Get Blank (Fill in the Blank) by Justin Robinson Page A

leveled the giant gold pistol at my head. The barrel got bigger and bigger until it was a black moon in a golden sky. The bullet would be so big my whole body would vanish into a little bit of pork-smelling confetti. I barely saw the giant man and his huge, fat, mitten hands enveloping the grip. He’d turned into a shadow behind the monster weapon that was ready to rocket me from my time on earth. I tried to think. There had to be a way out of this I just wasn’t seeing. But all I could think of was the barrel of the gun positioned right between my eyes.
    The gunshot was a rapid pop-pop-pop , and the sound was like someone punching ham. I didn’t think I’d hear it. You’re supposed to not hear a thing: you’re there, and then you’re not. It’s over, lights out, time to go home.
    There was another gunshot, this one an ear-shattering choom as loud as a Godzilla fart. The stench of cordite settled over me and my ears rang. I fell to the soft earth of my grave. The gun choomed twice more.
    I opened my eyes, wondering why I wasn’t feeling the sensation of having several new holes punched through my body. My hands crept over my chest and, in a stupid moment I wasn’t planning to admit to anyone later, my forehead. I was unshot. Above me, over the ringing of my eardrums, I heard more gunfire, some close, some far. Flashes accompanied it. One of the headlights shattered and the world was a little darker.
    I peeked up over the side of the grave. Vassily was crawling away, swearing in Russian, his Desert Eagle pointed off into the brush. By the light of his remaining headlight, I could see multiple bullet wounds across his massive chest. In the undergrowth, where Vassily was shooting, I saw a sustained flash and heard pop-pop-pop again. Dirt kicked up around him. Another bullet buried itself in his gut. I don’t think the Whale noticed.
    I thought briefly about waving to my rescuer but decided against it. After all, just because someone wanted Vassily dead didn’t mean they wanted me alive.
    Vassily looked over at me. “You stay!” he shouted.
    I hit the ground as he fired, dirt raining down on the back of my neck.
    The chatter of the gun brought a fresh round of cursing from Vassily, and this time his answering gunshots didn’t throw more dirt on me. I waited until I could hear the clacking sounds that said Vassily was reloading. I poked my head up to make sure, just as he was ramming home another clip into the butt of his gun. I pulled myself up over the side, stumbled once, nearly fell, and bolted for the edge. The turnoff fell into a deep slope, dotted with California walnut trees and chaparral.
    “Nicky! You stay!”
    I felt like I should have said something pithy to Vassily, but I just jumped over the side. The choom followed me a second later, but I was already eating dirt and sliding down the hill on my ass, then on hands and knees as I tried to get to my feet. The gunfire and Russian cursing continued. Finally, I was able to stand, forearms, knees, and palms burning from where the hill had probably skinned them, and started down again as fast as I could. Finding the right mix of speed and caution wasn’t easy, but I had good motivation. On one hand, I had a Russian mobster at the top who was quite clear in his desire to murder me. On the other, this hill was fairly steep, and I didn’t fancy sliding down it on my face.
    “Nicky! You get back here!” Both guns fired again, getting quieter as I descended, hopping and running at turns, the stones in my shoes biting back with each step.
    I hit the first stand of oaks and breathed a sigh of relief. Something between me and Vassily. I still wasn’t sure Vassily wouldn’t remember who he was and get up, ignoring the machine-gun fire in order to eat both the phantom gunman and me. Still, having some trees as shelter went a long way to restoring my peace of mind.
    I glanced back up to where Vassily’s remaining headlight still speared off into the darkness.