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
"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
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