This is an installment to a series of SIXES that I had abandoned for awhile. Below are links to the previous chapters, in order, if you wish to catch up. If not, I’ve tried to offer minor re-cap clues to make this one somewhat stand alone. Thanks!
PROMPT WORD: GRIP
Mig set Abria down as the three travelers entered the quaint little village that was yet to fully awaken to a sweltering summer sun.
The boys’ legs were agonizingly stiff from the, less than level, trail they’d traversed but their bellies cried louder than any aching muscle could.
Miguel Cabello was nearly eighteen and had lived on his own since he was nine, so what hadn’t been able to kill him had surely made him stronger, and his purple wristband was just enough to fend off cartel assaults, therefore he was chosen to find dumpsters, or -better yet- carelessly unsecured stashes of food.
Recently turned thirteen year old, Ernesto, sat in the shadows, with one arm around his frail little sister, and prayed for Mig’s safety and success while slipping easily into a long overdue sleep.
Suddenly, he was jerked upright by someone with a powerful grip and found himself face to face with the still “very much alive” Butch, whom he thought he had murdered-weeks before-when Ernesto had fended him off of Abria with an axe!
Abria squealed in terror as Ernesto dangled- as helplessly as Butch’s mangled left arm rendered useless since Ernesto’s axe attack- inhaling the stench of rotten teeth, whiskey, and pure evil, when a gunshot rang out and Butch, dropped like a rock, falling dead at the paralyzed boy’s feet.