Fuzzy Navel

“You hit?”

Munchel nods. He allows Pessolano to turn him around, examine his back.

“Vest stopped it. You hurt?”

Munchel shakes his head. It feels like he’s been snapped by a rubber band.

Holy shit, he thinks. I actually got shot.

I got shot and I survived.

He can picture himself in a seedy bar in South Africa, playing poker and drinking rotgut with a bunch of other mercs, casually mentioning how he got shot on his first job. A crazed smile appears on his face.

“He’s in the woods,” Pessolano says. “If we rush at him from two sides, we can flush him out. You ready?”

Munchel nods, feeling invincible.

“Let’s do it,” Pessolano says. “On my count.”

Munchel doesn’t wait. He stands up and charges straight into the trees.

11:18 P.M.

PHIN

PHIN RETREATS INTO THE FOREST, moving fast. He’s lost one-sixth of his ammunition, along with the element of surprise. All he’s gained is the secure knowledge that his recently acquired revolver sucks. He’d been less than fifty feet away, aiming directly at the man’s head. The bullet hit the lower back instead.

At least the gun didn’t explode in my hand.

From the short amount of time he’d observed the two men, Phin didn’t get the impression they were cops. They aren’t soldiers either, despite their camouflage outfits. And Phin doesn’t recognize them, though he didn’t get a good look at their faces.

But it really doesn’t matter who they are. The only thing that currently matters is that they’re coming after him. And they have much better guns.

Phin ducks under some low-hanging branches, jumps over a fallen tree, and finds himself in a small clearing. He jogs around the edge of it, kicking up dead leaves. Then he cuts back into the woods and heads back toward Jack’s house, approaching it on an angle.

He steps onto Jack’s property, on the southwest corner of her house. It’s completely dark. He can hear the men fumbling through the forest behind him. Phin jogs across the open stretch of lawn, energy fading. When he reaches the window by the garage, Phin considers his options. He can go for help, but by the time help arrives the yahoos with the Desert Eagles might kill Jack.

Of course, she might already be dead.

He can continue to play hide-and-seek, try to pursue his pursuers. But Phin has no training, no military experience. He can fight, and he can shoot, but that’s the extent of his commando skills.

Or he can break into the house, grab Jack and whoever else is inside, and try to herd them all to safety.

That seems best. Phin fishes out a pocket flashlight, attached to his key chain, and peers in the garage window. He sees stacked cardboard boxes. Phin strips off his T-shirt, wads it up against the glass, and smacks the cloth with his gun. There’s noise as the glass shatters, but not too much. He clears away the big pieces of glass, spreads his shirt over the pane, and climbs inside, wiggling between the wall and the boxes.

Phin holds his breath, listens. Hears nothing.

The boxes are all various sizes and weights. He tucks the revolver into the back of his jeans and wastes a few minutes finding his way through the cardboard maze, picking up, climbing over, and shifting all of Jack’s crap. When he finally makes it to the middle of the garage, a space opens up, and he sighs in relief.

That’s when someone hits him in the head with a shovel.

Phin stumbles forward, then falls to the right, feeling the wind of another swing sail past his face. He waves his mini-flashlight, sees the shovel coming at him again, and rolls out of the way.

Phin gets on all fours, reaches around his belt for his gun.

It isn’t there.

He scuttles backward until he has some room to get to his feet. His head hurts, but it’s bearable. He does a quick sweep of the floor with the light, looking for his dropped gun but not finding it, then raises the beam to view his attacker.

Alexandra Kork.

Now it made sense why Jack called. Alex forced her to. Once upon a time, Alex almost killed Phin. Apparently, she wants another chance.

“Hello, Alex. You’re looking well.”

Alex smiles, but the scarred side of her face doesn’t move. She holds up a hand to shield her eyes from the flashlight beam.

“I like the bullet holes,” she says, pointing the shovel blade at the healed pockmarks on his torso. “Sexy.”

Phin and Alex begin to circle each other.

“Those your friends outside, standing guard?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. Jack is Miss Popularity to night. Apparently she collects enemies. She’s got something about her that really pisses people off.”

Alex moves in closer. Phin steps back, out of range.

“They’re coming,” Phin says. “Two of them.”

“They’ve been shooting at the house for almost three hours. They can’t hit shit.”

“They’re not using rifles anymore. They’ve got handguns. If they get in the house, we’re all going to die.”

Alex stops moving. Phin can see her working it out in her head, can see she doesn’t like the odds any better than he does.

“What’s the situation inside?” Phin asks.

“No ammo. No guns. Where’s yours?”

“If I had one, you wouldn’t be standing there right now. How many people are in the house?”

“Jack. Her mom. Her boyfriend. Her partner. And Harry.”

Phin tries to sound casual, tries to keep the hope out of his voice. “Is Jack okay?”

Alex smiles again.

“Got a little crush on her, Phin? Isn’t she a bit old for you?”

“Is she okay?” Phin asks, harder.

“I kicked her ass, but she’s alive. Everyone in there is pretty beaten up. In fact, I shot Latham. Maybe he won’t make it, and you’ll have a shot at your secret crush.”

Phin realizes he took too much time navigating the boxes. The men are going to bust in here any minute. He can’t afford to waste time sparring with Alex.

“You’ve got to make a choice, Alex.”

“Really? What choice is that, Phin?”

“Those guys are going to come in and kill anything that moves. They’ve got Desert Eagles. You ever see one?”

“I had one. Beautiful weapon. It can shoot a hole through a brick wall.”

“They’re coming, and they’re coming now. You and I can go a few rounds while they’re sneaking up on us. Or we can figure out how to defend ourselves.”

Alex snorts. “Are you serious? You want me to help you?”

“Either help, or leave. I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

“The enemy of my enemy. Is that what you’re saying, Phin?”

“Make your choice.”

Alex stares at Phin for a moment. Then she starts to laugh. It’s a genuine laugh, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief.

“Life certainly throws a few curves, doesn’t it?” she says.

Then she drops the shovel.