Free Long Holler Road - A Dark Southern Thriller by David Lee Malone Page A

“We’ll just tell him the county will reimburse him for it. You worry too much.”
      Goodman took his knife and started cutting the tape away. It proved to be an arduous task. The tape was the thickest stuff he’d ever seen and there were several layers of it.
      “Hell fire. It’s gonna take me a half a day to get all this shit cut loose,” Goodman exclaimed, wiping sweat from his forehead and eyes with his shirt sleeve. “I wish I had a bigger knife.”
      The two men took turns sawing away at the thick layer of tape until finally they got enough cut loose that they could start tearing it with their hands. When they finally had gotten down to the lid, they saw that the metal band around the top was bolted on.
      “Shit. We ain’t got a wrench or nothin’,” Goodman said. “Run up to old Hugh’s house and see if you can find one layin’ around.”
      “What if they see me?”
      “Ain’t nobody home but his wife and she don’t get around good. Got rheumatism or somethin’. Just look around where he works on those old cars.”
      Yates slowly and reluctantly started toward the house, then decided he’d better pick up his pace. He didn’t want to be caught out there if Hugh came home early. Even if he was a lawman, he didn’t have any right to go pilfering through someone else’s stuff without a warrant. He finally made it up to Hugh’s yard and the old cars and after looking all around them, saw nothing but some old beer cans and other trash. Then he bent over and looked under one of them. He spotted an old rusty, adjustable wrench that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. But luck was on his side. He had spotted an oil can sitting on the edge of the front porch. If he could only be fortunate enough for there to be a little oil left in it. He walked quietly up to the porch, trying to stay low and out of sight of anyone that might be looking out the windows. Just as he reached the porch, he heard growling coming from somewhere underneath. He grabbed the can and took off like an Olympic sprinter, the dog chasing him and barking like he was going to eat him alive. He was afraid to look back at the beast. Then he remembered he carried a gun. He kept running, at the same time fumbling with the holster, trying to get his .38 caliber pistol free. When it finally was free of the holster he turned quickly, hoping he could get a shot off before the dog jumped him. When he saw the ancient canine, he almost laughed out loud. He would have if he hadn’t been so terrified. The old dog stopped as soon as he turned around and started wagging his tail. That old dog couldn’t bite a pork chop, Yates thought to himself.
      Goodman was waiting impatiently when Yates walked up with the old wrench, dripping with oil.
      “What took you so long?”
      “Kiss my narrow ass. I was almost ate up by a dog. Next time you can go.”
      Goodman went to work loosening the bolt. It was tight and the threads were covered in corrosion. Yates poured what was left of the oil on the threads and the nut started to get a little easier to turn. Finally, after a lot of sweating and cursing, Goodman got it off. The lid was still sealed tight, however, and they both looked around for something to pry with. Yates found a rock and started tapping the side of the lid to loosen it as Goodman used the handle of the wrench to pry.
      Finally, after using a long pointed stick they had found, they managed to break the lid free. It made a loud sucking sound like opening a huge soda pop bottle. Immediately, the two men stepped back as the odor almost knocked them to their knees. It was the worst thing either of them had ever smelled, including a decomposing body. The smell of decomposition was part of the odor, but mixed with an overwhelming, chemical smell. Yates bent over and heaved, losing the lunch he’d eaten a couple of hours before.
      After they had adjusted somewhat to the shock and horrific odor, they pulled there