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Big Game
Out in the hallway, there was a tremendous crash. As quickly as they had arrived, his attackers plunged through the door to investigate. As the white-hot pain temporarily eased, Jack’s head lolled to the right, and he eyed the shotgun just within reach.
“Hunting elephants?” the outfitter had asked when he was buying this particular piece of equipment.
“Something like that,” had been his response. If his torn and bleeding face could have smiled, he would have. Elephants would have been quite a lot safer, he thought to himself.
He assessed his situation. He’d knew he’d never again stand on his own two feet to face down his shadowy assailants. There were two shells left in the shotgun – slug shells, for hunting big game. He reached out his right hand, grabbed the butt of the shotgun, and pulled it in towards himself. Then, laboriously lifting it across his body, he loaded a shell into the chamber.
From the hallway, he heard more crashing and screaming. He had to distract them. No, he had to attract them. Give the others time to escape. He squeezed the trigger, and the tiny room shook with the blast. The crashing stopped, and Jack knew that he wouldn’t have much time.
He chambered his final round. As the creature peered into the room, Jack slowly lifted the muzzle of the weapon. It spotted him. He fired, and the wicked bird-like figure slumped to the floor. Who on earth would want to clone velociraptors? he thought. One down, four to… Then the second raptor leaped into the room. Darkness.
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