Jet

by Russell Blake

  **

  The silence felt like an eternity to Jorji, but he knew his lifespan was now measured in seconds unless he could take the offensive. Jorji lifted his head up far enough out of Radovan's blood-soaked lap to catch sight of the assault rifle jammed against the door by Radovan's leg. Jorji knew this was his only hope. His only weapon, a small semi-automatic pistol, was jammed under his right armpit in a concealed holster, and he couldn't lift his body to free it. Not that it would have mattered if he could. Jorji was left handed, and a bullet had passed through the back of his left elbow, rendering his arm useless. He strained to slide his right arm free, and his hand managed to reach the rifle just as several bullets punctured the driver door and put an end to any hope that he might survive.