[He shouts as she's lifted from the bike, and he wheels it around immediately. No point looking for alternative routes if she's not with him. Time to fuck this thing up and get her back, or die trying. Or whatever happens to them, now.
His gun is still tucked into the back of his pants and it's easy to reach, but the problem, he realizes, as he hears her muffled cries but can't see her, is that he doesn't exactly know where she is against that monstrous darkness. Has it engulfed her, or is she just on the other side? He can't tell and doesn't want to hit her by mistake.
There's one other option, sort of a last ditch effort that just might work. Keeping the bike headed straight with his knees, he leans back and digs in one of the bags until he finds one of their half-finished bottles of alcohol, and the first scrap of clothes he can reach - a sock, apparently. Works for him. He quickly stuffs the sock into the bottle as a wick and lights it, and just as the bike gets dangerously close to veering off the road, he throws it at the back legs, or whatever those appendages are, of the creature and then regains control of his motorcycle. The molotov explodes into a cloud of flame, sending liquid fire up the thing's leg and across the pavement.]
no subject
[He shouts as she's lifted from the bike, and he wheels it around immediately. No point looking for alternative routes if she's not with him. Time to fuck this thing up and get her back, or die trying. Or whatever happens to them, now.
His gun is still tucked into the back of his pants and it's easy to reach, but the problem, he realizes, as he hears her muffled cries but can't see her, is that he doesn't exactly know where she is against that monstrous darkness. Has it engulfed her, or is she just on the other side? He can't tell and doesn't want to hit her by mistake.
There's one other option, sort of a last ditch effort that just might work. Keeping the bike headed straight with his knees, he leans back and digs in one of the bags until he finds one of their half-finished bottles of alcohol, and the first scrap of clothes he can reach - a sock, apparently. Works for him. He quickly stuffs the sock into the bottle as a wick and lights it, and just as the bike gets dangerously close to veering off the road, he throws it at the back legs, or whatever those appendages are, of the creature and then regains control of his motorcycle. The molotov explodes into a cloud of flame, sending liquid fire up the thing's leg and across the pavement.]
Let her go, you ugly fuckin' freak!