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From: oldmudrat <oldmudrat<takethispartout>@hotmail.com
Subject: {ASSM} RP: With A Whimper Chapter 1-3
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Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2005 03:10:03 -0400
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With A Whimper by Oldmudrat copyright 2004

   ********************************************************** Standard
Disclaimer:
This story is copyrighted material.  (C)) 2004.  All rights are reserved

by the author, including that of publication.  Permission is given for
re-posting as long as nothing in this post is changed, the author's name is
included, this disclaimer is included, and no charge is assessed to read
the story.  Permission for posting on storiesonline.net,
alt.sex.stories.moderated and asstr-mirror.org is explicitly granted.

   This story, the people portrayed are fictional.  Any resemblance to
living persons is purely coincidental. .  WARNING: This story contains
material with explicit and sexual content that some may find offensive and
may be illegal in some regions.  You must STOP reading if: you are under
the 'legal' age; you are offended by stories mentioning sex in graphic
detail and 'vulgar' language; if this type of material is illegal in your
place of residence; You must READ the story if: you are curious; have
nothing better to do at the present time; and most of all read the story if
it is you choice.
*************************************************************



   Prologue

   It started in India and spread with the speed of air travel.  According
to the World Health Organization and the Center for Disease Control it was
only an unexpected strain of influenza.

   Normally each year influenza will kill one person in ten-thousand of
those infected.  Infection rates average 20% of an exposed population.  The
India strain of Influenza-A was much more contagious.  Infection rates were
as high as 80%.

   But don't worry the CDC assured.  Death rates were much lower, only one
in ten-million.  You might get very sick for a week or so, but you would
get over it.

   For two months the Indian Flu raged unchecked.  Entire countries would
become infected in a couple of days, stretching medical resources to the
limits and in some cases beyond.  A very bad time.  Then gradually the
disease burned itself out.  The world breathed a sigh of relief and vaccine
manufacturers began the process of adding the India Strain to the next
years flu vaccine.

   Then the Virus mutated.

   And the World died.



   Chapter One
Now:

   The body of what had once been a man, although now it was hard to tell
just what he was, so covered with blood, so battered and torn.  Around the
body lay other bodies equally battered.  They were just things now, no
longer human, as they waited to decay to the dust from which they were
born.

   Among the remains scurried nature's cleanup team, rats and roaches,
spiders and centipedes, digging out their due with fangs and pincers.  The
smaller scavengers crawled in and out of the nasal passages, eyeless
sockets, and open mouths of the dead; greedily carrying loads larger than
themselves.  The rats, the mice, the lizards feasted on the outer flesh.
Lines of ants marched carrying their cargo of flesh and then came swiftly
back for more.

   Yet these vermin left one corpse alone.  From time to time a rat would
approach and sniff the body, its black nose twitching rapidly, seeking the
scent of decay.  But it would leave, seeing that this one was no quiet
ready.

   One rat, perhaps hungrier or more adventurous, crawled atop the
motionless body.  It stopped by the bloodied head and looked at it for a
moment unsure where to start.  Then it reached out with sharp teeth snapped
shut on the prone body's lower lip.

   "Fuck!" the recipient of the kiss croaked through dry and cracked lips.
He lifted his right hand, slammed it down on his lip.  The rat voiced an
indignant squeal and jumped away.  It landed five away and quickly made its
way to the other bodies, where the food did not fight back.

   The nearly dead man opened his eyes just a slit and nearly screamed as
the sunlight hit eyes that had been closed for days.

   "Shit.  Shit." the body groaned over and over.  Memory flooded in like
with a wave of debris.  He didn't want to know.  Didn't want to think back
to those last few months, last few days when all was lost.  He didn't want
to remember that everyone he knew was dead.  He didn't want to remember
that he was dying.

   He tried to sit up and collapsed back.  His arms and legs felt rubbery.
He could only jerk around without any real strength.  He was used to being
strong.  Now like this, easy prey for anything that came along, he knew the
end was near.  Please, let it be near.

   "Shit!" He screamed out the word with all the energy his dry throat
could muster, but only a whisper emerged.  "Oh, God."

   Whether God was interested in this particular brand on human misery, who
could say.  But nothing happened.  Only the sounds of the scavengers
feeding and the stench of death answered him.  He could feel them crawling
on him.

   He kicked his legs and heard a scurrying.

   He remembered the dead and tried to shut off his emotions.  He waited to
fall back down into the black pit from which he had been rudely awakened.
But the pain of his body kept him awake, torturing him into full
consciousness.  With each passing second the memories, the faces of those
he had known and loved loomed larger and clearer.

   "Jules," another whisper.

   "Jules," a plea for love untimely lost.

   Why wasn't he dead?  He wanted it.  Yearned for it.

   He breathed a sigh of infinite weariness and let himself fall back,
giving up his feeble attempts to rise.  He would just lie there and wait
for the creatures to finish with the others.  Then it would be his turn.
He would be gone soon.  Please, God, let it be soon.  The sooner, the
better.

   His memory was suddenly filled with images.  Snapshots of his past
shooting through him like a movie.  They say that your entire life flashes
before you as your soul leaves your body behind.  He went with his memories
as he waited for death's embrace.

   ==+=
Memories:

   He remembered the first time with her.

   Her name was Jualisa Wanner.  Jules.  You called her 'Jualisa' at your
own peril.  They had been dating for about two months, when she said she
would cook dinner for them.

   They first met at the hospital.  She was a newly arrived Pediatric
resident fresh from med school.  He was just finishing up an Infectious
Disease Fellowship and had accepted a position as assistant department
chairman.

   From the first meeting each knew that something important had happened.
Something had clicked.  Each kept it to themselves for several weeks,
afraid that if they voiced their feelings the promise of their heart would
vanish.

   Finally she asked him out.  Dinner and a movie.  The rest, as they say,
was 'happily after'.  Or it should have been.

   By their third date she was doing the cooking.  Having decided that he
was not going to put 'the move' on her, she decided they had waited long
enough.

   Her apartment was a small addition on the rear of an old house.  It had
its own private entrance and parking area.  A small living room, a combo
kitchenette/dining area, bath and bedroom.  She had only lived there since
moving into town a few weeks before.  The furniture was used but still in
good shape.  Clean.  Neat.  Without being overly so.

   The meal had been a simple one.  Spaghetti, salad, bread.  When he
arrived the smell of the spaghetti had immediately kicked his appetite in
high-gear.  Now, afterwards, he knew that it had been no store bought
sauce. The taste alone screamed 'made from scratch'.  He had helped with
the cleanup.  Drying and putting away the plates and such as she washed.
Conversation had been easy and casual.

   Finally the moment was there as she folded the towel and put it on the
rack.  Glancing around the kitchenette, she flipped the light switch.  Only
the soft glow from a single lamp in the living room lit the apartment.

   "Well, I guess I'll be getting along," he said.  "Thanks for the meal
and the wonderful evening.  Next time, I'll do the cooking."

   She laughed and shook her head.  "James, I'm afraid I can't let you
leave just yet." She walked to the door to slide the lock into place.  She
turned, suddenly serious.  "I know how I feel about you and I've tried to
show you."

   He nodded, unsure what to say.  Should he tell her that he thought about
her every minute of the day.  Should he say that the time they were
together was the only time he felt...  complete.  Should he tell her that
away from her he was lost and floundering in a sea of loneliness.  Tell her
that there had been women in his life before her, but none like her.  He
had been afraid to voice those feelings.

   "I've never felt this way," she said as she backed against the door.
"Oh, I've had boyfriends before, some very nice ones.  But no one has done
this to me before.  When you're not with me..."

   "I love you," he said.  Simply.  The words came easy.  Now he waited.

   With flushed face, she hugged herself as those words washed over her.
She closed her eyes.  "Say it again."

   "I love you.  Jules, I..."

   She held up a hand to stop him.  Her legs were weak.  If she had not
been leaning against the door, she felt that she would be in a heap at his
feet.

   She opened her eyes and smiled.  Her smile became wider as she walked
toward him.

   He gathered her into his arms, one hand holding her head on his
shoulder. Her arms went around his neck as her body molded to fit into his.

   "Say it again."

   "I love you," he whispered and lightly kissed her neck.

   Her eyes were moist and shining as she looked up at him, bringing her
lips close to hers.

   First tentatively, then urgently.  She opened her mouth slowly and
invitingly, her tongue reaching to lightly lick his lips and beyond.  She
could taste a hint of their dinner and more than a hint of promised heat.

   His lips moved warmly and damply on hers, sucking and tugging them as
she moved her head from side to side.

   Her firm body moved eagerly in his arms as he held her, feeling the hot
flesh beneath her blouse and skirt.  He moved his hands up and down her
back, caressing the slender curves.  He felt a tremor move through her and
she moaned.

   She held him tighter, pushing her breasts into his chest and her groin
into his.

   He moved his hands slowly down her back to her ass, cupping and
squeezing.

   Reluctantly she pulled her lips away with a damp sound and wiggled out
of his arms.  With a hand over his heart, she said, "Again?"

   Taking both hands he cupped her face and looking into her eyes, "I..."

   "...love you, James," she whispered.  She let her hand trace its way
down his body.  Chest.  Stomach.  A gentle squeeze upon reaching his hard
cock.  Reaching a decision she said, "Follow me."

   Struggling to get her blouse off she lead him a few steps to the bed.
He was right behind her.

   At last, in the semi-darkness, she turned.  Her firm breasts stood out
from her chest in mounds of delight.  From her lovely face down to her tiny
waist and full hips, a vision of delight.

   She pushed the bedcovers to the foot of the bed and laid back, letting
him feast his eyes on her.  The triangle of hair between her legs was just
a shade darker that the hair on her head.  Inviting.  Promising.  Beads of
moisture outlined the pink opening.

   As his eyes memorized every feature, he pushed his pants down.  His cock
rebounded from the strain and like a divining rod pointed toward her.  Now
she feasted on the vision before her.

   She sat up on the side of the bed as he took a step closer.  Tentatively
she reached out, wrapped her hand around him.  The coolness of her touch
sent a chill through him.  The heat of him begged her to grip tighter.
With her thumb she spread the leaking moisture over his cockhead.  Her
tongue tasted the spice of his center.

   "Mmmmm," she hummed.

   Her mouth opened wide.  As his cock brushed her lips, she looked up into
his eyes and lovingly closed her lips tight.  The sensation on her tongue
as his cock was sucked deeper into her mouth brought from another "Mmmmm"
from her and an "Oh, God!" from him.

   She let his cock slide almost out of her mouth, pushed her tongue into
the center of his cock and flicked it back and forth.

   A pang of joy shot through him and made every muscle in his body quiver
as she took his cock deep into her warm, welcoming mouth.  He cupped her
face between his hands and moved his hips forward.

   She shook off the urge to gag as it touched the back of her throat.
With an inpatient shrug she swallowed repeatedly.

   The sensation of her throat muscles at work was almost more that he
could stand.  He wanted to pump his cock into her.  Hard!  He groaned as
she pressed his cock between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.  Slowly
he pulled his hips back until only the head of his cock was between her
lips.  The shaft, damp and shining with her saliva, was stroked by her hand
as she sucked and tongued the head.

   He threw his head back as she once again engulfed him, her head
undulating back and forth.  Saliva dripped from her mouth as she savored
his taste.

   He could feel the pressure for release build.

   Sensing this she put one hand on his ass.  Her fingernails bit into him
as she let his cock slide from her mouth.  Cupping his balls with her other
hand she turned her head sideways and licked at his cock and balls,
smearing saliva along the side of her face as she pressed her lips and face
to him.

   Her tongue slid far out as she lick at him, moaning softly, then she
released him and wiggled back onto the bed, her body flushed and trembling.
"God...  I love you so much...  I need you in me...  in me...  now."

   ===++==
Now:

   He wanted to stay with the memory, but it faded to black.  He joined the
blackness and thought that there should be a bright light to lead him home.



   End Chapter One

   ******************************************
With A Whimper by Oldmudrat

   Chapter 2: February, 2016

   My great-grandfather, on my mother's side of the family, was a strange
man.  Daniel William Pitt was a strange man.  Well, not really strange.
Maybe peculiar would be a more apt description.  He was 104 years old when
he died and had lived on the same plot of land for sixty of those years.
He did not believe in modern conveniences with the exception of radio and
television.  The only reason he had electricity in his house was for those
two 'damn fool boxes', as he used to call them.  Only later did he add a
phone and computer, at my urging.  Going to college I missed our talks and
with the phone and email we could keep in touch.

   Shortly after his wife died in childbirth, he bought up almost 600 acres
of land on the east side of the Tennessee River where the river briefly
visits Mississippi.  He built his house on a steep limestone cliff that
dropped one-hundred-ten feet to the river.  For ten miles either side of
his house there was no place that a boat could make landfall.  The only
road in from the state highway was ten miles of dusty, rutted red clay or
ten miles of gumbo mud depending on the season.  A car would never make the
trip.  A four-wheel drive vehicle was the only chance, no matter the
season. It helped keep visitors to a minimum, which suited great-grandpa
just fine.

   On those 600 acres were stands of timber untouched by chainsaw for over
fifty years.  Steep hills with swift flowing streams in the valleys.
Swamps that were the home to alligators and more snakes that you could
shake a stick at.  And a shallow vein of coal that no one knew about except
him.

   On that tall riverside bluff he built himself a log cabin.  Not one of
those simple cabins, but a large rambling structure.  Which was pretty
strange in itself, because great-grandpa Daniel lived alone.  Most of the
time.  His only trips off his land was twice yearly trips into the nearest
town, Iuka, Mississippi, to restock supplies that he could not obtain any
other way.  Those trips were short...  get the supplies and get out of
town. Fast.

   Do not get the impression that great-grandpa Daniel had not see the
world.  He was a veteran of WW2.  As a Marine he hit the beaches at Tarawa,
Iwo Jima, and Okinawa.  He was still in the Marines, having been promoted
to Master Sergeant, when he fought his way from the Chosin Reservoir in the
Korean War.  After that little 'police action', he got out of the Marines
and started looking for a place out of the line of fire.

   Great-grandpa Daniel was firmly convinced that the world was going to
hell in a handbasket and it would all be over very soon.  He held that
conviction for fifty years.  It turned out he was right.

   Maybe great-grandpa Daniel was not so strange after all.

   I never understood why he took up with me.  I was nine-years-old when I
first saw the Old Man.  My father was his grandson.  The two of them never
really got along.  But once a year dad would load up the family mom, me, my
older brother Daniel, and my older sister Willimenia and visit the Old Man
for a week.  Great-grandpa Daniel never refused those visits.  He usually
found things to do on other parts of his property whenever we were there.

   I mean my dad and mom were not very subtle about the main reason for
their visits.  As the Old Man's only living relatives they stood to inherit
his 'fortune'.  The land itself was worth several million dollars by that
time.  Brother Daniel and sister Willimenia were also obvious in their
attempt to suck up to the Old Man.

   Me?  Maybe I was too young to bother.  I spent the weekly visits
exploring the surround woodlands.  That's how I happened to come upon
great-grandpa fishing at a creek one afternoon.  There was a fishing pole
stuck butt-first in the muddy bank and a line floated lazily on the water.
But great-grandpa was sound asleep, a open can of beer at his side.  I sat
there until he woke up and asked me if I knew how to fish.  I guess that
how our friendship started.  That and I did not give a shit about his
money. For a nine-year-old, who thought he was probably adopted I mean how
could I have the same genes as the rest of my family, they were all
assholes discovering a grandfather was the bestest thing in the world.

   The best days of my life were spend on the river and in the wood with
him.  Once I got my driving license my visits were pretty much when the
whim took me.  He was always glad to see me and had something new to show
or tell me.

   It was great-grandpa Daniel who payed for my college education.  My
asshole of a father figured two years at a technical school would be enough
education to get me a job.  But I wanted more and the Old Man knew that.
So he financed an education at the University of Tennessee and later
medical school at the University of Mississippi.  I had a job, sometimes
two, all through my training, but the Old Man always sent along a little
something extra every couple of weeks.  He came off his property and
traveled two hundred miles, the most he had traveled in many years, to see
me receive my Doctor of Medicine degree.

   After residency training I started practicing medicine at a large
hospital only an hours drive from him and made frequent visits.  I brought
Jules to meet him.  As we left that time, he whispered to me, "You've got a
good, James.  Treat her right.  You hear me!?" I could only say, "I know
and I will."

   And then the Super Flu struck.  His isolation proved no protection.  He
stopped answering the phone and did not reply to the frantic emails I sent
him.  I assume he was dead, but I was too occupied trying to save lives and
failing to go find out.  Now there were no more lives to save.  Now I was
going home.

   =+

   All these memories came back to me as I stood on the side of the highway
looking back at the city where I had lived for the past four years.  An
empty city, except for the dead.  A thick pall of smoke hung over the
western suburbs.  Fire would spread unchecked now.  There were no firemen
to combat it.  The stench is hard to describe.  How can you tell someone
how the decomposing bodies of almost sixty-thousand people smell?  You
cannot.  It has to be experienced.

   With a last look back, I climbed into the Ford F-250 four-wheel drive
pickup that I had 'liberated' off the dealer's lot and started the drive
home.

   End Chapter 2

*********************************************************
*********************************************************

With a Whimper By Oldmudrat Copyright 2005



   Chapter 3

   With a last look back, I climbed into the Ford F-250 four-wheel drive
pickup that I had 'liberated' off the dealer's lot and started the drive
home.

   My name is James Thomas Greer.  Thirty-five years old.  Six feet tall.
One-hundred-and-eighty pounds.  The soft life I had been living the last
several years had added those extra twenty pounds.  I figured I lost about
ten of them within the last month.  Black hair that I wore cut short,
because long hair is a nuisance in the operating room.  Pale blue eyes.

   I am...  was a doctor.  A failed doctor, because everyone I treated in
the last six months died.  While I never got the slightest sniffle.  I
watched my colleagues sicken with the Indian Flu and was unable to do
anything to save them.  Only ease their suffering a tiny bit.

   If I had the courage I would have blown my brains out with the Glock 9mm
that rested in the belt holster.  But I was a coward.  So I lived with the
nightmares and visions.

   Now, I turned the pickup truck onto the northbound Natchez Trace Parkway
and headed for the only home I really called my own.  My
great-grandfather's farm on the Tennessee River.  A ninety minute trip,
that I had made many times ignoring the speed limit and cruising at seventy
miles per hour.

   This time I was in no hurry and kept the speed down to about fifty
letting the hum of the tires on the pavement and the static from the radio
sing to me while my mind wondered what awaited me.  What would I do now?
Were there others alive?  Would I meet anyone or were the survivors too
separated to get together?

   I never considered that I might be the only survivor.  Surely there were
others lucky enough to have lived.

   I saw one survivor for sure in the city as I was loading the pickup with
what supplies I thought I would need.  He, I could easily tell he was a
male even from the distance, was just coming out of a store a couple of
blocks from me when I pulled up gun shop.

   I yelled out and waved my hands over my head trying to get his
attention. He raised the rifle he was carrying and fire three shots in my
direction, all aimed high.  Then he got into a small SUV and drove off.

   I know when I'm not wanted, so I went into the gun shop only to find
that it had already been mostly looted.

   IF I met others, I only hoped they would be a bit more friendly.

   ----------------------------------------

   It was late afternoon when I drove down the main street of Iuka, only
ten miles from the farm.  This had been the county seat, population five
thousand.  I had to weave among cars and trucks that haphazardly blocked
the street.  All the store windows had been broken and the stores looked
looted.  The big chain grocery store was only a smoking ruin.

   I pulled into the QuickMark, where I usually got gas when I was in town.
Turned of the truck's engine and after making sure the Glock had a round
chambered and the short-barreled .357 was stuck in by belt under my jacket,
I got out.  I could see that the store had already been looted.  The large
glass front was shattered.  Stepping inside the store, the racks of foods,
drinks, snacks, and all the other products that the store owner kept neatly
arranged were turned over and very little of the original stock was left.
The lights were still on, so at least this little town still had
electricity.

   "Hank!" I called for the owner.  He and I had gotten fairly friendly
over the years that I had visited my great-grandfather Daniel.  "Hank!
Anybody here?"

   Nobody here.

   I searched through what little the looters had left.  It wasn't much.
And what there was had been opened in the aisles and trashed.

   I walked over behind the counter thinking maybe they missed a pack of
cigarettes or a couple of cigars.  Yeah, yeah, smoking is bad for your
health.  Maybe it would kill me.  I could only hope.

   It was then that I saw the body.

   Covered in dried blood and bruises.  Clothes torn off, only a ripped
blouse covered her.  Her blond hair now tinted red with dried blood.  I had
a hard time recognizing her.

   It was Susan, Hank's daughter.  I thought she was dead, until I notice a
slight rise and fall of her chest.

   "Susan!" I quickly kneeled beside her in the blood and trash.  She had a
strong carotid pulse.  Prying her eyes open showed that her pupils were
equal, so the possibility of brain damage was slight.

   I ran my hands over her body checking for other injuries.  Yeah, I
noticed that she still had a nice figure.  I'm a man after all.  Susan was
only three years older than myself.  No broken bones that I could tell.

   She was bleeding slowly from her vagina and it did not take a
professional to tell that she had been vaginally and anally raped.
Probably by more than one guy.  Susan had been a strong woman and knew how
to take care of herself.

   "Awwww," Susan moaned as I tried to move her.

   Her eyes opened slowly, not really focusing.  Probably only seeing a
blurred image leaning over her.

   "NOOOOO!!!" she screamed and weakly tried to fight me off.
"NOOOOO!!!!!"

   "Susan," I said gently grabbing her head and forcing her to look at me.
"Susan, it's o.k.  now.  It's over.  It's James.  James.  I'm here.  You're
safe.  Look at me, Susan.  Look at me."

   Her eyes passed over me and looked beyond searching for her attackers.
Finally she seemed to focus on my face.

   "James?" she whispered..

   "Yes.  James.  It's all over.  You're safe.  You're alive.  Hurt, but
alive."

   She passed out.

   Mercifully she stayed that way as I picked her up and loaded her in the
truck.  Taking her to the farm was the only thing I could think of.

   I had just closed the passenger door when I heard footsteps coming from
around the corner of the building.

   "Don't move," a voice said.  "I've got a twelve-gauge on ya.  It'll make
a awful big hole."

   "I'm not moving," I said.

   "Good.  Now turn around.  Slowly."

   I turned.  Slowly.

   A greasy-haired, bearded man stood about twenty feet away at the corner
of the building.  I got the impression that I knew him but the beard and
scrawny, almost wasted look of him confused me.

   "Well.  Well.  Well," he said taking a couple of steps closer.  "If it
ain't the famous doctor.  Come running back home have ya." His eyes were
rummy.  Faced covered with scabs and I could see where his hair had fallen
out in patches.  "Ya late, Doc.  Ain't nobody here needs ya now.  There's
just me and as you can see I'm doing fine and dandy.  Might say I the mayor
now.  Voted myself in.  No opposition.  Mayor Clyde Mason.  And as Mayor
I'm ah gonna take that truck.  And whatever ya got in it.  Town's been
picked clean.  Yes, suh.  Picked clean.  Whatcha got in there anyway?"

   "How are you doing, Clyde?  You don't look so good."

   "I'm alive.  That's more than can be said for everyone else.  I'm still
good enough to blow you away, Boy.  Don't make me and I just might let you
walk outa town." He brought the shotgun up to his shoulder aimed at my
head. "Now!  Whatcha got in there.  Boy!"

   I side stepped back to the rear of the truck.  "Not much.  Some food.
Water.  Some medicines." By this time I had reached the rear and placed my
hand on the tailgate.  "Couple cases of Scotch."

   That made Clyde lick his dry lips.  Clyde did like his alcohol, in any
brand as long as there was plenty of it.  He lowered the shotgun but kept
it pointed at my belly as he stepped closer.

   "Mighty nice of you to bring that here, Doc," Clyde said.  "Yes, Sir.
Might nice.  How much you got?"

   "Couple cases of Scotch.  Dozen cases of beer.  Three cases of Jack
Daniels Whiskey," I answered.  Lying my ass off.  "About all I had room
for. JD is your drink, isn't it, Clyde?  Want to see?"

   Well, now, that's where Clyde forgot where he was.  What's the purpose
of carrying a shotgun if you are going to get in close.  He should have
shot me from twenty feet away instead of getting within arm's reach.

   "Getting pretty low on stock myself," Clyde said as he approached.  The
barrel of the shotgun wandering from me to the truck and back.  "Open it
up. You walk outa here and leave that and everything will be square.  Yes,
Sir.  Open it up."

   Close enough.

   I grabbed the barrel of the shotgun with my left hand, pushing it
skyward as both barrel let go with a deafening roar.  A step forward and
with the heel of my right hand I busted Clyde's nose.  There was the
satisfying feel of bones crunching and a spurt of blood.

   I continued to push the shotgun up and back.  Clyde had to let go or get
his finger broke.  Besides both of his hands went to his busted nose as he
hollered.

   A swift kick, that would have made any NFL field goal kicker proud, to
his balls; and Clyde had a new place to cradle in his hands.  Standing
there clutching the family jewels, blood pouring down his face, and voicing
a shrill whine, Clyde had too many things demanding his attention to spare
any for me.

   Another kick to the inside of his right knee pushed it in a direction it
was never designed to go.  The bone popped and Clyde collapsed.

   I had the Glock out, pointing at his head, ready to pull the trigger.
But I couldn't do it.  I just could not do it.  So I kicked him in the head
to shut him up.

   "Got to get over that," I said to myself.  "Pull the trigger on the
bastards when I get the chance or it could be me who gets shot."

   ...To Be Continued

End Chapter 3
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