"Let me talk to him."

Troll tore off the tape again. One more time, and I was sure the tape would take my lips with it. Goblin held the walkie-talkie to my mouth. I shook my head and refused to speak.

"Say something," Goblin demanded.

I remained silent.

Goblin shrugged, and then kicked me in the leg. I couldn't help but let out a grunt of pain.

"Did that sound like him?" Goblin asked into the walkie-talkie.

"Helen, stay away from here," I said. "They'll kill you. Are the kids okay?"

"Yes, we're still together."

"Don't come anywhere near the store. It's a trap. Get Kyle and Theresa to safety."

"Well, of course it's a trap," Goblin said. "The point was to see if true love would get her to risk her life to save yours. Tell me, Witch, has it been five minutes yet?"

"No, but we can cheat."

"Well, we don't want to cheat. That wouldn't be fair. Instead let's tweak the rules and say the clock started at the beginning of this conversation. Troll, find a pair of wire cutters."

"Don't worry about that, I've got my knife."

Goblin shook his head. "It'll be easier with the wire cutters."

"Why make it easy?"

"Because you won't be cutting off his finger." Goblin looked me in the eye. "He'll be doing it to himself."

"Oooooh, kinky," said Troll, laughing as he walked to the far aisle.

"If you get blood on any tools, you're paying for them," Charlie said. "I mean it."

"Helen, don't come here, no matter what," I said. "Let me talk to the kids!"

"Aw, this is so touching," said Goblin.

"Daddy…?" said Theresa, hesitantly.

"Yes, Theresa, it's Daddy. I love you, sweetheart."

On the other end I heard Theresa burst into tears.

"This is gonna make me sick," said Witch.

"You're right, enough of this sappy crap. Troll, are you going to get those wire cutters or do I have to gnaw his finger off myself?"

"Right here," said Troll, emerging from the aisle, waving a pair of wire cutters still in the package. "Nice and new."

"Who said you could open new merchandise?" Charlie demanded. "This is my store! You people don't get to just help yourselves to whatever you want!"

"Give it a rest, Charlie," said Goblin. "I mean it."

"Hey, we're in my store, and nobody tells me to-"

"Now!"

Troll glanced at the back of the package. "Oh, wait, it says here 'Not For Use On Human Fingers.' Doesn't say anything about toes, though."

Goblin snatched the wire cutters out of his hand. "Grow up. Get his hands free." While Troll used his knife to cut the duct tape binding my hands, Goblin removed the wire cutters from the packaging and held them in front of my face. "Well, Andrew, the clock is ticking, so we'd better get started. Are you left handed or right handed?"

"Right." No sense lying.

"Good man. Then I'll let you pinch off your left pinky." He handed me the wire cutters while Witch kept her gun pointed at my face. "Open the jaws."

His expression made it clear he wasn't playing around. I was feeling utterly sick to my stomach, but I opened the jaws of the wire cutters.

"Put them over your finger. All the way down at the bottom."

I wondered if I could slam the wire cutters into Goblin's face without being shot by him, Witch, and/or Troll. It seemed unlikely.

"I'm not cutting off my finger for you," I informed him.

"Oh, I think you will. And your family is going to hear the screams." He jiggled the walkie-talkie.

"Forget it. I'm not doing it."

"Hmmmm… bullet to the face, or missing pinky? I think you'll make the right choice. I'm going to give you until the count of ten. And though you probably remember this from the countdown to the Molotov cocktails in the camper, let me be perfectly clear, Andrew: I'm not the kind of person who will say nine-and-a-half."

I believed him.

"So let's get started before it's already time for you to cut a second finger off. Ten… nine…"

The psycho was absolutely serious. If I didn't chop off a finger, I'd get shot in the face.

"…eight… seven… six…"

I put the jaws of the wire cutters over the little finger on my left hand.

"…five…"

I looked Goblin straight in the eye. "I'll kill you for this."

"…four…"

I began to squeeze the handle of the wire cutters. A drop of blood pooled on the blade.

I TYPE USING HUNT-and-peck anyway, but losing a finger is a pretty big deal. I winced, sucked in a deep breath, and then…

…the wall of the store exploded.

Well, it didn't really explode, not the way the camper exploded. It's more like it broke apart, sending merchandise flying everywhere, as a direct result of the green truck plowing right through it.

Roger was behind the wheel. Samantha was next to him.

A whole bunch of things happened at once, but to be completely honest, I couldn't tell you exactly what they were. I could vaguely sense Troll ducking for cover, and Charlie diving to the floor, and Witch swinging her gun in the direction of the truck, and Goblin nearly getting hit in the face with a jar of baby food.

For myself, the surprise of having a large truck suddenly burst through the wall of the store just in the nick of time to save me from being forced to slice off my pinky caused me to tense up and squeeze the handles of the wire cutters, slicing off my pinky.

"Oh," I said, because sometimes that's all that really needs to be said.

My little finger dropped onto my lap.

Now, I think I've established that I'm not the finest strategist in the world. However, even in my state of shock I knew to take advantage of this situation. I stood up, scooping up my severed finger as I did so, and threw a punch at Witch with my five-fingered fist.

It was a good one.

I rushed toward the truck, which Roger was backing out of the very large hole he'd created in the store. Troll swiped at me with his knife and I felt the blade swish next to my back. As I ran past the passenger-side door, Samantha threw it open, bashing Troll in the chest. She slammed it closed again and I leapt into the truck bed.

I heard a gunshot and the sound of shattering glass. I took a split second to think about how much my finger stump hurt. I was bleeding all over the place, but at least it wasn't my truck to clean up.

The truck pulled out of the store. For an instant I thought I was home free, a pleasant if laughable idea that vanished as soon as Witch jumped into the back of the truck with me.

I dove at her, knocking her off her feet. She punched me in the face approximately as hard as I'd punched her, which was pretty damn hard. Then she swung her gun at me, but I deflected it by grabbing her wrist with my incomplete hand, pinning my severed finger between them.

We struggled, me on top, both of us gritting our teeth hard enough to do serious enamel damage. Then severed pinky blood squirted her right in the eye. She cried out and rubbed it while sharing her unladylike vocabulary. I used my other hand to try to wrench the gun out of her grasp, but she wouldn't let go.

We were speeding down the dirt road toward Wreitzer Park, a wise decision since the other direction was sort of blocked by an exploded camper and a couple of wrecked trucks. Over the tailgate I saw the other green truck following us, about a hundred feet behind. The road curved and I lost sight of it.

The gun, now slippery with blood, popped free of both our grips. It slid down the bed of the truck and smacked into the tailgate.

I got in another really good punch.

So did she.

The truck hit a bump, causing Witch's head to bounce up, and then strike the truck bed. Sadly, the hit wasn't hard enough to do anything but piss her off even more.