“You call that a shotgun?” I yelled in my best Crocodile Dundee impression. “This is a shotgun!” I pulled the trigger on the Saiga ten times and watched the front of the company store disintegrate. Ten shells of double-ought buckshot flying at you will make you rethink a lot of life choices, no matter if you’re man, goblin or troll. The little bugger holding the double-barrel either decided to run like hell back to the mine, or I blew it to little green bits, because that shotgun dropped to the porch and lay still amidst the shattered glass, shredded blinds and demolished discount signs.
I stepped through the doors, glass crunching under my size sixteen combat boots. I smelled burned hot dogs, spilled beer and gunpowder - not my favorite combination. Under it all was a slimy smell, the ki
