[Editor’s note: Parts 1 – 7 of The Kibitzer and the Kidd are available by clicking on “Kidd” or “Kibitzer” in the tag section. This is science fiction western with more than dollop of humor and satire.]
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The Kibitzer couldn’t help himself. The flames were everywhere. Smoke embraced the air and made it suffocating.
He didn’t believe in the devil or demons – other than the ones you create or marry into – but the unholiness of the air made him wonder if there wasn’t something otherworldly afoot.
Then there was the quote running through his head, the one where the fat comedian turns to the skinny one with the big chin and doofus grin, and says, “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten use into.”
At a time of impending death, one shouldn’t be thinking of comedy, especially when you couldn’t remember the names of the comedians, especially the one with big chin and the doofus grin.
He heard voices beyond the flames, or at least thought he did. One voice kept yelling over and over: “Swallow the lozenges!”
The Kibitzer wasn’t sure what to make of the voice. The fire was loud and crackling. He never realized how much noise a fire made. If there was a hell and there were people in it and it was composed of fire, the people would not be able to talk to each other. Would not be able to listen to their own thoughts.
He felt for the lozenges. They were in a paper sack in his shirt pocket, but they felt soft, like warmed candle wax. Not yet liquid, but would soon be.
A new wall of flames sprouted up around him, forcing him to run further into the stable.
“Trust the lozenges.”
It sounded like a woman’s voice.
He heard the whinnying of a horse. The Kibitzer glanced around. He thought he had freed all the animals, except himself.
“Trust the lozenges.”
This time the words came with an image. It was the comedian with the doofus grin. The fat comedian with the small bowler hat standing next to him was breathing fire at him, smoke spewing out of the comedian’s ears. But the skinny comedian kept the same big grin.
The lozenges felt very soft when he touched his pocket.
Flames were everywhere. The air was hot, smoky, and unbreathable. But he was still breathing. Sweat flowed off the end of his nose.
The Kibitzer reached for the lozenges. Nobody was going to rescue him. Not now. Not ever. Not even the Kidd.
He heard the whinny again. Louder this time. Followed by kicking.
He had the lozenges out. They were oozing out of their wax paper wrappers and onto his fingers. The liquid was warm, but he could not feel its warmth.
He brought his fingers up to his lips.
The wall in front of him exploded inward, toward him. A part of the wall hit him, knocking him backwards, toward the wall of flames.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel. He wasn’t sure he had swallowed. And as he started passing out, he heard the fat comedian say, “Well, Kibbey, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”
Except the comedian wasn’t talking to him, unless he was a … duacorn?
(To be continued.)
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