Read The Prettiest Girl I Ever Killed Online
Authors: Charles Runyon
The Prettiest Girl I Ever Killed (20 page)
Dan lowered his head and aimed himself like a projectile right at the center of the sheriff’s belly, just above the wide silver buckle. He smashed into a wall that was more like stone than flesh. He felt his neck pop, and sensed a blur at the edge of his vision. He glanced up to see the sheriff’s hand swing down, blue-steel .38 cupped in a broad palm. He lifted his shoulder and felt a cold icy numbness blossom above his right ear.
A weight landed on his back and clung.
Wendell, you asshole
. The weight bore him down, bending his knees toward the floor. He ducked his head between his legs and threw himself backward, felt the weight slide off his neck. Wendell lay on his back, his long legs flailing, tangling with the sheriff’s as he tried to roll over and climb to his feet. Colley staggered up the steps with a sick look in his eyes, his mouth a greenish smear.
Dan felt tempered, alert, eager for more action. Behind him stood the open door, beyond that the black night and the dark haven of the forest. He turned to run—
“Hold it!”
The sheriff’s eyes were like pale oysters, his gun pointed at Dan’s chest.
Better think about this, Dan
. The sheriff’s hand was steady as a vise, the black hole in the end of the barrel swelled until it looked like the maw of a volcano.
Inside, a little lump of lead waited for its freedom. The sheriff had only to touch the trigger, and the slug would burst his sack of flesh and rip through lungs, heart and any other organs that got in its way, leaving behind a great ragged hole which would leak away his life …
“Okay,” said Dan, breathing deep. “Okay …”
Wendell got to his feet and sidestepped warily, placing himself between Danny and the door. Colley moved in from the right with a rat-gleam in his eye, his stick swinging wide.
Dan felt the first blow smack his right temple. A hollow roar filled his ears, then another billowing numbness spread out from the back of his head. His lips kissed the hard oak floor—tenderly, it seemed, but he tasted blood. He was aware of thumping blows raining down on his back, pulverizing his kidneys. He could hear his own burbling, wheezing voice: “I bet your mothers are proud of you, you goddam heroes. I bet they’re
really
proud—”
He felt himself sinking down, down into a tank full of slime. Distant sweet music came from somewhere above, a soothing voice said:
Dan, it’s all right. It’s ALL RIGHT!
If he could only pull himself to the surface of the tank, he would burst into a region of dazzling radiance, weightless and serene. And there would be all his old friends, beloved faces from the beginning of the New World, waiting to welcome him home …
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Copyright © 1965 by Charles Runyon, Registration Renewed 1993
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-3902-2
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3902-2
