Tribulation Road: A Red Hot Treats Story by Shyla Colt Page B

took the edge
off the scent of urine.
    “Feels
like I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?” he asked.
    “Sticking
close to home, playing paper bitch.”
    “You
like it that way, though. I’d much rather be on the road.”
    “I
like a mix of both, but you’re right, knowledge is my crack.”
    He
laughed. “Good thing too. It’s saved my ass a million times over.”
    “That’s
what happens when your mother’s the clan librarian, I guess.” The thought of
her mother brought a smile. A no-nonsense woman with walnut brown skin, kind
brown eyes that could go deadly in the span of a millisecond, and a willowy
frame with killer muscle memory who acted like a den mother to all of them.
    They
drove through the heart of the town and made a sharp left. The woods loomed
ahead. They passed Sunny Days Retirement Home on the right. The lawn in front
of the building was gorgeous, lush green with pops of colorful flowers. Patients
walked around the perimeter and sat out beneath umbrella covered, circular
stone benches.
    Brigh
sighed at the peaceful sight. We have to get this handled.
    Ten
minutes later, Richard pulled off the main road into a small parking lot. “This
is the entrance to the woods. I mapped out the area I think is their feeding
grounds.”
    “I’ll
follow your lead.”
    “I’m
hoping they’re too busy fighting with each other over the fresh meat to realize
we’re coming in for the kill.”
    “Either
way, once the flames start flying…it’s ashes to ashes. How else are we going to
keep them from the sweet old ladies?”
    “I
set up the area between the nursing home and the woods with ultraviolet lights.
That’s why I ran out. Small towns don’t really have things like that in stock.”
    After
years of this, they quickly assembled the trap and headed back to the hotel.
The sun went down and they brought out the flamethrower kits. It was
terrifyingly easy to make when you knew what to do. Two oxygen tanks full of
gasoline, two Co2 tanks, and two miniature propane tanks hooked to hoses; fifteen
minutes later—they were ready to rock. They drove back to the woods and waited
in the car with the equipment they’d set up.
    Throaty
growls came over the speakers about ten-thirty.
    “I
think they just realized dinner is cut off,” Richard mused.
    “Well,
lucky for them we made them something extra special.” She opened the door to
the truck and soaked up the crisp fall air. The full moon lit their path and
the headlamps equipped with UV lights allowed them to keep their hands free.
    “I’m
taking point,” Richard said, heading off at a brisk jog.
    She
followed behind him, careful to navigate the roots that stood out. They moved
stealthily and swiftly, careful not to make too much noise. Beads of sweat
dotted her forehead. Her stomach rolled. Every time, the fear was the same. You
never stopped being scared. This expected reaction kept her smart, sharp, and
alert. She simply learned to manage it.
    The
sounds of snarls, grunts, and moans rang out.
    They
must’ve found out dinner was a decoy.
    A
group of about twelve gathered around the center of the graveyard with bits and
pieces of plastic stuffing and mechanical parts in their hands.
    The
hunting pair stopped by the entrance of a small plot that looked like something
time had forgotten. A rickety black fence surrounded the sunken land with
crumbling tombstones.
    Richard
nodded and they kneeled, side by side, lighting the path of gasoline they’d
laid earlier that day. They then stood. “Hey, uglies!” Richard yelled. She
clicked her headlamp on and he followed.
    The
ghouls cried out and began to run. The fire moved to surround them. Four
huddled in the center, too terrified to move, three caught fire trying to
escape and went up like a primed torch. The other five traversed the flames and
ran in different directions.
    “I’ll
take the right.” Richard ran off.
    Brigh
followed suit and headed in the opposite direction, clutching