Mace this prick!
If I don’t do something, I’m going to die here in this standoff. I’m going to bleed out, or I’m going to get shot, which will really escalate things, won’t it?
I can already feel the warm blood pouring down the side of my throat and soaking the top of my shirt. It’s amazing how fast the blood cools outside the body. And I marvel at the way it thickens and grows sticky almost instantly on my skin.
Don’t get distracted. That’s the blood loss talking. That fog in your head is you dying. Pull yourself together. It’s now or never.
I work my fingers around the mace container and manage to get it out of my jacket pocket. I pinch my own eyes closed. I hold my breath—all of this in case I miss and spray myself.
I depress the red trigger with my thumb. The attacker falls back h
