“Alright fellers, try and pull yourselves together,” Billy Bob said. “We need to get this rocket close to shore. Cletus, you input the coordinates?”
“Yes,” Cletus mumbled, his tiny pupils were encapsulated by bright pits of whiteness. Looking like the two mysterious holes in the sky now high above their heads. Disappearing beneath the thick gray clouds swirling across the dark sky. Absorbed by the black veil of starry night wrapped around the atmosphere like a thin sliver of Saran wrap. “Should take us somewhere over the beaches of Southern California.”
“Jimmy John, grab hold’a the wheel while I grab the parachutes. Hurry!” Billy Bob screamed. Jimmy John placed his shaky left hand on the wheel, face chalk white beneath his helmet.
Billy Bob half walked, half crawled over to the cabinet, unhinged the latch, and lifted the parachutes off of their hooks.
“Slip these on over your shoulders and then buckle the straps over your chest,” Billy Bob said, tossing the parachutes to Jimmy John and Cletus. “Pull those two strips of fabric on the side to tighten it. But don’t pull that red cord hanging loose on the right.”
Billy Bob slipped the straps of his parachute over his shoulders and tightened the backpack around his torso before sitting down on his lower division bumper car racing chair. He leaned forward and poked a few buttons on the control panel, sending a series of clicks, buzzes, and beeps through the cabin.
Billy Bob was silent for a moment, staring out through the plexiglass window, contemplating it all. Life, the Universe, his existence. The essence of being itself. He released a muffled shout from beneath his helmet like the floodgates wrapped around his soul had been opened. A primal scream that seemed to shake the PATRIOT-17 to its metallic core. The rocket ship zipped forward. Burning a trail across the American skies like a Phoenix, reborn. Billy Bob reached both hands out and gripped the steering wheel, pulling back, leveling out the ship until it cruised along a straight path.
“Here we go,” Billy Bob said. “Time to fly. You boys ready?”
“No, Billy Bob,” Cletus said. “I sure as hell ain’t ready.”
“Jimmy John, you feel the same?” Billy Bob asked.
“Yeah,” Jimmy John said dryly. “I share Cletus’s preparedness level.”
“Well too bad,” Billy Bob said. “We can sulk and ponder the nature of the Universe after we splash down in those cool, California ocean waters.”
“How will we know when to jump?” Cletus asked, just as another siren blared. Scattering red light swirling through the cabin, like a fire engine on its way to a burning building. “Dammit,” Cletus said. “Don’t even got time to think about it.”
“You’ll get a few seconds to think, Cletus. Cause you’re going first,” Billy Bob said. “Jimmy John, you go second.”
“Out through the plexiglass?” Cletus asked.
“No. We going out the right side panel,” Billy Bob said. He scrambled over his lower division bumper car racing chair and kneeled in the back of the cabin where Cletus sat. “Alright, grab hold’a something while I kick this panel door loose.
Jimmy John and Cletus reached up and gripped onto pieces of metal jutting from the ceiling. Billy Bob grabbed hold of a thick brown tug-of-war looking rope attached to the side wall and began slamming his right foot into the door panel. One kick, no budge. Another kick, nothing. “Shit!” he screamed.
“Together,” Cletus said. Billy Bob turned around. Jimmy John and Cletus stood behind him, arms stretched above their heads, hanging on.
“Patriots,” Jimmy John said. “We’ll break this door down together.”
“That’s what I like to hear, fellers,” Billy Bob said. “Alright, here we go. In 3… 2… 1!” The crew of the PATRIOT-17 launched a collective kick into the panel. A sliver of light peaked through a crack at the panels edge.
“Again. Now!” A second blow smacked against the door, sending a tornado of wind through the cabin.
“One more,” Billy Bob screamed, his voice fighting against the raucous whirling gusts of air. “Now!” The crew kicked the panel, breaking the metal sheet clean off. It whipped across the crisp, dark sky. Disappearing into the night.
“No time left,” Billy Bob said. “See you on the shore. Jump now! Go!”
Cletus flung himself through the opening, disappearing into the darkness below.
“See you down there, Jimmy John,” Billy Bob said with a slap on Jimmy John’s back. “Go!” And poof, Jimmy John was gone like crop dust in the wind.
Billy Bob faced the opened door panel of the rocket ship. Toes hanging over the edge. Eyes closed. Hands gripped tight to the jagged pieces of metal jutting out from the ceiling. He gave the PATRIOT-17 a few pats, sucked in a long, slow breath, and jumped into the wide open arms of the starry-eyed, moonlit darkness.