J. Konrath - Fuzzy Navel

She rolls, swarming on top of me, straddling my chest. Slowly, inexorably, her gun begins to swing toward my face. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m injured, close to passing out again, and Alex is so big and so strong and so damn evil. She’s not a human being. She’s a force of nature.

Her gun bears down on my forehead.

“After I kill you,” she says, “I’m coming back for your friends and family.”

I’m not scared.

I’m enraged.

I hear a yell – a bone-chilling, animalistic yell. It’s coming from me. And then I open up my palm, letting the Desert Eagle drop, flexing my biceps and grabbing hold of Alex’s hair and yanking her head so hard I give the bitch whiplash.

Alex falls to the side, off of me, and I shove her gun hand away and get my knees under me. Then I make a fist with my left hand and hit her square in the nose.

I can feel the cartilage crack under my knuckles. Her gun goes off, shooting into the night sky well over my head. She rolls with the punch, and I scramble to my feet, ready to lunge in under the gun and rip out her heart with my bare hands.

But she doesn’t attack. She runs.

The monster runs away.

I scan the ground, find the Desert Eagle, and snatch it up, but she’s already sprinting around the corner.

“Jack!”

Phin, at the garage window, shotgun in his hand. He looks sort of fuzzy around the edges, and I feel my legs start to wobble.

“Make sure she doesn’t get back in the house,” I tell him.

Then I go after her.

I’M STILL SEEING STARS from where Jack popped me in the nose, but I don’t let it slow me down. I run around the back of the house, adrenaline pumping, rounding the other side, sprinting straight for the Bronco. I quickly look back, see that Jack is fifty yards behind me.

She’s per sis tent. I’ll give her that.

She also has a bigger gun, and by now so does everyone in the house. I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

I slide on my belly across the hood of the truck and through the broken windshield. I wiggle myself into the driver’s seat, push the key in the ignition, and have a bad moment when the truck doesn’t turn over.

It’s the battery.

I check to my right. Jack has stopped less than thirty yards away. She’s in a shooter stance, aiming the big Desert Eagle at my head.

I kill the headlights, press the gas pedal, and crank it again.

The truck roars to life. I make a U-turn, burning rubber on the street and kicking up dirt and grass when the wheels go off the road.

I duck down right before Jack puts three shots into the driver’s-side window, peppering me with bits of glass. I keep the pedal pressed down, feel the tires grip the asphalt again, and continue to stay low until I’m at least two hundred yards away.

I tap the brakes when the road reaches an end, jerk the wheel right, and speed down the street and through a green light. Then I force myself to slow down.

I raise a hand to my nose, wipe away some blood, and it causes a spike of pain. I check the glove compartment, find a box of tissues, and wedge a wad up each nostril even though it makes my eyes water.

It hurts. But my ego hurts more. I had her. Had her. But when it came time to punch her clock, I got greedy and tried to draw out the moment, talking when I should have been pulling the trigger.

It’s not entirely my fault. There were unforeseeable circumstances. If it weren’t for those idiot snipers, I’d still be back at the house, controlling the situation, having some fun.

But what’s done is done. No point dwelling on the past.

Besides, this isn’t over yet.

Not by a long shot.

IWATCH ALEX TEAR DOWN the road, and the Desert Eagle all of a sudden weighs a hundred pounds. I let the gun drop to my side, and a strangled sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a sob comes out of my mouth.

She’s gone. Alex is gone. And everyone I care about is still alive.

I walk back toward the house, but I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel hurt at all. For the first time all night, I feel pretty damn good.

I meet up with Phin on my front lawn.

“We’ll get her,” he says.

I meet his eyes. “I know.”

We enter through the front door. Harry is standing guard with a Desert Eagle. He blows out a big breath when he sees me. “That was some pretty intense shit. Who needs a beer?”

“I could use something stronger,” Phin says.

Harry nods. “Mom has some codeine, and I think there’s vodka left.”

“We’re not out of this yet,” I say. “We still need to find the jammer and get some help.”

“Phin and I will take care of it,” Harry says. “Don’t bogart the vodka.”

They head outside. I head to the bathroom, and Mom embraces me.

“Is she gone?” she asks.

“Yes. I still need to go outside, guard Phin and Harry.”

I look at Herb, who is sitting up. His color has returned. He’s trying to open a pickle jar.

“Don’t eat those,” I say, taking the jar away.

Herb frowns. “Harry said they were good.”

I ask Mom to find something else for Herb to munch on, then go to Latham. I touch his forehead, and he opens his eyes. His fever has gotten worse.

“Did the good guys win?” he asks.

I nod.

“I wasn’t worried,” he says. “Not with you here to save us.”

“Ambulance is coming soon,” I tell him. “We’re all going to be okay.”

“I love you, Jack.”

“Love you, Latham.”

“Love you more.”

“No, I love you more.”

Herb’s mouth is occupied with what appears to be a wedge of cheddar cheese, but he says, “For crissakes, I’m trying to eat here. Kiss him already.”

I smile, kiss Latham, and then hurry back into the kitchen. The screams from the garage have stopped. I take a peek. Munchel is dead. Then I go outside and witness the spectacle of Harry on Phin’s shoulders, reaching for the veranda.

“Dammit, Phin, push!”

“You want me to climb up there on my own, then pull you up?”

“Could you do that? Please?”

I lend two hands to the cause, and we manage to get McGlade onto the roof. And he had the audacity to comment on my weight. Everywhere I touch him, it feels like pizza dough.

“What’s it look like?” Harry calls from above.

“No idea,” I answer. “But it’s probably around front.”

I turn to Phin. “Any wants or warrants out on you lately?”

“I don’t think so. Worried about fraternizing with a known criminal?”

“Hell no. I was going to talk to a judge friend, get everything dropped.”

Phin smiles. “Can that apply to any future indiscretions I may commit? There’s a liquor store near my house just begging to be robbed.”

“Thanks, Phin.”

I give him a hug, since this is the Night of a Thousand Hugs anyway. His skin is freezing.

“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.

He holds me tighter. “Not anymore.”

“Hey!” Harry yells. “I found a tennis ball! You play tennis, Jackie?”

I pull away from Phin, feeling a little awkward.

“I think Latham has some shirts inside. I’ll get you one, when Harry comes back.”

“Thanks.”

Harry farts around on the roof for a few more minutes, then yells, “Got it!”

He tosses the jammer down. It’s a black box, about the size of a walkie-talkie. I hit the off switch, and pull out the battery just to be safe. Then I turn on my cell phone and see those beautiful signal bars.

I call 911, give the operator my badge number, and request as many cops as possible. I also ask for six ambulances, and for an APB to be put out on a red Ford Bronco with a hole in the windshield.