|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hanson gave himself a small running start, and punted Toby's face. He hoped he might send the head soaring like a football. In spite of his power and follow-through, however, all he managed was to slam the man's back against the ground. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
As Hanson's right leg reached the height of its kick, his left foot slipped on the wet grass. He flapped his arms, gasped, and flopped on his back beside Toby. Jarred by the fall, he lay motionless for a while. The rain felt very good. This was like sprawling out in his bathtub with the shower on, but this was better. He holstered his weapon, then spread out his arms and legs. Moaning, he squirmed with pleasure. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
As his head turned, he saw Toby's body close beside him. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wow, he thought. Sure wasted that son-of-a-bitch. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He laughed. Feeling the rain in his mouth, he opened up wide and stretched out his tongue. The rain felt thicker than water. It tasted, he thought, a little bit like blood. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Just a little bit. A mild coppery flavor. Very subtle. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It made him long to fill his mouth with the real thing. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hanson rolled over, pushed himself up, and crawled. He stretched out, belly down. Elbows against the soft, wet grass, he grabbed Toby by the ears. He lifted the man's head. He clamped his mouth to the bullet wound and sucked. |
|
|
|
|
|