by Mike Miller
The beast hunched over and punched downwards. Jim could not see the blows land, but he heard the thick squishing and painful yelps from the victim.
“No, please,” whimpered Birdy Boy, before being finally silenced with a vicious stomp.
Jim stirred to flee, but Ray moved back to block the door.
“Yeah,” said Ray to the children, “you two gonna get me some serious coin. Especially the baby.”
He stooped and entered the vehicle, extending a gigantic hand towards them.
Jim lunged and plunged his little sword into the ogre’s palm. “Shit!” groaned the man.
The blade became stuck and slipped from Jim’s grasp.
The boy hopped into the front seat, tumbling beneath the dashboard.
“I think I gotta fuck you up now,” announced Ray calmly. He inspected the miniature dart stuck in his skin, then removed it and flicked it aside.
“Little girls gotta be pristine. But little boys can be all kinds of fucked up.”
His hand emerged with a shining knife poised for surgery. A sick grin curled the thug’s mouth.
Jim wheeled around with his father’s gun in his hand.
Ray paused in his pursuit. The tip of the tiny gun was jittery in the boy’s hands. But a miss from the short distance would be near impossible.
Ray blinked quickly for a moment, and then smiled.
“Shit,” he chuckled. “I been shot by that kinda tiny-ass gun like ten times already. Feels like a flea bite.”
“Go away,” demanded the boy tersely. Tears threatened to erupt from his eyes. He prayed the man would buy his bluff with the empty gun.
“Hell no.”
With both the baby and Birdy Boo wailing in the background, the gargantuan beast sprang into the front seat.
Jim closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
A loud pop silenced everyone as if the gunshot had frozen time.
Ray stumbled backwards a slight step, dropping his blade. A red dot grew on his left shoulder. He touched it in disbelief. “Shit,” he said softly.
While it shocked Jim to see a bullet fly from his firearm, it did not surprise him to find his horrid father had been wrong about yet one more thing.
Jim aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger again.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
He pulled the trigger repeatedly without success. The empty barrel of the revolver dutifully clicked through the firearm with no effect.
“Now I’m gonna fuck you up twice as bad, motherfucker,” snarled Ray.
Jim continued pulling the trigger anyways as the giant descended on him.
Thick fingers easily wrapped around the boy’s neck. The quickly tightening pressure made Jim feel like his head would pop.
He saw his sister staring at him with confused concern.
He reached a hand out for her.
She reached back.
Gunshots cracked in the air.
Ray’s chest and head exploded in bursts of blood.
His frame silently toppled forwards onto Jim, pinning him to the floor. The dead weight began to suffocate the child.
The boy grunted and pushed, but was powerless to move the large man.
But then the slain beast was flung aside. The child gasped a deep breath of air.
A bright light blinded him now. It was a flashlight held by a police officer.
He began to cry.
“Don’t worry,” she said. She holstered her weapon and leaned down to pet the bloody and frightened child. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”
He knew she was lying, but he didn’t care.
About the Author
Mike Miller is a graduate of U.C. Berkeley and lives in L.A. with his wife and kids. He has written numerous short stories, comics, screenplays and novels in all genres, as well as overseen the subtitling and translation for major television shows like The Night Stalker and Lost, and films like Hostel and The Hills Have Eyes.
“Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to review it online.” - Mike
[email protected]
www.MikeMillerVerse.com
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