tight bear hug he’d had Liz in before Pete could reorient himself.
Adding injury to insult, the Samoan bit hard into Pete’s shoulder. The pain was intense. He screamed, his voice cracking like an adolescent. The man used his great neck to tear his head away from Pete, taking a chunk of flesh with it. Howling, Pete chanced to look into face of the Samoan. The infected man gazed at him hungrily, like he was a choice cut of meat missing a good sauce.
“ Big…. hug…” came a whisper through teeth blooded with bits of Pete’s torn flesh. The body odor and rancid smell of the infected man made him want to retch, but he couldn’t breathe to do it. He seemed defenseless without leverage for his arms or his legs.
Winding up, Pete head butted his new best friend with one of the last weapons available to him. A pig squeal whistled through the Samoan’s split lips. Pete struggled with his captor and tried to slam his foot down on the Samoan’s knee, but he was being held up in the air by the giant man. He could see the neon sign of Tahitian, still glowing in the mild night.
The hug intensified and Pete started to lose consciousness.
It was an unusual experience, almost as though he was observing his own demise. Spots overtook his vision quickly. Liz’s face lying against the pavement was the last thing he saw. His eyes closed, that final, heartrending image lost to a nothingness that yawned. The abyss stretched out below was deep, hungry, and had a gravity all its own. Pete could feel it dragging him down.
More of the world slipped away. Muscle memory he had gained from months of kung fu instruction and put to lethal use for the first time today, tumbled away. With the training gone, cares left him. All that remained was a deathly calm.
The fight had been too much. Not all tests were meant to be passed, he reflected with some regret. Liz was not trained and was his responsibility. Accepting failure, he relaxed and felt himself slip down into the void.
A great reduction in pressure on Pete’s chest triggered the oldest reflex he had, his breath. A single wheeze brought him back from the brink. The saturnine darkness fled back underneath his consciousness like roaches fleeing into the walls. A short panting breath gave Pete the strength to feel the Samoan’s grip had loosened. Another breath, a deep lungful, gave him the strength to shove out his arms. Muscles renewed themselves with oxygen and were charged with vitality once again. He felt the ground beneath his feet. He squatted down in triumph, breaking the Samoan’s hold easily.
Mental faculties came online. Pete knew from the prickling sensations in his hands and feet that he should be dead. A pitiful roll away from the Samoan gave him the vantage point to see a large boot closed around a black leg execute a downward kick to the back of the fleshy kneecap of the Samoan.
Walter’s kick brought the gargantuan man to his knees with a thud. A squeal escaped from the bloodied mouth of the fat man just as Walter wrapped the thick neck in a powerful chokehold. The Samoan’s chunky limbs flapped in its death throes, and a spurt of blood gushed from one of burly man’s encrusted eyes as it popped out forcefully. If he didn’t feel like he was about to die, Pete thought he would have found it comical that the infected eyes always seemed to pop out. The organ dangled, stretching nerve fibers long, looking at him accusingly.
Beyond Walter and the Samoan lay Liz, unmoving. Trusting Walter to finish the fight, Pete crawled an agonizing few feet to her body. Her face was turned away from him but he could see a deep gash that marred her head.
“Come on baby, come on Liz, no no no, Liz, please… ” Pete pleaded, cradling the woman he loved. She did not respond, the gash on her head soaking her light hair with thick red blood. He let out a sob. A vision of their life together was suddenly unimaginable.
A shadow fell over Pete. He had enough time to see a foot
Adding injury to insult, the Samoan bit hard into Pete’s shoulder. The pain was intense. He screamed, his voice cracking like an adolescent. The man used his great neck to tear his head away from Pete, taking a chunk of flesh with it. Howling, Pete chanced to look into face of the Samoan. The infected man gazed at him hungrily, like he was a choice cut of meat missing a good sauce.
“ Big…. hug…” came a whisper through teeth blooded with bits of Pete’s torn flesh. The body odor and rancid smell of the infected man made him want to retch, but he couldn’t breathe to do it. He seemed defenseless without leverage for his arms or his legs.
Winding up, Pete head butted his new best friend with one of the last weapons available to him. A pig squeal whistled through the Samoan’s split lips. Pete struggled with his captor and tried to slam his foot down on the Samoan’s knee, but he was being held up in the air by the giant man. He could see the neon sign of Tahitian, still glowing in the mild night.
The hug intensified and Pete started to lose consciousness.
It was an unusual experience, almost as though he was observing his own demise. Spots overtook his vision quickly. Liz’s face lying against the pavement was the last thing he saw. His eyes closed, that final, heartrending image lost to a nothingness that yawned. The abyss stretched out below was deep, hungry, and had a gravity all its own. Pete could feel it dragging him down.
More of the world slipped away. Muscle memory he had gained from months of kung fu instruction and put to lethal use for the first time today, tumbled away. With the training gone, cares left him. All that remained was a deathly calm.
The fight had been too much. Not all tests were meant to be passed, he reflected with some regret. Liz was not trained and was his responsibility. Accepting failure, he relaxed and felt himself slip down into the void.
A great reduction in pressure on Pete’s chest triggered the oldest reflex he had, his breath. A single wheeze brought him back from the brink. The saturnine darkness fled back underneath his consciousness like roaches fleeing into the walls. A short panting breath gave Pete the strength to feel the Samoan’s grip had loosened. Another breath, a deep lungful, gave him the strength to shove out his arms. Muscles renewed themselves with oxygen and were charged with vitality once again. He felt the ground beneath his feet. He squatted down in triumph, breaking the Samoan’s hold easily.
Mental faculties came online. Pete knew from the prickling sensations in his hands and feet that he should be dead. A pitiful roll away from the Samoan gave him the vantage point to see a large boot closed around a black leg execute a downward kick to the back of the fleshy kneecap of the Samoan.
Walter’s kick brought the gargantuan man to his knees with a thud. A squeal escaped from the bloodied mouth of the fat man just as Walter wrapped the thick neck in a powerful chokehold. The Samoan’s chunky limbs flapped in its death throes, and a spurt of blood gushed from one of burly man’s encrusted eyes as it popped out forcefully. If he didn’t feel like he was about to die, Pete thought he would have found it comical that the infected eyes always seemed to pop out. The organ dangled, stretching nerve fibers long, looking at him accusingly.
Beyond Walter and the Samoan lay Liz, unmoving. Trusting Walter to finish the fight, Pete crawled an agonizing few feet to her body. Her face was turned away from him but he could see a deep gash that marred her head.
“Come on baby, come on Liz, no no no, Liz, please… ” Pete pleaded, cradling the woman he loved. She did not respond, the gash on her head soaking her light hair with thick red blood. He let out a sob. A vision of their life together was suddenly unimaginable.
A shadow fell over Pete. He had enough time to see a foot
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