Sixty Nine

Abruptly, she snatched the knife her father had long ago given her that was tucked into her boot and speared it into his chest.

When a stunned-looking Chubby came charging at her, she rolled to the side and sliced both his Achilles tendons as he stumbled past. Like a sack of spuds, he fell to the ground, crying out. Rolling once again, she seized the rifle and twisted to see that Chubby was trying to crawl away. He froze when she cocked it and gave her a pitiful look. She shrugged. “I told you I’d kill you.” The bullet hit him dead-center in his forehead.

It was then that Merk swung the door open. But she had already cocked the gun again, ready to shoot, and was aiming it as his head. “You should have run, Monkey Boy.” But the awkward bastard dove to the side, making the bullet skim his ear. “Fuck.” Then a wall of flames suddenly formed around the hut, and Merk slammed the door closed. “Double fuck.” Before she could even think of acting, a