Read Shut The Fuck Up And Die! for Free Online Page B

the drone of the heater and the lull of tires rolling over
pavement. However, the wind would occasionally gust and the needles
of pain it jabbed into exposed skin were enough to drive home the
reality of the situation.
    “ I'm so tired, Matty. So tired . . . .”
Mona's voice was barely a whisper. “I feel like I could just lay
down right here and go to sleep.”
    Fear clenched Matt's heart and he whipped his
head toward his new wife. She'd begun stumbling, her heels kicking
up these little eruptions of snow as her knees buckled. His own
calves felt as if the muscles had turned into overcooked noodles
and spasms formed hard little knots in his thighs.
    “ Don't you do it, Mona, you hear me?
Don't you lay down on me, girl.”
    “ I don't regret anything, you know. I
just want you to know that, Matt. In case . . . in case anything
should . . .”
    “ Don't talk like that! You're gonna be
okay. We're gonna be okay.
We've been in tougher situations than this, right? Remember Rock
Hill? Remember Townsend? Just hang in there, babe.”
    Panic fluttered Matt's heart and blood surged
through his veins, causing his temples to throb with a whooshing so
loud that it drowned out nearly all other noises. Even his own
voice sounded as if it were being heard by a fetus within the
womb.
    “ I'll carry you, baby. Want me to carry
you for a while? I'll do it.”
    He saw Mona's trembling lips move, but her
voice was as lost as if he were watching a silent film.
    “ Come on, piggy back, baby. I can do
it, really I can.”
    Tears shimmered in his eyes and he felt their
warmth trickle down his cheeks. Mona shook her head and everything
within Matt felt as hollow as the chocolate bunny he'd surprised
her with last Easter. He couldn't let her give up, couldn't allow
her to leave him . . . .
    Through his veil of tears, it almost looked
as Mona had begun to glow softly. As if Heaven were shining down
through the darkness and calling his angel home. She tripped over
her own feet and fell to her knees in the middle of the road.
    As Matt rushed to her side, another sound
encroached upon blood swishing through his head. This was a low
rumble that sounded as if the earth were about to crack open.
Perhaps Satan himself was rising from his subterranean lair: he
would appear in plumes of sulfuric smoke and bathed in the
flickering fires of Hell, ready to do battle with his timeless
nemesis for the possession of this single soul. At the same time,
the glow around Mona intensified, like God was readying himself for
this struggle and calling upon a legion of angels to watch His
back.
    Scooping his wife into his arms, Matt closed
his eyes and clenched his teeth so tightly that it felt as if they
were only moments away from shattering like porcelain. They
couldn't have her, either one. Jehovah, the Devil: he would fight
them both, would pull ethereal arms from sockets to use as a clubs
as he beat back the heavenly host and hordes of demonic warriors.
He would stand over his dear, sweet Mona and unleash a fury that
would make the Book of Revelation look like a lullaby.
    The rumbling was now so loud that he could
feel it vibrate within his chest and he opened eyes that were now
as hard and cold as the chunks of sooty ice lining the road.
    “ They can't have you, baby.” he
whispered. “You're mine . . . .”
    The glow was now so bright that it
almost seemed as if they inhabited an island of daylight amid a
darkened sea. And was it just his imagination or could he hear the
frenetic squeal of fiddles, like a muffled call to arms for the
gathering armies? But would either side actually choose The Devil Went Down To Georgia as
the armageddic equivalent to fife and drums? For Matt was sure
that's what it was now: the Charlie Daniel's Band turning an epic
struggle between Good and Evil into nothing more than a
hoedown.
    The volume of the music increased and a thin
voice wavered through the hillbilly onslaught.
    “ You folks need a lift?”
    The words came from a