Chapter 22 #2
I remove the small axe from my hip and throw it at his retreating back.
The blunt end of the axe head hits him so hard at the base of the skull that it knocks him to the ground.
“Damn it. I was really looking forward to watching you take a couple steps after this thing sliced into your cranium.” I’m walking toward dipshit number three while I talk to him, and he moans, face down on the ground.
He should probably be unconscious after a hit like that, so it’s a testament to his skull thickness that he’s still awake.
“Guess I’m not that good with this thing yet.
I only started working with it about six months ago, and I’ve been busier than usual lately.
Let me tell you, Dipshit. Can I call you Dipshit?
” He doesn’t answer. “Anyway, if I had thrown one of these blades, I could hit a mosquito at a hundred yards. Your skull would be wide open. It’s really something to see.
” He probably doesn’t believe me, but if he was going to live through the night, I’d show him.
I remove the long, thick blade from my other hip and take my trophy from this assclown while he squeals and cries on the ground.
Heavy footsteps in gravel pound this way, and I know it’s the other two dickwads that I haven’t seen yet.
It’s about time. Dipshit number three yelled for help nearly three minutes ago.
His death is quick and brutal with a blade across his throat.
The cut is so deep that my blade scrapes bone.
I finish with him quickly so I can concentrate on the incoming ass monkeys.
The two slowpokes will have to be dealt with before I can claim my trophies from dipshits one and two.
The two newcomers skid to a stop at the edge of the circle drive.
They look around and see the bodies spread out along the front yard, but they can’t see where I’m waiting behind one of the stone pillars.
One of the men removes a radio from his belt and starts talking.
“He’s here. Nick, Jeff, and Dusty are all dead. ”
He doesn’t even sound scared. He sees the shape dipshit number three is in, but he can’t even acknowledge my superior lethality with a tremor in his voice?
Now that’s some bullshit. I’m definitely killing his buddy there first, so he has some time to take in the severity of the situation he’s found himself in. Fucking hit men these days. No respect.
The two remaining men spread out, and both are scanning the area.
Looking for me. Luck is twisting in my favor when the one scheduled to die first comes closer to my hiding spot.
I could’ve shot both these guys in the head multiple times already, but I have more grandiose aspirations for my dramatic entrance into the home.
The man is nearly upon me now, so I throw the gravel and dust I’ve gathered into his face.
He shoots wildly in front of him, just as I expected, so I’ve already sheltered back behind the pillar.
When he brings his gun hand up to his face to wipe his eyes, I strike.
Slicing down with both blades I now have in my hands, I carve up his face and chest. The other guy, the one I’ve been hoping to impress, comes running.
He can’t shoot without hitting the guy I’m making shredded cheese out of.
It may look like I’m swinging wildly, but each of my slices with the blades are intentional and hit exactly where I plan for them to.
His eyes are mostly gone. His hands and arms are a mess of blood, hanging flesh, and visible bone.
He lasts longer than I thought he would, but he finally crumples to the ground when the other guy is right on me.
He barrels straight into me, knocking us both to the ground.
He’s a big fella, and he tries to position us so that he lands on top of me.
Fortunately, one of us is the best killer in the country, and it isn’t him.
Spinning him while we’re still midair, I make sure we land face to face on our sides.
A loud grunt and a huff leave him as the impact with the ground knocks the air from his lungs.
I’m prepared for the crash, but it still sends shocks of pain up my shoulder and hip.
Recovering quicker than my opponent, I again use one of the blades in my hands, shoving it into his gut.
I don’t want to kill him. He needs to be alive and screaming for what comes next.
He immediately proves himself to be tougher than his compatriots when he nails me in the side of the head with a left jab.
He has a knife in his gut. A pretty big one if I’m tooting my own horn.
That jab hurt, and I don’t think this guy is even left-handed.
When he was running toward me and hamburger meat over there, he was holding up his gun in his right hand.
With my hand still clasping the handle of the knife, I wrench upward until I hit sternum.
He cries out in agony, and blood bubbles out of his mouth as he gurgles in pain.
Rising to my knees, I pull the radio from his hip and take the leather strap from my hair to tie down the talk button.
Rising to my feet and clipping the radio to my belt, I grab my knife from the man’s chest and secure it back at my hip.
That reminds me, I need to get my axe. Lots of work to do with that one.
Whoever is on the other end of this radio can hear their friend gurgling blood and being dragged by the hair across the driveway.
They can’t respond, and I don’t want to be heard just yet.
I’m setting the scene. Dramatic effects accomplish so much in situations like these.
Little time is spent positioning the man until I have him sitting up against the car that the first three were huddled next to, but he still paints quite the picture there with all the blood and the petrified look in his eyes.
Now here’s where it really gets bloody, but I need this guy to squeal.
I reach inside the hole I’ve created in his torso and just grab the first thing I feel there.
It’s...intestine. It’s always intestine.
When he sees what I’m holding, he delivers fantastically on the squealing.
He’s bled a lot, so I’m pretty impressed with the volume he reaches.
What’s a man to do, though, when he sees his small intestine wrapped around the arm of the man who just created a cavern in his gut?
Scream. That’s what you do in this situation.
Reaching back in, I find a...liver. These things are so ugly.
They’re just so dark and the texture is off-putting.
My co-star here is still screaming, but he’s lost that gumption that he had originally. It’s more of a loud sob at this point, and even that is fading as the ground around him becomes increasingly more saturated with his blood.
Removing the strap from around the radio, I speak one last time to the man before me.
“You chose the wrong job this time, friend. I do appreciate you playing your part well for me though. Mighty fine of ya.” The bullet I put through his skull is a mercy. At least he doesn’t have to be alive when I take my trophy. Dipshit number three didn’t seem to like it too much.