I threw the empty shotgun at a charging cultist, having already put the six shells to good use. The butt of the weapon smashed into his face, the high-impact plastic stock splintering his nose, blood flying everywhere. He dropped like a stone, flat on his back. I barely noticed the blood flowing from the back of his head as I pulled my service pistol out, my thumb flicking off the safety. I fired twice, missing both times, but getting a trio of cultists to take cover.
Just as I was starting to feel good about myself, I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from behind me. I tried to turn and face my attacker, but I knew I would be just too slow. I could just see him, my gun hand not moving fast enough. He was huge, with his clothing straining against his muscles. The turban he wore had to be a hundred feet long to cover a head as big as his, and his bushy beard hid most of his features, but I could see he was about as Hindu as I was Italian. It didn't change the fact he was probably stoned to the gills on whatever these idiots had on hand, and he looked in a kill-state. His eyes were wide, pupils fully dilated, and his lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl of sheer hatred. In his hand was a wavy dagger that looked more like a short sword than a knife, and he was bringing it down in a stabbing motion. I felt like a certain archaeologist who just wasn't quick enough of the draw, and I knew I was going to die. It was hypnotic, in a way, but I still kept trying to bring my weapon to bear.
There was a crashing boom from nearby, and the thug's left knee vanished a fine red mist just a he brought his left foot down. Gravity and inertia kept him going, the splintered bone in his calf shredding muscle and flesh. I threw myself out of his path, and never once did his face betray any pain. No pain at all, just anger at my escape. His eyes were round, his face sweating, and I brought my gun to his face and pulled the trigger, more to erase that look of the damned from my sight.
Tom reached out his hand to pull me to my feet, released me, then fired three times to his left, almost casually. Three bodies hit the floor, the same three I had fired at to keep their heads down. Forehead, throat, then head again. I hated how good he was whenever we would shoot at the range for money, but I was thankful as he put the shotgun in his coat and brought out his pistol. “What the hell took you so long?” I said, trying to both lighten the mood and cover my own fear.
“We gotta get moving,” Tom said as he pulled back the slide. “This is just round one.”
~~~~~~~
“We went in and looked for the missing boy,” I answer, taking a sip of tea. There's no shake in my hand as I set the glass back down, and I'm proud of my control. “Tommy had an idea of where he was.”
Dinah eats some green beans, chewing thoughtfully. “So then what happened? It sounds like a really easy time.”