Chet & Floyd vs. The Apocalypse: Volume 1 by Justin Hunter Page B

me with a question to clarify elements of the story that you don’t understand. The last time you jumped all over my words it was to argue. That was just plain rude. No questions? Good.
    “ Anyway, where was I? Jorgenson! Steve Jorgenson thought he could get around the whole tossing back and forth of deadly explosives by pulling the pin, releasing the striker and counting for a few seconds before throwing the grenade. His strategy was to avoid playing the world’s worst game of hot potato. You wouldn’t want to loser in that game, I assure you. His logic was that, if he waited for a few seconds, the grenade would explode on impact and prevent his foes from counterattacking.” Chet heaved as his words ran out with his air.
    The man gave a small yelp as he warily watched the grenade in Chet’s hand.
    “Now , the logic of Steve Jorgenson’s plan was perfect. I could appreciate that about him, but he is a very dead logical person because he chose to leave out one very solid fact about life in general. It is very unpredictable . Is that not so? There are times, my hairy friend, that life throws such a curveball that even the most factual of facts is debunked.
    “ That being the case, a normal person would not have even bothered playing around with explosives. It was dangerous enough betting on whether the train would run on time. I wish old Steve Jorgenson had thought of that. It’s one thing to make bets on a train schedule and be a few minutes late. Jorgenson made a bet on a simple grenade timer and blew his stomach through his backbone.
    “ It was an awful sight. I was right there to see it happen. I am very lucky to be alive right now because of my good friend Steve Jorgenson’s habit of cradling the grenade like a newborn babe as he counted down the seconds.
    Anyway, long story short , when you pull the pin on a grenade, don’t fart around with it. Throw the bastard. Here catch.”
    Chet lobbed the grenade underhand to the man, who shrieked, caught it and quickly tossed it back to Chet. Chet caught it underhand and threw it back. As he did, he launched himself backward, rolling painfully over the hood of the Super Beetle hood and landing on the far side of the car.
    The man dropped the second toss at his feet and leaped away in hysterics. He scrambled backwards for a moment then stopped. The small green orb lay on the ground. Not exploding. Not doing much of anything.
    “This is exactly my point.” The man heard Chet’s voice from behind the car. “It was a dud all along! If Steve held that grenade, he could have counted till the cows came home.” The man walked over to his rifle and picked it up. “Instead, Jorgenson bought the farm. The difference between a grenade with a two second fuse and one that will never pop, is like most things in life, all up to chance.” Chet stood up.
    The man fumbled with the rifle. His hands were shaking badly from his scare with the grenade.
    Chet smiled. “The good thing in life is that in most cases, unlike poor old Steve Jorgenson, a person gets a second chance.”
    The man pulled the hammer back and raised the rifle.
    “Here’s to second chances.” Chet pulled another grenade out of his pocket and flipped it artfully over to the man, the pin spinning on Chet’s pointer finger. The man fired the rifle. The bullet caught Chet in the left hand, blowing off his pinkie and ring finger. Chet fell back behind the car, clutching his bleeding appendage. The grenade exploded, and the man died instantly as shrapnel ripped through him.
    Chet laughed from behind the car. “I never did like that Steve Jorgenson to tell you the truth.” Chet’s laugh had a more-than-slightly insane quality to it. His injured hand burned, sending waves of shock and pain to his brain. “He was too rational for his own good. What good it logic? Logic is no good. His logic told him to hold an armed grenade in his hand and count to three. That sort of thinking is not for me. I choose to live full