Story! part 3

Tracy saw Travis' autistic brother pull off a nearly-impossible flip in closed quarters at his entirely incoherent command, effectively disposing the threat caused by the advancing thug. She gasped in awe, in spite of the situation at hand, and wondered whether she would ever be able to execute a decent flip in her lifetime.

"Wow." The old lady hiding behind her blurted.

Tracy never had a chance to contemplate the possibility of her being sufficiently athletically-inclined to ever perform a standing flip within her lifespan. A sudden movement by the second thug grabbed Tracy's attention; he had raised his .38 and was preparing himself to shoot Travis' autistic brother. All fear and apprehension forgotten, Tracy rushed the thug from behind.

What if I don't make it in time? What if he shot me instead? Scores upon scores of what-ifs came to mind as she charged towards the thug, but these thoughts faded away as rapidly as they came.

Five steps away. She saw Travis' autistic brother staring blankly at the gun-wielding thug, arms held loosely at his sides, as if the gun posed no more danger to him than a slice of tasty cake.

Four steps away. The thug was taking aim, which was really unnecessary. It was a point blank shot, and not even a frail grandmother no more used to wielding a gun than a Playstation controller would have been able to miss the shot.

Three steps away. She heard the old woman behind her saying "Oh dear." and the cashier taking up the phone to call the police.

Two steps away. The gunman fired.

The bullet did not hit its intended target. Tracy gasped as the bullet hit Travis in the chest. Yes, she knew Travis. They were schoolmates at the local college once, and Tracy had once had a severe crush on Travis. Tall, kind, handsome, athletic and intelligent, Travis was the ideal guy back then in college. Now he looked no different, no less charming compared to his college days, only that he had a bullet wound on his chest.

Stunned by the shock but also unable to stop her reckless charge due to the sheer momentum of her progress, she crashed the gunman at full speed, sending the both of them into a shelf full of condiments. Fortunately for Tracy, the crash had sent the .38 flying to the other end of the shop, out of reach from both thugs. Now she had to deal with the thug hand-to-hand; a middle-aged, stout man against one pissed woman. Tracy kicked the thug once in the gut, taking advantage of the shock rendered to the man by the crash. Twice. She would have disposed of the thug entirely if he had not resorted to throwing bottles at her. Now the situation was reversed, and the hunter became the hunted. Tracy was hit many times under a barrage of cans and bottles. Retreating and covering her face with her hands, she stepped back hurriedly only to find herself at the other corner of the store, retreat blocked by a wall of candies. She glanced at Travis, then at Travis' autistic brother, at the same time wincing with pain as bottles and cans struck her everywhere.

I missed you, Travis. She thought as she fell to her knees to make herself a smaller target.

By the time the thug ran out of ammunition and the shower of mustard and ketchup relented, she was lying unconscious in a pool of sauce.

The thug, victorious, climbed to his feet in triumph and gave Tracy a look of disgust, after which he proceeded to empty the cash register into his rucksack. Sensing, feeling, knowing that nothing else in the store posed as a danger to him now, the thug turned around and took a glancing blow in the face.

"Ouch." The cashier blurted.

The old woman had struck the thug's head with the butt of the .38, effectively disposing of him.

Shocked by what she had done and also by the grisly, bloody scene in the store, (mostly ketchup and chili sauce), the old woman crumpled to her knees and fainted.