“The little fuckers,” Iexclaimed.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice rattling withalarm.
“They’re attacking.Paintballguns.”
“They’re hitting my car with paint?” Emma fumed, forgetting her moment of fear. “The littlefuckers!”
“If it makes you feel any better, the paint is probablybiodegradable.”
“No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t make me feel anybetter.”
We blinked in the scene unfolding before us. At least a dozen toy soldiers, faces streaked in black war paint, surrounded our car. Even four-year-old Posy had apparently gone through basic training and was now pointing a paint gun atmyhead.
A giggle escaped Emma’s mouth. “Is thisforreal?”
“Oh, it’s real. Don’t underestimate them. They may be pocket-sized, but I’m warning you now, they’re a highlyorganizedunit.”
A squeaky, prepubescent voice cut through the confines of the car. “We only want Indy. Send him out and no one else has togethurt.”
Simon. My eyes narrowed in on my diminutive adversary. I should have known he’d be the ringleader. Simon – the kid who’d figured out at three years old that if he ran away from home, the police would give him an ice cream cone for his efforts. So as if he were Pavlov’s dog, Simon regularly climbed the fence and hoofed it to the police station every time he had a sweet tooth. It wasn’t until the authorities threatened to remove him from the home that the behavior ended. Yeah, Simon was a formidable opponent, but he didn’t scare me. I knew how to handle little shits like that, because I was once exactlylikehim.
“Let me out,” Iinsisted.
Emma, picking up on the ridiculousness of the situation, played along with the charade by dramatically grabbing my arm. “No, Finn. It’s not safe outthere.”
“You heard them. They’ll let you live if I sacrificemyself.”
Emma choked out a laugh. “In that case, get the hell out ofmycar.”
I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before opening the door and climbing out in a display of thunderous pride. I embodied the bravest of heroes. After so many onscreen deaths, today, in this crackpot movie, I would be the hero wholived.
Click. I whipped my head around. What in the fresh hell? Had my heroine, the woman I was defending with my life, locked me out of thedamncar?
“Really?”
She shrugged, the smile wide acrossherface.
All righty then. I knew where I’d stand in an actual emergency. Taking inventory of the situation, I counted at least thirteen hostiles. Who had given these delinquents paint guns in the first place? This seemed the worst possible toy to give a bunch of destructively bored kids. I surveyed the group. Most were wearing bike helmets for protection, but one had chosen to accessorize with a Darth Vader mask. That threw me off a little, but I got my head back in the game when they surrounded me, weapons at the ready. I even spotted one soldier doing a low crawl through the bushes... Emma’s phantomstalker.
“Handsup!”
“Guys, remember what I told you the other day about my bruised ribs? I can’t play with you today, but once I’m feeling better, it’sgameon.”
“I said HANDS UP!” Simon demanded, his face twisting in a grimace. I glared at my pint-size foe and startled as he leveled the firearm.Littlejerk.
“Simon, I swear to god, if you shoot me, I’m going to kill you. Put thegundown.”
“Time’s up,” he announced. I heard the pop and then pain rippled through my lower regions. It was a point blank shot and it hurt like hell. Shocked, I dropped my eyes and found a big green splotch on my jeans just north of my crotch. The shrimp had probably been aiming for my head, but that was as high as he could see. I lunged for him, but the kid shot me in the legs. It was like getting into a gunfight with a militarizedtroll.
“Light him up, boys,” Simon yelled, even going so far as to raise his arm in a rallying cry. Darth Vader didn’t have to be told twice; he opened fire. The othersfollowedsuit.
“Not the ribs,” I yelled, trying my best to protect them while frantically attempting to shield my sensitive balls from harm. My dick, the victim of a direct hit, forced a high-pitched scream from my lips. Laughter rang out, and I glanced at Emma, all safely locked inside her sanctuary, only to find her bent over the steering wheel, giggling uncontrollably as she wiped tears from her eyes. I would have appreciated more support, but then these devil’s spawn were my flesh and blood, and it really was up to me to put them in their place. Or run. Yes, running seemed the better option. I took off in the direction of thehouse.
“He’s retreating, soldiers,” Simon yelled. “Gethim!”
“Stand down!” I screamed, still running in a panic. Then I realized that these types of rebels needed visual cues, so I started flailing my arms in the air, offering mysurrender.
For whatever reason, these kids had never heard of amnesty, and they kept advancing. I was all colors of the rainbow by the time I reached the hose on the side of the house. The little shits didn’t see the wall of water coming, and I hosed down the entire front line, even knocking a few of them onto their itty bittyrumps.
