by Jeff Strand
“I’m very glad to see you again,” said Goblin. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve had a really lousy day, and I can’t think of any better way to improve it than to watch you get strapped to a table and have your body parts replaced with…” He put his hand over his mouth in mock realization. “Oops. That’s supposed to be a surprise, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got some good ones lined up,” said Witch. “Maximum pain.”
“That’s what I want. I mean, sure, we could just throw him down to the floor right now and stomp him to a bloody pulp, but then, what progress would we have made?”
“You’re not stomping a damn thing into a bloody pulp here,” said Charlie.
Goblin waved dismissively at him. “Go organize some stock or something.”
Charlie opened his mouth as if to say something, but settled for glaring.
“So, Andrew, I’m sorry to hear about your friends,” said Goblin. “I hope it was quick.”
I said something equally clever that was equally muffled. Troll ripped off the duct tape, and I grimaced in pain.
“What was that?” Goblin asked.
“I said, bite me.”
“Good one.”
Troll slapped another strip of duct tape over my mouth.
“Anyway, I think we’ve hung out in this squalor long enough. Let’s deliver our new friend, Andrew, to the lab, shall we?”
Goblin’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Is anybody there?” asked a voice I instantly, and joyously, recognized.
“Who is this?” asked Goblin.
“I’m Momma Bear. How about we make a deal?”
Goblin laughed incredulously. “What’s with all the deals? You’d think we were brokers or something.”
“Shut up and listen. Your large friend here fell down and went boom. What do you say we make a trade?”
“Could you describe this particular friend for me?”
“A quarter ton and lying unconscious at my feet.”
“Is that so?” asked Goblin. “Now, you’re a petite little thing, aren’t you? How exactly did you manage to take out Ogre?”
“I had help. A seven-year-old, a nine-year-old, and a pug.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m having a bit of trouble with that scenario. The klutz dropped his walkie-talkie somewhere, didn’t he? I think I’m going to need some proof. Describe the birthmark on his right shoulder.”
A few seconds of silence.
“It looks sort of like a deformed butterfly.”
“Uh-oh,” Troll whispered.
Goblin frowned. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What is it you want?”
“I want my husband and my friends back. You let them go, and I’ll tell you where to find your buddy.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” said Goblin. “Apparently two members of your party are deceased. Your husband’s okay, though.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“That can possibly be arranged. First, let me hear Ogre.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“I know. But he snores loud enough to wake the dead. Let me hear it.”
“He isn’t snoring.”
“Now, see, we have a bit of a continuity error here, because Ogre always snores. Therefore, he must be…” Goblin trailed off as he apparently realized exactly what this meant. “…aw, shit.”
Troll slammed his fist against one of the shelves. “What the hell is the matter with us today?”
“Shut up,” Goblin snapped at him. He spoke into the walkie-talkie. “I want to share some important information with you, Momma Bear. You’re not getting out of these woods, I promise you. I don’t mean that as a vague threat, I mean you aren’t getting out, case closed. But I’ll make you a deal of my own. We’re at the store where you all stopped not too long ago, and dear Andrew currently has all ten of his fingers. Every five minutes, the number of fingers will be reduced by one. Then we’re going to put a gun in his mouth and make him pull the trigger with one of his bloody stumps. So you’ve got fifty minutes to get yourself over here and save your husband’s life. Does that deal work for you?”
“Let me talk to him.”
Troll tore off the tape again. One more time, and I was sure the tape would take my lips with it. Goblin held the walkie-talkie to my mouth. I shook my head and refused to speak.
“Say something,” Goblin demanded.
I remained silent.
Goblin shrugged, and then kicked me in the leg. I couldn’t help but let out a grunt of pain.
“Did that sound like him?” Goblin asked into the walkie-talkie.
“Helen, stay away from here,” I said. “They’ll kill you. Are the kids okay?”
“Yes, we’re still together.”
“Don’t come anywhere near the store. It’s a trap. Get Kyle and Theresa to safety.”
“Well, of course it’s a trap,” Goblin said. “The point was to see if true love would get her to risk her life to save yours. Tell me, Witch, has it been five minutes yet?”
“No, but we can cheat.”
“Well, we don’t want to cheat. That wouldn’t be fair. Instead let’s tweak the rules and say the clock started at the beginning of this conversation. Troll, find a pair of wire cutters.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got my knife.”
Goblin shook his head. “It’ll be easier with the wire cutters.”
“Why make it easy?”
“Because you won’t be cutting off his finger.” Goblin looked me in the eye. “He’ll be doing it to himself.”
“Oooooh, kinky,” said Troll, laughing as he walked to the far aisle.
“If you get blood on any tools, you’re paying for them,” Charlie said. “I mean it.”
“Helen, don’t come here, no matter what,” I said. “Let me talk to the kids!”
“Aw, this is so touching,” said Goblin.
“Daddy…?” said Theresa, hesitantly.
“Yes, Theresa, it’s Daddy. I love you, sweetheart.”
On the other end I heard Theresa burst into tears.
“This is gonna make me sick,” said Witch.
“You’re right, enough of this sappy crap. Troll, are you going to get those wire cutters or do I have to gnaw his finger off myself?”
“Right here,” said Troll, emerging from the aisle, waving a pair of wire cutters still in the package. “Nice and new.”
“Who said you could open new merchandise?” Charlie demanded. “This is my store! You people don’t get to just help yourselves to whatever you want!”
“Give it a rest, Charlie,” said Goblin. “I mean it.”
“Hey, we’re in my store, and nobody tells me to-”
“Now!”
Troll glanced at the back of the package. “Oh, wait, it says here ‘Not For Use On Human Fingers.’ Doesn’t say anything about toes, though.”
Goblin snatched the wire cutters out of his hand. “Grow up. Get his hands free.” While Troll used his knife to cut the duct tape binding my hands, Goblin removed the wire cutters from the packaging and held them in front of my face. “Well, Andrew, the clock is ticking, so we’d better get started. Are you left handed or right handed?”
“Right.” No sense lying.
“Good man. Then I’ll let you pinch off your left pinky.” He handed me the wire cutters while Witch kept her gun pointed at my face. “Open the jaws.”
His expression made it clear he wasn’t playing around. I was feeling utterly sick to my stomach, but I opened the jaws of the wire cutters.
“Put them over your finger. All the way down at the bottom.”
I wondered if I could slam the wire cutters into Goblin’s face without being shot by him, Witch, and/or Troll. It seemed unlikely.
“I’m not cutting off my finger for you,” I informed him.
“Oh, I think you will. And your family is going to hear the screams.” He jiggled the walkie-talkie.
“Forget it. I’m not doing it.”
; “Hmmmm… bullet to the face, or missing pinky? I think you’ll make the right choice. I’m going to give you until the count of ten. And though you probably remember this from the countdown to the Molotov cocktails in the camper, let me be perfectly clear, Andrew: I’m not the kind of person who will say nine-and-a-half.”
I believed him.
“So let’s get started before it’s already time for you to cut a second finger off. Ten… nine…”
The psycho was absolutely serious. If I didn’t chop off a finger, I’d get shot in the face.
“…eight… seven… six…”
I put the jaws of the wire cutters over the little finger on my left hand.
“…five…”
I looked Goblin straight in the eye. “I’ll kill you for this.”
“…four…”
I began to squeeze the handle of the wire cutters. A drop of blood pooled on the blade.
Chapter Thirteen
I TYPE USING HUNT-and-peck anyway, but losing a finger is a pretty big deal. I winced, sucked in a deep breath, and then…
…the wall of the store exploded.
Well, it didn’t really explode, not the way the camper exploded. It’s more like it broke apart, sending merchandise flying everywhere, as a direct result of the green truck plowing right through it.
Roger was behind the wheel. Samantha was next to him.
A whole bunch of things happened at once, but to be completely honest, I couldn’t tell you exactly what they were. I could vaguely sense Troll ducking for cover, and Charlie diving to the floor, and Witch swinging her gun in the direction of the truck, and Goblin nearly getting hit in the face with a jar of baby food.
For myself, the surprise of having a large truck suddenly burst through the wall of the store just in the nick of time to save me from being forced to slice off my pinky caused me to tense up and squeeze the handles of the wire cutters, slicing off my pinky.
“Oh,” I said, because sometimes that’s all that really needs to be said.
My little finger dropped onto my lap.
Now, I think I’ve established that I’m not the finest strategist in the world. However, even in my state of shock I knew to take advantage of this situation. I stood up, scooping up my severed finger as I did so, and threw a punch at Witch with my five-fingered fist.
It was a good one.
I rushed toward the truck, which Roger was backing out of the very large hole he’d created in the store. Troll swiped at me with his knife and I felt the blade swish next to my back. As I ran past the passenger-side door, Samantha threw it open, bashing Troll in the chest. She slammed it closed again and I leapt into the truck bed.
I heard a gunshot and the sound of shattering glass. I took a split second to think about how much my finger stump hurt. I was bleeding all over the place, but at least it wasn’t my truck to clean up.
The truck pulled out of the store. For an instant I thought I was home free, a pleasant if laughable idea that vanished as soon as Witch jumped into the back of the truck with me.
I dove at her, knocking her off her feet. She punched me in the face approximately as hard as I’d punched her, which was pretty damn hard. Then she swung her gun at me, but I deflected it by grabbing her wrist with my incomplete hand, pinning my severed finger between them.
We struggled, me on top, both of us gritting our teeth hard enough to do serious enamel damage. Then severed pinky blood squirted her right in the eye. She cried out and rubbed it while sharing her unladylike vocabulary. I used my other hand to try to wrench the gun out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t let go.
We were speeding down the dirt road toward Wreitzer Park, a wise decision since the other direction was sort of blocked by an exploded camper and a couple of wrecked trucks. Over the tailgate I saw the other green truck following us, about a hundred feet behind. The road curved and I lost sight of it.
The gun, now slippery with blood, popped free of both our grips. It slid down the bed of the truck and smacked into the tailgate.
I got in another really good punch.
So did she.
The truck hit a bump, causing Witch’s head to bounce up, and then strike the truck bed. Sadly, the hit wasn’t hard enough to do anything but piss her off even more.
“You fork!” she screamed. I’m pretty sure that’s not what she meant to say, but that’s what came out.
Then my finger slipped out of my hand and dropped into her open mouth. Witch did not take this well, gagging and choking and frantically trying to spit it out.
Holy shit, she’s going to swallow my finger. I was horrified. Surgeons might be able to reattach the digit, but not if it went through her digestive system!
I could see my pinky at the back of her throat. I reached inside her mouth with my good hand, trying to pinch it between my index finger and thumb.
Witch bit down.
I cried out and tried to tug free. I couldn’t.
Then I clamped my bloody hand over her neck, pushing my thumb into her throat until she let up with her teeth. I pulled my fingers free, but my severed pinky was still in her mouth.
We exchanged another couple of punches.
Witch closed her mouth and I could see her jaw working. She was chewing on my finger. This time I clamped my fingers over her nose, trying to force her to open her mouth to take a breath.
The truck took a sharp turn, and I lost my balance and tumbled off of Witch. She sat up, spat out my finger, and picked it up. Then she cocked her hand back as if preparing to fling it out of the moving vehicle.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed tight to make her drop it. She pulled free and elbowed me in the gut, but I tackled her again.
Her forehead bashed against the side of the truck, hard.
She fell over, unconscious.
I picked up my finger and wiped it off on my pants. Despite a few tooth marks, it seemed to be in relatively good shape, at least by severed finger standards. I shoved it into my pocket then scrambled over to the tailgate and retrieved Witch’s gun.
Both Witch and I were completely covered in blood, and now that the fight was over I had to admit that I was feeling more than a little dizzy. I crawled to Witch, giving a halfhearted smile to Samantha, who was watching me through the rear windshield… and removing her shirt.
Was this supposed to be a reward for vanquishing my foe?
Samantha reached out of the open passenger window and handed her blouse to me. “Wrap up your hand!” she shouted over the sound of the engine.
I took the shirt from her and bound my injured hand as tightly as I could.
We turned onto a longer stretch of road, and then the other green truck came back into view, close enough that I could see Goblin, Troll, and Charlie inside.
I wondered if they’d be so kind as to let me borrow a cooler in which to store my finger.
Now the dizziness was becoming a real concern, along with a sudden nausea. At least Roger was the one doing the driving. Perhaps I could take a short nap…?
As we rounded a corner, the brakes squealed.
The tires burst.
And as we careened off the side of the road, I saw we’d driven over one of those “Severe Tire Damage” things with the spikes. The truck took out quite a few bushes and assorted plants before smashing into a tree.
We had to get out of there. Run into the woods as fast as we could and try to…
Nope. With Samantha’s mangled foot, we weren’t going anywhere. It wasn’t like we could outrun them with Roger carrying her.
Damn.
The other green truck came to a stop right before the tire shredder. Behind me, I heard Roger roll down his window. “So now what?” he asked.
I hoisted Witch’s unconscious body into a sitting position and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of her head.
Goblin and Troll got out of the truck, about thirty feet away from us. Goblin sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re playing the hostage game again
, aren’t we?”
“Uh, yeah,” I admitted, sheepishly.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“So, you know, if you come any closer I’ll kill her and all that, and I want you to let my wife and kids go.”
Goblin looked at me, looked at the ground, looked at Troll, sighed deeply, and then looked at me again. “You know what? Fine. That’s fine. This isn’t worth it anymore. We quit.”
“You quit?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah, we quit. I want to forget this ever happened. We won’t hurt your wife and kids. You can even keep the truck, for all I care. Just give us Witch back and get the hell away from us. We won’t follow you.”
He looked totally serious. Were bad guys allowed to just give up like that?
“How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.
Troll grinned. “We could pinky swear. Oh, wait, I guess not.”
Goblin glared at him. “You think this is funny? Does it amuse you to screw up so badly? Because from where I stand, it’s pretty damn humiliating.”
Troll shrugged. “Whatever.”
Goblin returned his attention to me. “So what do you think? Let’s just put this all behind us.”
“Sounds good to me. But I want my wife and kids back with me first.”
“Gee, you think?” Goblin asked, rolling his eyes. He pressed a button on his walkie-talkie. “Momma Bear, are you there?”
“What did you do to my husband?” Helen demanded on the other end.
“Nothing, he’s fine. Look, we’re just going to call this whole thing off, if that’s okay with you. It was a bad idea from the start, and we’re all going to cut our losses.”
“Let me talk to Andrew.”
Goblin extended the walkie-talkie toward me. “Do you want me to toss it to you?”
I couldn’t very well catch it with one hand wrapped up in bloody cloth and the other holding a gun to the head of an unconscious psycho. “Uh, no. Roger, you wanna catch the walkie-talkie for me?”
“Have him throw it by the side of the truck.”
“It’ll break,” said Goblin.
“The dirt doesn’t look all that hard over here.”
“This is a fragile piece of equipment,” Goblin insisted. “If I throw it on the ground it might break or the settings might get all messed up and you won’t be able to talk to her and we’ll never get this resolved.”
