Free In Constant Fear by Peter Liney

than I thought,” he purred, moving toward her.
    “Leave her alone,” I told him.
    He turned toward me, a look of irritation on his face, as if I was of about as much consequence as a single fly at a barbecue. “Shut up, old man,” he said.
    “Leave her.”
    “Why? . . . ’Cuz you can’t manage it anymore you don’t want me to either? Tell you what, you can watch,” he said, taunting me by sliding the zipper on his pants up and down.
    I took a step toward him but he swung the rifle up and pointed it directly at my chest. “Ya know something, I really can’t see the point of you.”
    “Just leave her alone,” I persisted.
    He almost burst into laughter, as if he couldn’t believe I’d have the nerve, then braced the muzzle of his rifle hard up against me, so all it would take would be the lightest of touches. His smile grew with the slow tightening of his trigger finger, the expression he could see on my face, the fact that I was about to be blown all over the wall behind me.
    I knew exactly how far that trigger needed to travel, that one more barely perceptible movement would end my life, but ya know something . . . ? It never happened.
    Suddenly he got this look about him as if somewhere deep inside he’d just been dealt the most resounding blow. His body somehow contorted and twisted and he fell to his knees, his eyes gaping wider and wider, becoming colored and clouded, and then— Jesus, what the hell? —steam started coming out of them! His eyes were evaporating , the liquid inside boiling, and sure enough, they began to dry and crack, to smoke and finally burst into flame.
    He gave the worst possible scream you could imagine, and you know what? . . . As his mouth gaped wide open, I could see down his throat—there were flames in there, too.
    For some reason his companion blamed me, as if he thought I’d used some kinda invisible weapon on him. He came at me with his ax, swinging that big, shiny blade back and forth, intent on chopping me into pieces—but then he suddenly froze too, giving out with a cry of agony as the same thing happened to him: his eyeballs swelling and steaming, his entire body starting to smolder and burn.
    I thought about trying to douse their flames, throwing water over them as they screamed and rolled on the ground—as much ’cuz I couldn’t bear what I was seeing and hearing as any other reason—but it was too late, already they were starting to shrivel up like bacon in a pan.
    At that moment, and thank God I did, I saw we had to get out of there, that the fire was spreading from the two guys and over toward the gasoline store. I tipped over the nearest drum and Gigi and me rolled it outta the door as fast as we could.
    The limo was parked some distance from the barn and we didn’t quite make it before there was this almighty kerrumph! and a rushing wave of hot air scorched the back of my neck as flames, metal and timber flew all around, and Gigi and me threw ourselves down behind our vehicle.
    We had to wait there for the fire to die down, ’til I thought it was safe, then we rolled the drum back around to the other side of the limo, where the filler cap was. Jeez, those flames must’ve been quite something: there were blisters all along the paintwork of the limo like the body of some scaly reptile.
    I managed to pour some gas in, but the drum was so unwieldy, and without a funnel, a helluva lot of it was ending up on the ground and starting to run in the direction of the barn. I had to continue pouring, all the while keeping an eye on that building trail of gas, ’til eventually I knew we had to get out of there, and pretty damn quick.
    Wouldn’t you know it? For the first time ever, that engine didn’t start right away. Gigi screamed, her hand going to the door-button, but I pressed start once more and thankfully, this time the engine hummed into life and I stamped on the gas and swept outta that place with the flames chasing after us.
    There was