Travis looked out through the windshield of his two-door 63’ Chevy Corvette, contemplating how to handle the man and his gun. The engine revved and then coughed a pitiful sputter as he pressed his foot lightly to the petal. Travis hoped that the quietly obvious gesture would signal to his friend that he too was not afraid to fire his weapon. Jacob probably knew the gas tank was on E, it was his car and he had driven them into the alley to begin with. Both men knew that it wouldn’t take much juice to drive 5 feet forward and into the brick wall.
A friendship rooted in magic mushrooms is often based on a series of hallucinations, confounding as they’re compounding. Travis’ job was the easiest and least risky of the two; growing fungus in his basement and always on the search for more potent strains. When they first met, Jacob had been the middle man for various drugs, street peddling his way to a mountain of riches that most high school dropouts only dream of. Adding mushrooms to his supply list wasn’t a yes or no question as much as it was a dollar and cent equation.
Two shots erupted. Echoes vibrated the brick walls, back and forth, from the dead end of the alleyway and releasing out the open side. Spiderweb strings stretched out and away from the tiny bullet holes, each piercing the driver’s side windshield with the kind of accuracy that is all but guaranteed with such short range combat.
Once bright lights of the outside world began to dim as Travis clutched his chest in agony. Through the shattered window, Travis could still see the outline of a gun pointing man he had once called friend. Before the darkness could completely close in, shadows sprinted out of the corners of his eyes and onto his betrayer. Velociraptors hadn’t been seen on Earth since the Cretaceous period, but to say that Travis was excited to see them would have been an understatement. An exhale of joy slipped out of blood stained lips as the black curtain of death slammed down.