We all yelled in terror as hands shoved themselves through the shattered remains of the back window, groping madly. Phil flipped on the interior lights and went for his ankle gun, and I shoved my hand into my pocket, groping for my knife. My hand closed around the handle of my Spyderco Dragonfly, and I pulled it out and flicked it open.
“Get that guy!” Tony shouted, straining away from the grasping hands. I complied. I brought the knife down as hard as I could on the left hand, cutting it to the bone and nearly slicing off the thumb. I immediately noticed two things. First was that the blood that sprayed from the gash was not red; it was black. Second, the cut remained for a second, squirting black fluid . . . and then steadily sealed itself back up.
“Oh, CRAP!” Josh yelled from the middle seat of the back, ducking the still-groping hands. I stared in shock, pressed against the left-side door. There was no trace of the cut I had made.
Phil had his gun out now. He twisted around in his seat, a snubnose revolver in his hands.
“Move!” he bellowed. We complied, and Phil fired several times out the back window. He emptied all five rounds into faintly visible man-like shape in the truck bed. They had absolutely no effect.
“You missed!” I screamed.
“I did not!” Phil hollered back. Everyone was shouting now, it was all we could do to be heard. “I hit him five times!”
“Obviously freaking not!” I yelled, straining to reach my XD. It was pinned against the door. “Seeing as he’s still freaking there!”
I couldn’t reach my gun. I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to the floor to get farther away from the hands. I still couldn’t reach it in the cramped confines of the truck. I was going to have to get out. Dang it.
Right was I was reach for the handle, Ryan made his move. He had pulled his shotgun out of its case and shoved shells into it as fast as he could. He unbuckled his seat belt and swung around, the long barrel of the shotgun barely maneuverable in the truck. I gaped. A shotgun fired in a car?! He’d blow our ears out!
The whatever-it-was in the bed smashed in another panel on the back, nearly missing a petrified Josh. Oh, well, I could always get hearing aids.
“COVER YOUR EARS!” Ryan bellowed. Those of us that could did so, and Ryan fired three rounds of birdshot from his semiautomatic Benelli. The noise was deafening, but apparently it had some effect. The creature was knocked back a pace, and gave an inhuman scream of rage.
“Again, again!” Tony screamed, firing his Kimber CDP out the window, “For Pete’s sake, shoot it again!”
Ryan emptied his gun into the creature, and it slammed into the tailgate. Phil saw this and stomped on the gas. The truck took off, the black-blooded man toppling out of the bed. Almost before it had hit the ground, Phil threw the truck into reverse.
“What are you doing?!” I shrieked, by now nearly wetting myself. I soon saw. Two sickening bumps later, Phil had run over the creature, nearly 6,000 pounds of metal crushing it into the asphalt. Phil zoomed in reverse for another ten yards, then shifted into drive again and repeated the process, squishing the monster even flatter. He then spun a tight U-turn and stopped, the headlights illuminating the misshapen lump about fifteen feet ahead of us in the road.
We were all frozen for a moment, and then Ryan, tough former cop that he was, tersely said, “Reload.”
I hopped backwards out of the car, and, keeping a wary eye on the seemingly dead monster, managed to pull my XD with shaking hands and pointed it at the creature. Tony and Josh scrambled out after me, Tony with his reloaded CDP and Josh with his Glock 19. Phil climbed out ahead of us, his revolver reloaded with his final five rounds of .38 and trained on the monster. Ryan got out of the truck on the other side, reloading his shotgun as he went, also pointing it nervously at our adversary.
There was a brief pause as we gathered in front of the truck, no one sure what to do next. Phil made the first move.
“Roll over on your stomach,” he shouted, “Roll over!”
Nothing happened. “I think he’s dead, bro,” Tony said shakily.
I agreed. “We ran over it four times and shot it at least ten. It’s gotta be.”
“If you say so,” Josh said slowly, “Fine. Let’s go check it out. If it moves, I say we blow it to pieces.”
We moved slowly toward the downed man, Ryan in the lead with the shotgun and the rest of us spread out behind him, all pointing our weapons at the crushed man.