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>Sam lets out a panicked squeak as he wrings his hands on the handle of the bat
>He swipes it to the right in a quick panicked motion…
>… catching his dad on the wrists with a louder-than-you-could-believe KA-THUNK
>Your jaw unhinges as you see Sam, his eyes glued shut, his face twisted up in panic, waving the bat from side-to-side like an over-sized fan
>And his dad — with a look of shock plastered across his aged face — looks down at his knuckles, which throb with pain
>You shake the scene from your mind and focus back on the situation at-hand, or, at bat
>There’ll be time to digest Sam’s random act of bravery later
>Now is the time to run
“SAM!” you shout, grabbing him by the ears
>You tug hard, causing the bunny to stumble backwards
>Towards the window
>The bunny gets the message
>In half a second, Sam has already crawled out the open window, his poofy tail disappearing over the ledge as he drops down into the dead grass below
>He’s safe
>And that’s all that matters-
>-And then Sam says something you wish — for the rest of your life — he wouldn’t have said
“A-A-A-Anon! H-Hurry!”
>Your heart punches at your ribcage like a pneumatic drill
>You can see the look of realization on Sam’s dad’s face
>It begins as stunned shock, but swiftly twists into uncompromising rage
>“Lied about your name, did you?” Sam’s dad’s face twists into a horrible smile. His yellowed teeth are tremblind in rage. “But you know what? You fucked up. Because now I know your stupid ass name!”
“Sammmmm!” you call out behind you. “Go find Comrade Alexi!” you try to remain calm and take a small step backwards, towards the window
>He laughs. Real, painful, rib-sucking, hateful laughter
>”Look at this… pinko thinks he’s going to get away with breaking into my home…” he takes a step forward
>”Kidnapping my son…” another step
>”Trying to assault me…” another step
“Assault you?! I haven’t even so much as touched you!” you cry in defiance
>You might as well be talking to a wall
>“I never wanted to kill a man like I want to kill you, man!”
>The words explode from his mouth in a spray of spittle and whiskey heat, a fiery wind in your direction
>With that, he lunges forward, his powerful legs exploding forward underneath him
>He covers the distance fast, even for his inebriated stumble
>… Which you suspect is the only reason you’re able to jump back in time
>Your hands grope behind you, finding the windowsill
>Your brush up against the hard surface of the only way out of this room that isn’t through a drunk bunny
>You don’t look
>You throw your weight behind you, tumbling headfirst and backwards out the window
>Your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you-
>But you never feel the ground
>Instead, you feel a bone-crushing vise around your ankles
>You cry out in pain and look up to see a furry hand clutching your ankle, Sam’s dad leaning halfway out the window himself, straining with his drunken muscles to hold on to you
>“Get back here, you gutless fucking coward!” he grunts
>His other hand shoots around your ankle, and you can feel his unkempt nails biting into your skin
>“You fucking window-jumping little bitch-“
>Your other foot seems to have something to say to that brief statement
>Without your mind’s consent, you stamp the heel of your sneakers into the rabbit’s face…
>…and you drop like a stone into the dirt and dry grass
>You land on your back with a loud KA-THUMP,
>When your eyes open back up, you’re staring up at Sam’s dad as he stares in disbelief down at you
>His shape disappears as he bolts for the front door
>Sam is still in her yard, gawking at the spectacle of you kicking his dad in the face
>The only thing you can think of is escape
>You’re on your feet in the space between heartbeats
>But Sam won’t move
>His whole body seems to lock up, like rusted gears spun up too fast
>Useless rabbit-loaf!
>You grab his tender wrists, squeeze hard, and break into what amounts your version of a sprint
>Sam tails behind you, legs stumbling and struggling to gain footing
>He wraps the bat in his hoodie and presses them against his chest
“ALEXI!” you scream, throat scalded and hoarse
“ALEXI GET TO THE CAR!”
>You look behind you and catch Alex in a dead sprint, his powerful legs pumping, arms wheeling as his lanky body brings itself closer to you with each stride
>And behind him
>A pair of crooked, chestnut brown rabbit ears, trailing in the wind, the sound of rabbit-feet pounding into the loose Earth
>A train whistle blows somewhere
>The rustbucket is so close, you can see i
>Sam finally finds his footing, and soon you’re no longer dragging him, attached only by your solid grip on his soft, fuzzy wrists
>The contrast is something to marvel at, but now is not the time
>But you can’t afford to carry his weight right now
>You let go of Sam and break for the door, keys in hand
>It feels like it takes forever for the lock to turn over, but when it does, you throw yourself into the seat, jam the keys into the ignition, and twist like your life depends on it
>Sam is next
>You grab him by his t-shirt and tug hard
>He slams painfully against the open door, but gets the hint
>Your body clearly understands nothing but survival
>You pull the little rabbit on top of you and shift into reverse, the bunny’s weight against your legs, his feet blocking your view of Alex
>Alex, GOD DAMNIT!
>Alex is in a dead sprint, but Sam’s dad is hot on his heels, arms reaching for Alex’s collar
>“ANON!” he screams
>“DRIVE!”
>Sam is still trying to sit up
>Your hands fly onto the wheel, but your foot hovers over the pedal
>You can’t just leave him, can you?
>The gap between Alex, Sam’s dad and the car becomes even smaller, and the voice in your head tells you to book and burn rubber
>Sam throws his bat and hoodie into the back, his legs now jutting out the door
>You need to move
>Your feet press down on the accelerator
>YOU NEED TO MOVE!
“ALEX!” you cry
>But you don’t need to say anything else
>Because he does exactly what you’d expect
>Alex bounds forward, and with a tremendous leap, he throws himself on top of your car…
>… right as a pair of angry hands snaps at the space where he used to be
>That’s all the excuse you ne-
>Sam’s dad smashes into the hood of your car, his mighty stomp crumpling the metal where he lands
>FUCKING RABBITS! GOD DAMNIT!
>That’s a $1,000 repair job!
>You stomp down on the accelerator
>Your car peels off, but the rabbit remains attached to your hood, holding on to the open door frame—
>Reaching for Sam
>Sam screams and grabs onto your leg as his father tries to pull him from your moving car
>Jesus fucking Christ!
>Sam’s father is clearly not intimidated when you hit 25 miles-per-hour
>In fact, his face only grows more strained — excited even
>His eyes split wide even as his floppy ears trail behind him like streamers
>You can feel Sam slipping from your lap
>You anchor him by grabbing his wrist, being sure to keep one hand on the wheel
>Alex, who is still on the roof, flattens himself against the top hood, fingers dug in to the rails where your top rack storage would go
>He’s fairly secure… you hope
>Sam, however, is already halfway out the door, and no matter how fast you go, Sam’s dad only seems to get closer to raking his son off your lap and onto the street
>Unless
>You recall driving across town
>How the rustbucket is so top heavy
>You grit your teeth
>Summon a deep breath from the well of courage within you
>You block out Sam’s screams…
>…and crank the wheel right, as hard as it’ll go
>Your car squeals in protest, its rubber wheels screeching as you throw the ol’ girl into a tight spin
>Sam’s dad goes tumbling off the car’s hood and onto the raw pavement
>You slam on the breaks, and Alex rolls forward onto the hood of the car as well with a loud metal THUNK
>He recovers quickly and dives in to the back seat, shouting something about your ass and how he’s going to kick it
>But you can’t take your eyes off Sam’s dad
>He’s motionless in the road, his body splayed out like a discarded doll
>Oh God
>Oh God
>He’s dead…
>Sam squirms in your lap, lifting his head from where he’d buried it in your leg
>“I-I-I-Is he gone?” he stammers
>You don’ know what to say
>‘Yeah dude I just killed your fucking dad’ might suffice
>How do you even broach this? Do you need to call the polic-
>Wait
>No
>You see his body start to move, slow and dazed from the impact
>With a great effort, he sits up on both palms
>Smeared with blood and gravel, his face is set in a hard line; all sharp angles carved out of his fine, thin bones
>There’s no shock there. No pain
>He levels his gaze towards the front of your car, squinting from the blood that trickles into his eyes
>His amber eyes lock with yours
>And suddenly you’re a little kid again; weak; afraid; scared
>But not alone
>Calmly you bend Sam’s legs off of you so you can reach the pedal
>You turn the car around, breaking his dad’s steady gaze
>That invisible conversation you’ve had for what felt like hours
>All the language you can make out of looks
>In the rearview mirror you can see Sam’s dad stand up on two unsteady feet, glaring down the dark street at you, his eyes flashing in your rear lights like angry candles
>Sam sits up and looks behind the headrest, fingers anxiously dug in to the old and shitty fabric…
>… And shakes when he sees his dad is up on his feet
>You calmly press down on the accelerator and point the car deeper into town
>You have a long road ahead out of the slums
>No turns
>In the distance, a train rolls on
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall