Museum Attack
Page 8
He wrenched a hand back to pluck the dart from his skin. Wobbling on his feet, not sure if he could keep himself upright for much longer. His eyelids fluttered.
The two figures in the kitchen continued to advance. Layne spun and raced toward them. He swerved along the way, bumping against his recliner. Could barely keep his eyes open. His hands felt like meat dumbbells hanging from his arms.
From around the corner by the fireplace emerged a third assailant, same attire. Layne pivoted and drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him back against the wall.
He noted one odd thing: aside from the stun dart pistol, they’d brought no other weapons.
Not here to kill him.
He ducked down and swept the nearest attacker’s leg, knocking the man off-balance and sending him to the floor. The third pinch hit him, this time in the shoulder blade. The world spun. His chest tightened while his limbs flopped, feeling out of control. Couldn’t raise his arms.
His eyelids wanted to slam shut. His body weighed a thousand pounds. He sank to one knee, a few inches away from the man on the floor, now incapacitated. Layne struggled to draw in a breath as the weight of his own frame succeeded in pulling him to the floor.
Layne rotated onto his back as he fell to the carpet. The ceiling swam, and his mouth lolled open. Two figures loomed over him, both of them wearing dark fabric over their faces. Layne made one last attempt to swipe at a nearby ankle before his eyes closed completely.
Then darkness.
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All material copyright 2018 by Jim Heskett. No part of this work may be reproduced without permission.
Published by Royal Arch Books
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Handmade with love in Colorado, USA
About the Author
Jim Heskett was born in the wilds of Oklahoma, raised by a pack of wolves with a station wagon and a membership card to the local public swimming pool. Just like the man in the John Denver song, he moved to Colorado in the summer of his 27th year, and never looked back. Aside from an extended break traveling the world, he hasn't let the Flatirons mountains out of his sight.
He fell in love with writing at the age of fourteen with a copy of Stephen King's The Shining. Poetry became his first outlet for teen angst, then later some terrible screenplays, and eventually short and long fiction. In between, he worked a few careers that never quite tickled his creative toes, and hasn't ever forgotten about Stephen King. You can find him currently huddled over a laptop in an undisclosed location in Colorado, dreaming up ways to kill beloved characters.
You can also scour the internet to find the occasional guest post or podcast appearance. A curated list of media appearances can be found at www.jimheskett.com/media. He believes the huckleberry is the king of berries and refuses to be persuaded in any other direction.
If you’d like to ask a question or just to say hi, stop by the About page and fill out the contact form.
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