The Big Enchilada

close to passing out or to having my ribs snap completely and pierce my lungs. I summoned my last remaining strength and spread my arms wide. With all my force I brought an open hand down on each of his ears. He bellowed like a wounded buffalo and released me. I fell to the floor and would have liked to lie there for about a year, but I forced myself to scramble away from him. From the way he clutched at his ears and rolled his head, I knew I had succeeded in bursting his eardrums.
    I tried to suck in air, but every breath felt like I was taking in fire. My vision was badly blurred and I was seeing double or triple. My whole body was weak and trembling and I was unable to stand up.
    Mountain tilted back his head and roared, a cry of pain and rage. He started advancing toward me. I pulled at my pant leg, trying to clear my gun. My fingers would hardly do my bidding. Mountain approached. I got the gun exposed, but I couldn’t get the tape free. He was almost upon me when I finally tore it off my shin. He aimed a kick at the gun, but I managed to half fall, half roll away in time. He was a step away from me. I still couldn’t see clearly and my hand was shaking so badly I could hardly hold the gun, but I pointed it in his direction and pulled the trigger. The loudness of the explosion and the strong recoil caused the gun to fly from my hand.
    I had been trying to hit him in the body but only succeeded in catching his upper arm. The soft bullet hit him. The head opened like a flower. It tore through muscle and cartilage and bone, continually expanding as it traveled. The bullet completely severed the arm above the elbow, and the torn limb was thrown five feet before it hit the floor, still twitching spasmodically like a giant worm.
    Mountain looked down, saw the blood streaming out of the wound, saw the shreds of muscle hanging loosely, saw the ragged edge of bone protruding. He didn’t scream in pain. He didn’t collapse on the floor. He didn’t even slow down. The unnatural son of a bitch just grunted as if to say “So that’s that,” and continued toward me.
    I tried to scramble for the gun, but he got to me before I got to it. He bent down and grabbed me around the throat with his remaining hand. The fingers closed below my jaw like a vise. With no more effort than if I had been a rag doll, he picked me up. Blood was still pouring from the stump of his arm, but he lifted me off my feet, straightened his arm, and raised me above the level of his head. I didn’t know how long he could hold me there before he was weakened by loss of blood, but I knew I didn’t have much longer to go before I was choked to death. I was seeing things through a red haze that was quickly turning to black. My windpipe felt like it was about to collapse.
    I made a sudden thrust and jammed my thumbs into the corner of each of his tiny pig eyes. He started to growl. I would have as well, but I couldn’t make a sound. He increased the pressure on my throat and jaw. I continued to press as hard as I could on his eyes, even as I was about to pass out. Finally I felt something give beneath my fingers. Warm blood ran over my thumbs and down my wrists. He screamed, and I was dropped to the floor.
    He rubbed his one hand over his eyes, smearing blood across his face. He tried to clear his vision, but there was nothing there to clear. One eye was closed tight in pain. The other was only a bright red socket.
    He turned his head from side to side, trying to locate me.
    He roared once again and ran in the direction he thought I was. His aim was pretty good, but I managed to pull myself to one side. As he stepped over me, I stuck a leg up, tripping him. He staggered forward, flailing his arms, trying to regain his balance. His great weight and his momentum carried him forward until he hit the glass wall of the terrarium. The glass was thick, but not thick enough to withstand the force of 500 pounds of madman. Mountain gurgled in panic as the glass broke, cutting him deeply in his thick neck, and he fell into the snake pit. There were lightning flashes of moving color, black and green and striped. The snakes struck repeatedly at the intruder who had shattered their peace. Mountain made several convulsive movements and then lay still. Domingo looked on, unmoving, an expression of mild curiosity on his face.
    I crawled over, picked up the gun, and struggled to my feet. Using both hands, I pointed it at him. We stood like that for several minutes.