The Nix III
Triggers that drop adrenalin. We all have them. Most of them are instinctual. Some are cultivated through training. The screech of metal as the garage door went up was one of mine. Too many search and destroys for it not to imprint. The snapshot taken by my mind was crystalline.
I had just set foot in the kitchen, a box in each arm. Jill was bent over the refrigerator, the faint light washing her look of disgust in rancid contrast. I was looking at her ass though. It was one of the reasons I married her. I like to think that little bit of extra blood pumping helped save Amber when the Nix attacked.
The screech of metal and my adrenalin dumped. I saw my oldest in my mind. Amber leaning in the passenger side of the Cherokee, thumbing my mom’s garage door opener she had fetched from the glove box, pointing it at the carriage house door with her junk hunter’s smile. Christ if I had hung it on my visor instead, she would have been half a dozen steps closer to the garage.
The slam of the passenger door as I hurled the groceries onto the counter and bolted toward the front door. I can only imagine the face Julia, my eleven year old, must have seen as I shoved her toward the couch screaming, “Amber, NO!” No time to undo the damage there. Seconds counted with the Nix, and I snatched the seven iron from the umbrella stand at the door as I hurtled onto the porch.
My voice had stopped her, but I caught movement in the sleepy recesses of the garage. It must have been hungry. Amber’s winsome smile was turning terror as I waved her down and barreled toward her. Jill’s voice warbled in the background, but I couldn’t make it out over the roaring.
The Nix unfurled to launch, and I was too far away, wasn’t going to make it. I don’t know how I covered those nine yards in two strides. I don’t. I just remember the pained grunt as I tackled my princess.