Jerrold found that he could smile.

“Yup.”

Mason nodded. And sprang into motion so quickly that Jerrold was caught entirely off guard. Mason nailed him with the shovel before he could even think about using the gun. He suddenly found himself sitting on the ground. The gun was gone. And Mason was standing over him, levelling another blow. He tried to throw himself out of the way and caught most of the blow on his shoulder.

The pain that followed was instantaneous and unlike anything he’d ever known. Mason had nailed him with the edge of the shovel, and something in his right shoulder was broken; perhaps he had been cut, right through into the bone.

In desperation, he charged, then shifted at the last second, sliding to the ground and kicking upwards. Mason made an agonized grunt as Jerrold’s knee slammed into his crotch, and he went down to his knees, fighting to get up, to straighten up.

Jerrold wasted no time. Time itself seemed to turn to quicksand... things moving in slow-motion... as he found the gun, picked it up, pointed it... and fired.

Mason put up his hand reflexively. The bullet slammed into the middle of his palm, smashing bone, muscle, and tendon, and caught him in the chest.




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