Sudden Independents
Page 24
The demon lifted its barefoot, clawed toenails sharp and threatening. Hunter strained to pull himself up, but his weakened shoulder denied the attempt.
Thunder roared as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and blasted into the demon-kid’s chest, driving it away from sight.
The air smelled of ozone and burnt toast. With the major distraction gone, Hunter strained harder, his boots finding traction and his bad shoulder holding, the other arm hauled the rest of him over the edge. He flopped onto the rooftop and rested a cheek on the cool, wet surface. The rain lessened with steady fat drops splashing in the puddles. Hunter closed his eye and considered checking out for a little nap.
“What are you doing, silly?”
He opened his eye. “Catherine?”
“Huh? Not even.”
Hunter flipped onto his back and sat up. A teenage girl, wearing a tight fitting t-shirt that Hunter found very distracting, dropped the demon-kid’s limp body. Behind them, a large smoking hole had been blown inward through the metal building, down into the grain elevator itself. He gagged and covered his nose from the overwhelming smell of rot.
“Stinks don’t it. Try living down there. I’ll never get that smell out of my hair.”
“Who are you?” Hunter asked.
“My name is Barbie.” The blonde beauty said flashing a bright smile. “Thank you for finding me.”
Hunter laid back down and watched the clearing storm shake out the last drops of rain from the clouds. “You have got to be kidding me.”
My appreciation must go out to my friends, writers and family. Thank you to Rob Siders and Karen DeGroot who critiqued me to the end; and to Rob again for kicking me in the pants. Special thanks to Melanie Tem and her writing group at West Side Books in Denver for inspiration and friendships. Also, thanks to Mario Acevedo and the Lighthouse Writers Workshop for more positive learning experiences and friendships. Kudos to the good people involved with Pikes Peak Writers and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers: two topnotch Colorado writing programs that offer annual conferences and support. Thanks go to Vikki and Jordan Crawford for being my first, true readers and fans. Love and gratitude go to my wife, Michelle. And thank you, God for everything.
Ted Hill grew up in the front pew of the Methodist church in Denton, Texas where he honed his scribbling skills on the church bulletin. He peaked as a senior in high school when he became Class President, Homecoming King, All-District Offensive Tackle, and Class Clown. He also failed Spanish II and Geometry, but graduated because of football credits. Ted then took his talents to Bethany College in the middle of Kansas where he fell in love with his wife, and the heartland. He now lives in Colorado, staying busy with his two boys, and their dog and cat—Molly and Ginger.
Copyright © 2011 by Ted Hill
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.