29.
The fire had gone out, and though the air was breathable again, visibility was still low. Just as the gears started turning in my head, racing to the idea of climbing out the shattered window, the driver turned to me sternly and said, "Stay here." He cast the door open and slammed it shut behind him, and through the smoke I could just make out his silhouette approaching another. "Well hello there, stranger," I heard him say a second later. "I've got some official news for you from down below."
The voice that responded was all too familiar, and immediately the shadow of the "stranger" resolved itself to Grod, standing in his usual bathrobe but this time with a pair of cheap-looking house slippers on his feet. The shotgun dangled from one of his hands.
"Who the hell are you?" Grod didn't sound as much angry as confused, like he'd been expecting someone else. He grabbed the driver by the shirt and picked him up. "Listen, dick, whoever you are, I don't have time to stand here listening to your bullshit, so I'm sending you home. Tell the Dark Lord I said hi." He lifted the shotgun and jabbed the man in the head with the end of its barrel.
"But -- the news --" the man stammered, his voice sounding strained.
KABAM!
The top half of the man's head evaporated into a red haze and Grod dropped his body to the ground. He gazed inquisitively down at it for a moment before addressing me. "Let's get out of here, Paul," he said simply.
I crawled out the window, which turned out to be easier than expected, brushed myself off, and walked around the car to meet Grod. "What the fuck just happened?" I asked in a soft voice.
"Well," Grod said as he pulled a cigar out of his bathrobe, "I just blew that guy's fucking head up all over the place." He lit his cigar. "You smoke cigars?"
"Not Really," I said truthfully. Grod reached into his bathrobe and threw me one.
I walked over to Grod and accepted a lighter from him. The rain had cleared, and the cloud of smoke rising up from the burning car disappeared into perfectly blue sky above. I lit the cigar, and Grod and I puffed out smaller clouds of smoke for a few minutes.
"So how..." I began tentatively.
"Don't worry about it," Grod said, waving his cigar dismissively. I realized that really, it wasn't that important after all.
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The voice that responded was all too familiar, and immediately the shadow of the "stranger" resolved itself to Grod, standing in his usual bathrobe but this time with a pair of cheap-looking house slippers on his feet. The shotgun dangled from one of his hands.
"Who the hell are you?" Grod didn't sound as much angry as confused, like he'd been expecting someone else. He grabbed the driver by the shirt and picked him up. "Listen, dick, whoever you are, I don't have time to stand here listening to your bullshit, so I'm sending you home. Tell the Dark Lord I said hi." He lifted the shotgun and jabbed the man in the head with the end of its barrel.
"But -- the news --" the man stammered, his voice sounding strained.
KABAM!
The top half of the man's head evaporated into a red haze and Grod dropped his body to the ground. He gazed inquisitively down at it for a moment before addressing me. "Let's get out of here, Paul," he said simply.
I crawled out the window, which turned out to be easier than expected, brushed myself off, and walked around the car to meet Grod. "What the fuck just happened?" I asked in a soft voice.
"Well," Grod said as he pulled a cigar out of his bathrobe, "I just blew that guy's fucking head up all over the place." He lit his cigar. "You smoke cigars?"
"Not Really," I said truthfully. Grod reached into his bathrobe and threw me one.
I walked over to Grod and accepted a lighter from him. The rain had cleared, and the cloud of smoke rising up from the burning car disappeared into perfectly blue sky above. I lit the cigar, and Grod and I puffed out smaller clouds of smoke for a few minutes.
"So how..." I began tentatively.
"Don't worry about it," Grod said, waving his cigar dismissively. I realized that really, it wasn't that important after all.
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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