When you get hit in the face with 3,000 degrees of heat at that range, bad things happen. Your eyeballs melt instantly and your nose is charred down to cartilage. Your lips are burned off and your tongue looks like a bratwurst left on the grill too long. The flame travels down your throat searing your lungs. You flop on the ground making strangled gagging noises in extreme pain, I imagine, until you die.
Not that I cared, but I dragged him out of the shed because his clothes were on fire. I looked at the misshapen lump on top of his shoulders and remembered the sneer on his face as he was going to attack me. him. He probably got what he deserved and I wondered how many other husbands had experienced pain at his hand. My adrenaline was still pumping and now I was angry. Very angry.
I picked up the blaster and the pistol checking the magazine. Three bullets left. Then it occurred to me he would not travel without a reload and found two magazines in his belt. I slammed a full one in racking the slide as I walked towards the house. I didn't have a plan, but as I went by the little sports car, I had an idea.
One long spray with the blaster had it on fire. Even the tires were burning. I waited by the door, waiting for them to notice. 3 Minutes later, there were shouts and screams, and his other goon opened the door and was immediately shot in the face twice before he fell, deader than my marriage. I shoved the pistol in my belt and walked into the dining room.
Angie must have embraced a nudist lifestyle because she was still naked, as was. He had a small automatic in his hand, but before he could bring it to bear, I gave him a shot with the blaster, right in the groin. He was incinerated from the top of his thighs to the bottom of his stomach. I'd never heard anyone scream that loud, and he twirled around looking for I have no idea. He still had hold of the pistol and was emptying the magazine randomly.
Two rounds managed to find Angie. One to the head, the other to her crotch. She was dead before she hit the ground. This wasn't what I had in mind at all, but I didn't have time to deal with it. Instead, I focused on the.
He still held the pistol more from instinct than anything else, but it was empty. The last thing he saw in this world was the bloom of fire as I gave him a 3-second blast to the face. It took him about 5 minutes to die. Exhausted, I started to sit down when I realized the house was on fire. It seemed I hit the curtains and they went up in flames.
My old house had interior boards made of heart pine that I had sanded down and stained. My insurance agent told me it added $5,000 in value, but that wasn't the point. The stained wood caught fire pretty quickly. I realized this could solve a lot of my problems, and I ran out past the burning car, through the dead guy in a wheelbarrow, and rolled him up to the door, tilting it and dumping him beside his partner. I ran back to the shed, shut the door, jumped in my truck, and drove away slowly, going out the same way I came in.