“This is it, Cletus. We gon’ make it this time.”
“I sure hope so, Billy Bob,” Cletus said. “Ninth time’s the charm as some folks say.”
“These radical liberals and deep state elites won't stop coming for our freedom. Our liberty. We’ll show ‘em. We'll show the criminal government how to do it right,” Billy Bob said, snapping the right strap of his greasy, sweat-soaked overalls. He was shrouded beneath a whirling cloud of horseflies swirling overhead. They swooped down and zipped up through the air like they rode atop some kind of invisible roller coaster.
“They is dark,” Cletus said. “They is evil.”
“Sure are.”
“Some even say they is a dark force of medieval communists.”
“Many say it. They lurk and they prowl in the night,” Billy Bob said. He squatted and tiptoed around Cletus. Body convulsing, legs shaking in a occult dance, wiggling his fingers like he was casting a wicked spell. “Some say when they come into contact with the Sun’s shining light, they melt like that witch from the Wizard of Oz.”
“Sounds like a strange force of weirdos,” Cletus said, shaking out his tattered, stained white teeshirt to get a bit of air to flow through the holes near his armpits.
“Yup,” Billy Bob said.
“But they sure ain't no force to be reckoned with,” Cletus said. “Ain't no match for American Patriots prepared to stand and fight for the freedoms of every citizen in the United States of America.”
“Nope,” Billy Bob said. “Patriots unite, communists divide. You think those anarchists could build a craft like this?”
“Nope! It was easy, too,” Cletus said.
“We’ve had plenty of practice over the past three and a half years,” Billy Bob said.
“Who said we couldn't learn about rocket science on the interweb?” Cletus asked. “Won’t find any’a that information coming out of the mainstream media and that cesspool of blood and lies.”
“Hand me that socket wrench, will you?” Billy Bob asked. “I’ve got to tighten this here bolt to that there fuel canister.”
Cletus reached a greasy black hand into the pile of tools scattered across the ground. He sifted through the slender pieces of metal. Holding them up towards Billy Bob one after the other.
“That ain't it either. Dammit, Cletus. You should know what a socket wrench is by now. How many times we done this?” Billy Bob asked, reaching past Cletus and grabbing the socket wrench from the mound.
“I don't know, Billy Bob. Rocket science is easy, but it ain't that easy, ya know?” Cletus said. He took off his straw cowboy hat and wiped the line of sweat that gathered across his forehead like some salty sea bubble orchestra.
“Well we's experts now,” Billy Bob said. “Look at this ship.”
Billy Bob backed away and spread his hands wide like he was introducing something or someone hidden behind a curtain on a game show. The two rocket experts gazed up at their space craft. Chrome silver panels of varying shades and tones gleamed bright beneath the scalding Mid-Western Sun, beaming down upon their hairy backs.
Tall stalks of corn swayed in the breeze across the vast field behind the broken down farmhouse, where chipped white paint flaked off of the walls, revealing the plain wood hidden beneath like a veil had been lifted. Panels from the shuttered windows swung wide open. Creaking back and forth, back and forth, with each fresh gust of warm wind.
The space craft was tilted slightly. Propped up by thick bales of hay. A collection of plexiglass panels had been rounded in an oval shape. Forming a see-through dome of sorts around the main cockpit. The ship was equipped with fuel tanks welded together from old planes used to drop pesticides over crop fields. Tied tight to each other with thick brown rope that Cletus found sitting in various places around the farm. Stenciled across the side of the ship, were the words, PATRIOT-17, in a mixture of red, white, and blue spray paint.
“Now that’s a mighty fine spaceship we got here, Cletus,” Billy Bob said. A warm gust of wind sent the whiskers atop his head swaying to and fro like reeds of grass blowing in a swamp.
“Never seen anything like it. You think we got enough rocket boosters?” Cletus asked.
“Twenty-two is plenty. We ain’t taking any moon rocks back on this trip so no need for too much thrust. We just need enough explosive power to whip around the Moon to get us back to Earth,” Billy Bob said.
“Would be nice to grab us a few moon rocks though,” Cletus said. “Could trade’em for some barrels of booze.”
“Don’tchu fret there, Cletus. We’ll be moon walkers some day. For now, we fly by the moon,” Billy Bob said, waving his hand through the air like he was tracing a rainbow. “Now where in the damn hell is Jimmy John with our space suits?”
“He's coming. Had to stop off and grab us a few sandwiches for the trip. You know, being that it's a long way and all,” Cletus said.
“Good on 'em,” Billy Bob said.
“Why we even need space suits?” Cletus asked. “Can't we just bundle up tight and hold our breath?”
“How long you hold your breath for?” Billy Bob asked, looking down his nose. His mouth hung open beneath a scrunched forehead and bunched eyebrows.
“Who me? Shoot. At least a minute or two. As long as I'm not drunk or something.”
“And when's the last time that happened?”
“Last time I held my breath or been drunk?”
“Drunk.”
“Well, today. Thought I should be sober to operate the navigation.”
“Won't be that hard, Cletus. Look,” Billy Bob said, pointing up towards the full white ball hanging opposite the sun, “the Moon’s right there.”
“True. Howbouta swig’a whiskey then?” Cletus proposed.
“Alright, go fetch us some,” Billy Bob said.
Cletus reached a greasy hand into his back pocket and fished out a bottle of rye whiskey. Half drank.
“There we go,” Billy Bob said, clapping his hands, eyeing the bottle.
The bronze liquid sloshed around the glass container. Cletus took a long swig and dropped the bottle from his lips. “Yeehaww!” he screamed, handing the bottle over to Billy Bob. “That’ll put some lead in your pencil,” he said, behind his puckered face.
Billy Bob tilted his head back and let the liquid flow from above his lips, pouring in a long stream of the brown booze. His bearded face turned sour as he shook the rye whiskey cobwebs from his head.
“Sorry, don't know if you got the herpes is all,” he said, handing the bottle back to Cletus.
“No worries. I do got the herpes,” Cletus said. “Don't make me a worse person though, you know?”
“Course not, Cletus. Just a poor rocket scientist with the herp. There's worse in the world. And after we fly by the Moon, I'm sure you can get that herpes fixed right up,” Billy Bob said.
“Fellers!” came a voice from the corn stalks.
Billy Bob and Cletus turned towards field, shielding their eyes from the glaring Sun.
“Fellers! You there?”
“Over yonder, Jimmy John. Yonder!” Cletus said.
The edge of the corn stalk field ruffled, swaying back and forth as footsteps crunched across dried leaves strewn over the crop field ground.
“There you is,” Jimmy John said, head poking out from the thick corn stalks.
“Why you come through the brush like that?” Cletus asked.
“The tractor broke down,” Jimmy John said, climbing out from the corn. He plucked pieces of corn crop from his bushy brown beard.
“Darn,” Cletus said, swiping down and snapping the fingers on his right hand.
“That's a fine tractor, too,” Billy Bob said. “At least you made it with the supplies.”
“Well, not so fast now… we ahh… got a small problem,” Jimmy John said.
“You forget the sandwiches?” Cletus asked.
“No, course not. I got the sandwiches in this sack. See here,” Jimmy John said, lifting up a tattered brown rucksack.
“What’s the problem, then?” Billy Bob asked.
“It's the darn space suits.”