THE DINOSAUR-SIZED BULLDOG locked its jaws of steel around my body like I was its favorite tug toy.
When I wiggled inside its box-shaped muzzle, trying to work my way free, the giant dog shook its huge head back and forth to stun me into submission.
It more or less worked. I quit squirming. Made my body go limp.
Fortunately, the metallic dog’s droopy jowls had flapped inward to blanket its sharp teeth so I didn’t end up ripped to shreds with my stuffing strewn all over the ground. But the pressure clamping down on my body was excruciating. I felt like I was being squeezed inside an oversized vise grip. I could barely breathe.
“Bring him to me!” I heard Number 1 cry, his voice muffled by the jiggly walls of the giant bulldog’s flabby cheeks. “Bring me Danny Boy, the little Alien Hunter!”
We were on the move. I heard the bulldog sniggering and snortling through its smooshed-in snout. I could feel its stubby front legs pounding down the ravine slope, through the creek, up the other side. Every step the forty-ton beast took rattled my brain.
I wondered if this slobbering silver hood ornament was part golden retriever. The obedient brute was bringing me back basically unharmed to its master, so Number 1 could have all the pleasure of killing me himself.
I thought about kicking out a few of my canine captor’s teeth. But I knew I wasn’t strong enough to take on a riled-up dog the size of a tractor trailer. Not yet, anyway. Chances were, if I lashed out I’d end up as kibble and bits. Lots and lots of bits.
I decided to go with Plan B.
Teleporting.
If I totally concentrate on where I want to be, I can send my body to all sorts of places just by using my mind.
Usually.
I wasn’t sure it would work, if I had the juice to pull it off. But I had to give it a shot. Otherwise, Number 1 would be giving me a shot, and most likely it would be a plasma blast from an Opus 24/24, an alien weapon so heinous and cruel it’s been banned across most of the civilized universe. The thing has a built-in molecular resonator that causes its victims to expire from pure, unadulterated pain.
It more or less tortures you to death.
Number 1 had used an Opus 24/24 on my parents. I figured he’d probably use one on me, too. Watching me die in a prolonged spasm of absolute agony would definitely give him the quality kill he so desperately desired.
I had to escape Fido’s grip. Fast!
So I imagined myself safe and sound on a white sandy beach. I blocked out the stringy dog saliva sloshing around my ears and concentrated on waves lapping up against a sunny shoreline. Instead of smelling rancid chunks of Pup-Peroni rotting between the dog’s teeth, I imagined palm trees gently swaying in a fragrant tropical breeze. The coconuts…
“Drop him!” commanded The Prayer.
The mammoth bulldog opened its mouth.
I slid down its slimy tongue and over the ridge of its teeth.
Tumbling to the dirt, twenty feet below, I rolled over on my back, closed my eyes, and focused hard on that distant beach. I imagined I was lying on a blanket, soaking up the rays, smelling bougainvillea blossoms.
I had to get there fast. I had to be there, now!
Because when I opened my eyes, I saw a giant praying mantis with blood-red dreadlocks standing over me. His eyes were glowing with satisfaction as he aimed the saw-toothed muzzle of an Opus 24/24 straight at my gut.
A squealing whine told me the weapon was fully charged.