old pickup in the APB, sitting out in Tom Hasting’s soybean field. There’s nobody around as far as I can see. You better get hold of the state boys, pronto, and send them out here."

   "Roger that. And, please, be careful."

   McNeill was heading back toward the truck when he spotted the Magnum lying on the ground. Kneeling down, he used a pen to pick up the weapon by its trigger guard. Squinting his eyes against the midday sun, he slowly surveyed the field, which like all fields in Kansas, seemed to go on without end.

   "Where are you, boys?" he whispered to himself. "Where in the hell are you off to?"