Tim2 by Mark Tufo

Author:Mark Tufo
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9781484015605
Publisher: Createspace
Published: 2013-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

The lighters were next to the bags of charcoal, not the little disposable ones, but rather the long-nozzled grill lighters. Had to have been about twenty of them there across the abyss. Why I felt the need to warn Yorley about what I needed I don’t know. Maybe I did have a death wish.

I shuddered at my brush with morality (mortality?). “Better now.” I looked up and down my side of the aisle; I found something that might help me on my quest. The wooden flagpole was about five feet long and should just reach without exposing too much of me. I scooted back to my original spot. The bullet was out of her gun almost before I moved. It smashed into the base of the display case sending old marshmallow candies spraying. I swung the pole hitting the hanging lighters, at least three of them clattered to the floor, I had little time to celebrate as the end of the flagpole shattered, blown apart by her next shot.

“Damn, you’re good,” I told her as I pulled my arm a little tighter to my side.

I was getting sick of taking damage and so apparently was Hugh. I still had somewhere in the neighborhood of four feet of pole, and if I got down on my stomach and stretched, I was confident it would be plenty to reach out and drag the lighter my way. It was from that position I heard something not quite right. Someone was coming. I pulled the lighter in quickly and put it on the shelf behind me with my soon to be flaming teddy.

I was not in a good position, pinned down from the top and at least one person closing in. Calum the store manager must have finally discovered which pocket he kept his nuts in, or Yorley had kicked him out. I had to pretend that their surprise was still just that. I got quiet trying to track him down, he was not very stealthy; shit, he was about as loud as a person with OCD and a case full of bubble wrap. Apparently Yorley realized the same thing, because she began to talk loudly and endlessly.

Hugh’s new and improved stereophonic hearing luckily let me isolate her voice out of the equation, what was left was the drunken shuffling of a Russian sailor on shore leave. I got back down on my stomach and slithered to the end cap, just sticking my head out far enough so that I could take a gander.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered quietly.

Calum had indeed NOT found where he had deposited his nuts; it was the girl whose head I had attempted to cave in on it self. She had a mean looking weapon in her hands and she was trying, God bless her she was trying, but I had to imagine she had a serious concussion. Most likely her vision was blurred and her equilibrium was for shit, but there was my little mercenary headed my way.

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