The Restoration Project

1.08 - Righty

Righty felt a pang of hunger as he stepped through the door of an old highway rest stop. He sniffed the air, picking up the phantom scents of coffee, fried burgers and sugary pop. If he focused hard enough, he could taste them. The fried burgers came from what looked like an old fast food grill on his left. On the right was a series of shelves and a checkout counter. Even though the shelves were bare, it had the distinct markings of an old Grab 'n Go. He smacked his lips as Skillet appeared in the doorway behind him.

"How 'bout you cook me up a double quarter pounder?" Righty ordered, laughing as he slapped Skillet on the chest. It felt like hitting a rock.

"How about you cook me half a horse?" Skillet beamed, rubbing his own belly and smiling.

"It's 'you're so hungry you could eat a horse', you don't actually want it," Charley chimed in, squeezing between them.

"You know, a little chuckle here or there goes a long way," Righty observed, but only received a cold glare from Charley. "How about we set-up here for the night?" He added, shoving one of the tables from the fast food joint to the side to make space. It skittered through trash and debris to knock over an empty shelving unit.

"Smooth one," Charley said. "Pick it up."

Righty walked over to the storage shelf and righted it. "Holy shit!"

"What?" Charley asked, suddenly at his side.

Righty bent down to pick up four blue boxes with large, blocky font that were hidden under the shelving unit.

"Pop-Tarts?" Charley asked, as Righty handed her one of the boxes.

"You mean delicious little pastries," Righty corrected.

"They've probably gone bad," Charley huffed, and then continued to survey the store.

"What could go bad in them?" he pointed out, tossing one of the boxes to Skillet and stuffing the other two in his pack. "Not a bad place though, eh?" He turned to her in anticipation.

"It'll do for the night," Charley nodded.

Righty fist-pumped the air and raised his left hand to high five Skillet—but Skillet's face contorted in confusion. Righty looked at his hand, or rather, his stump. Nothing to high-five. He swapped it for his right and they collided with a satisfying smack.

"How bout you guys go get comfy, I'll rustle us up some grub," Righty said, shrugging his backpack onto the cracked glass of the checkout counter. He started to unzip it when Charley appeared beside him and yanked it away.

"How about we all go to the bathroom instead and re-dress that." She pointed to his stump.

"I think it's fine, really. Almost healed." If there was one thing to say about Charley, it was that she kept you honest. In the current situation, that meant shoving her bony thumb into his stump. The pain shot up his arm and he stifled a scream. "Bitch!" he shouted when the pain subsided.

She slapped him. "Follow me." She didn't wait for a response but took his hand and yanked him toward the back of the rest stop.

He felt stupid and ashamed and a little embarassed about the circumstances that led to his missing hand. He would never admit it, but it wasn't exactly an unavoidable situation. It happened because he had to pee. Skillet and Charley were stalking the bounty of some young asshole that was either the son of a millionaire or husband of a slut in New Philadelphia. Didn't matter which. Righty, meanwhile had the equivalent of a Big Gulp of water that morning—the night before resulted in some excessive drinking—and had to relieve himself. This normally wouldn't be an issue, except he needed privacy on account that when he pissed it felt like he was shooting fire. His best guess was that he contracted chlamydia from an interaction with Rhonda a few weeks back. It started as business—meeting up to trade goods—but he ended up with more than he bargained for. She probably did too. Either way, it put him in a predicament where he didn't want his facial expressions to give anything away. Charley or Skillet would never stop ribbing him if they found out.