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explosion followed by a sudden rain of bricks and debris. I could hear them plummeting down on the Z and everywhere around me. One of them caught me a glancing blow on the side of my head.
Jake started firing again, this time in my direction but up above me. I heard one of the slugs rip into the sheet metal of the Z, and I started praying that it didn't ignite the escaping gasoline.
There were other sounds, more frightening than that of bullets spraying all around me. There was a gaping hole in the brick wall, and suddenly the thing emerged, half-stumbling, half-crawling, but very much alive. It's ungainly bulk was looking for some sort of sanctuary.
Elliot Grant Wages was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The thing leaped clumsily down on the Z, glowered at me and took a swipe at my head with its massive paw. Instincts took over. I made one frantic attempt to slide under the Z. It was too late. The creature's viselike grip clamped around my leg and dragged me away from the only thing that possibly promised safety.
I remember a terrible cramp in my foot, pain in my right leg, my head thumping merrily along the rough pavement, the sound of more gunshots, the guttural sounds belching from the foul-smelling thing, and last, but not least, sheer,

 
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