Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

decided to do it ten feet farther in - he probably would have peed right on Peter’s head.
    I could hear the slight sounds of a struggle going on under the tarp and then very muted sounds of Peter shushing the dog.   I hoped like crazy that he had his hand over that dog’s muzzle or he was going to give us all away.
    I heard a zipper go up and then the sounds of footsteps headed away.   The guy was leaving and I was just getting ready to breathe a sigh of relief when Buster let out a bark that was unmistakeable.
    “Eh?” said the drunken voice.  
    I heard his footsteps slow, stop, and then start moving in our direction again.
    Buster barked a second time.
    Dammit, Peter, shut that dog up! I yelled in my mind.   But I couldn’t do anything except wait until the guy got closer.
    “Oh, peeerrroo, ven aqui, peeerrrooo,” he slurred and then laughed.   He hiccuped once and then burped loudly and disgustingly.  
    I prayed he didn’t have a gun.   A drunk guy with a knife I could handle.   One with a gun … ?   Not as easily.
    He got close enough that I could see him now.   He was fat - a lot bigger than me.   It pissed me off that he was overweight in times like these.   It meant he was eating people who weren’t fast enough to get away from him and his friends.   A lot of them.   Any feelings of mercy I might have had left my heart and my head in that moment, and all I could think about was stopping the madness that this idiot represented.
    He was just about to reach the spot where Peter and the now struggling Buster were, when I separated myself from the tree and stood just three feet away from him.   From here I could both strike and evade.   I was in perfect position.   I could hear my dad’s voice in my head.   “Read the body language.   Find his vulnerabilities and exploit them.   Speed.   Finesse.   Conserve your energy.   Strike fast and strike hard.”
    “Qué … ?” he said, struggling backwards two steps.   “Dios mío,” he huffed out, putting his hand on his heart.   “Oi, mi corozón.”
    I took two steps forward, maintaining the distance between us.
    “You need to leave, canner,” I said.
    “You speak … English,” he said.
    “Of course I speak English, asshole, this is the United States.”
    “Not anymore it’s not,” he said lazily.   He took a step towards me.   “We haven’t seen any girls in a while.   No new ones anyway,” he said, laughing at something he found amusing - something I’m sure I didn’t want to know the details of.   “You’re comin’ with me,” he said, taking another step towards me and reaching his hand out as if to take my elbow.
    I easily side-stepped him. “No, actually, I’m not.   I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”   He needed to be immobilized, one way or another.   We couldn’t travel while they were still out, and I couldn’t let him go back to tell his friends where we were.   I was counting on the fact that their loyalty to this guy was as weak as the last canner gang’s was to their fallen comrade.   If he never came back they wouldn’t bother looking for him - except maybe to come eat him later.
    “You think you can take me down?” he said incredulously.   “Go ahead, white girl, take your bes’ shot.”
    I decided that a surprise attack was my best bet.   I looked off in the distance, putting my fingernail to my mouth, pretending to bite it, as if I were scared and contemplating giving up - and then I jumped at him, slamming him in the nose and shattering the bone with the heel of my hand.   Blood spurted out everywhere and he stumbled back, yelling.   I cut the sound off by coming after him and sending a roundhouse kick into his temple, knocking him down to his side and stunning him temporarily.  
    His head was so damn fat that my roundhouse didn’t send him as far into never-never land as I had intended.   I ran over and kicked him hard in the face with the toe of my shoe, snapping his head back - and yet, still, he was moving.   I knew his next move was going to be to scream for his friends, so I leaned in and punched him hard in the jaw, bringing the power from my back and shoulder into the movement, knowing I was going to pay for it later with bruised knuckles.   I should have used the heel of my hand, but I just wasn’t sure I could get enough force that way.
    That small bit of concentration loss on my part was all he needed.   He grabbed my ankle and pulled me