Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 104011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Throwing the covers off me, I scramble out of the bed. It feels like I’m moving in slow motion, as I can’t seem to get my body moving fast enough. I wind up stumbling over my own limbs, and find myself on the floor only to smack my head against the nightstand with a loud thunk. Shit! More ear-piercing screams seep from underneath the crack of my bedroom door, and I quickly clamber to my feet, ignoring the pain. My heart is pounding of out my chest from her jarring cry.
Oh, God, they found us! How the hell did they find us? I pull myself together, grab my gun from the nightstand, and rush across the room. Throwing my door open, I scope out the scene first by standing at the threshold of my room with my weapon pointed, ready for action. Blood curling screams rip through me again, and I point the gun in the direction of the sound. Not knowing what I’m up against, I keep my back to the wall with my finger on the trigger. When I catch sight of Jules, she’s halfway down the hallway with no attacker on her heels, and I freeze at the sight before me.
My adrenaline rush quickly turns to befuddlement as confusion begins to take place front and center. What the hell? I watch as Jules bends over, scuffling back and forth down the hallway like a drunken sailor. She’s spraying an aerosol can of some shit and pointing it at the floor, squealing and screaming with every step she takes. Cocking my head to the side, my brows draw together in confusion, trying to process the scene. What in the hell is her problem?
When Jules gets to the end of the hallway, she turns toward the living room with her feet constantly dancing as if she’s on a bed of hot coals, all while screaming like a wild woman who’s on fire. I follow the trail of spray behind her and stop at the end of the hallway. I’m still scanning the cabin for threats, even now, as my heart still thumps like a bass drum in my chest. I don’t see anything, and as I watch her jump onto the sofa, doing an Indian dance on top of the cushions, I think she’s lost her ever-loving mind. She’s flailing her arms all about, still squawking and screaming.
At the top of my lungs, I shout over her screams, “What the fuck is going on, Jules?” My brain is still trying to clear its sleep-induced cobwebs.
“Travis! Oh, my God! Thank God, you’re here! Get him! Oh, my God!” she wails, with panic stricken eyes as if she’s seen a ghost. Her hair is disheveled and sticking out every which way, while she waves the silver spray can around.
“Jules! Get what?” I shout back. What the hell? Is she sleepwalking?
She squeals again. “There, Travis!” She points her finger to a spot on the living room floor, still dancing a jig on the couch. “There…there’s a big-ass, prehistoric-lookin’ roach over there. What the hell do those things eat, steroids?”
Confused, I enter the living room, and sure enough, the poor sucker lays there barely moving with stiff, uneven twitches. A very hysterical Jules is still chanting and tap dancing on the sofa. She’s afraid of a small-ass palmetto bug?
This whole episode of craziness and confusion is over a damn insect? She looks as if she’s strung out on crack she’s so distraught. I lower my gun, throw my head back, and laugh like I’ve never laughed before. I can do nothing but fall to my knees in a fit of bellowing laughter. My words come out broken up between gasping breaths. “Jules, it’s just a fucking bug!” Women…I’ll never understand this shit.
“Travis! Oh, my God! It’s not funny; get him! It’s something from a sci-fi movie! Get him!” Her panicked squeals just make me laugh all that much harder. Unable to move from the floor, my shoulders shake profusely with riotous laughter. I can’t catch my breath fast enough. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes I’m laughing so hard.
“Stop frickin’ laughing at me, Travis, and get him! It’s freakin’ me out! It’s a Roach-a-saurus!”
Barely mustering a breath, I gesture to her can of hairspray between bouts of laughter. “Oh, I think you got him just fine all by yourself; death by hairspray. What the hell is hairspray gonna do, babe, win him a beauty contest?”
She stops dancing and indignantly places her hands on her hips. “I was trying to stop him from running away and hiding in the house. I wanted to make him stick to the floor so you could get him.” Her lips purse in irritation. “The hairspray was supposed to stop him from moving. This can of hairspray can stop a bird in flight, but it took the whole dang can to slow this beast down.” Her entire body shivers visibly with repulsion.