The little white blur of fury seemed to come out of nowhere. It took Stone by surprise. It just jumped out of the bushes, snarled around on his chest and face for a second and then ran off like a demon was chasing it.
But you can’t outrun a bullet, can you, little doggie? Stone leveled his gun at the dog, figuring he could hit it on the run, but the dog stopped and turned to face him.
Dangling from his mouth was the pin of a grenade – one of the grenades on Stone’s vest. By the time the men on the boat heard the explosion, the little white dog was already in the water. They had no idea what was coming. One down, four to go…
Welcome to the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Challenge. In 250 words or less, write a story incorporating the elements in the picture and the written prompt above. Do not include the prompt in your entry. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until Tuesday at 5:00 PM Pacific Time. No political or religious entries, please.
On Tuesday night, judges will select the strongest entries, and on Wednesday afternoon, we will open voting to the public with an online poll so they may choose the winner. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday.
On Friday afternoon, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature. Then, at year end, the winners will be featured in an anthology like this one. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
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*
Stone had killed Javi’s abuela when the soldiers had captured him. It was right for him to die first.
*
Javi awoke on the ship, unsure of the time but knowing if he was going to escape he’d have to rescue himself.
Abuela taught him the family secret at five. A decade later he was now adept at shifting his spirit to animals. A rat on board was his first jump. Chewing through the zip-ties binding his slumped body was a snap.
When Stone went ashore for supplies, Javi hitched a ride hoping to find a larger animal ashore to exact his revenge. He found the white terrier.
*
Javi paddled aside the boat, searching for a way aboard. He didn’t notice the net slip behind him and scoop him up.
The man dropped the net and once his paws hit the deck, Javi bit into a loose end of rope, scooted around the feet of the soldier, and disappeared into the hold.
Javi shifted back to his body, caught the dog in one hand and gave the rope a sharp tug with the other. A thud signaled another captor was down.
A third soldier dropped below deck. In the moment before his eyes adjusted, Javi rushed him. Thanks to his furry friend Javi knocked the menace down. A head strike with one of the empty ammunition boxes littering the floor knocked him unconscious.
Grabbing the soldier’s gun, Javi looked at the terrier and said, “Now for the rest.”
The Save
“Seriously!” Hudson roared, “ ‘…outrun a bullet, can you little doggie’.” He slammed script on the table making everyone’s lowered eyes dart towards the studio’s senior producer.
“You’ve had seven months to deliver next years summer blockbuster and you hacks keep bringing me this crap.”
Thirty years in Hollywood’s upper echelon had taught Hudson everything about the art, craft, and essence of movie making.
He moved to the window and stared at the big white sign in the hills. Relax, he thought, just work through it. “Okay, I get the dog. Explosions, of course. Glib repartee…needs more work.”
His eyes shifted down to the parking lot where an intern was polishing the wheels on Toto, his vintage Mercedes 380 convertible. He’d bought that car brand new with the check from his first script. So many scripts since then. So many blockbusters.
“But, it’s tired, old, cliché.” He said softly, leaning against the glass. “I need fresh. New! Understand?”
He turned from the window and fixed his gaze in turn at each of the assembled writers. Is this what passes for talent in the modern age?
His eyes finally stopped on the youngest of the junior writers. A kid without a single movie credit, probably shouldn’t even be at this meeting, and actually still smelled like Kansas. Under that stare the boy crumbled and blurted out, “What if it was a white dog.”
Hudson’s eyes locked on the boy for one long moment then, “Brilliant! We start filming Monday.”
I glare at the man who tried to kill me and spit the grenade pin onto the ground. He and his pals picked the wrong folks to mess with when they abducted Mistress. I’m way more than a little white dog. I scramble across the beach and into the water as the man turns into confetti.
A little twist of magical energy and my fur vanishes, paws become flippers. I shoot toward the wooden dingy like a torpedo. Too busy gaping at the cloud of smoke on the beach, the four pirates don’t notice me until I transform and land amidst them as a king cobra. My venom splatters the man closest. He tumbles into the water. Ducking a machete, I bite another man. The machete gouges the bottom of the boat. Water bubbles up. Good thing Mistress still wears her magic boots.
Something grabs me. Not good. I can change shape, not mass, so I’m small. Fur once again covers my body, this time with feline accessories. I twist and slash with my claws. Blood streams, but he holds me fast under the water. Spots fill my eyes. I have to wait for energy to replenish.
Finally I can change shape again. My new eel form shoots electricity in one enormous blast. The two remaining pirates convulse, then collapse. It’s not over yet. The dingy is sinking. Mistress is too hurt and tired to transform. So am I, but somehow we make it to shore. Mission accomplished.
The little dog swam so hard he left a small wake behind him. As he got closer, he could hear the men on the boat laughing.
“Will ya look at that? Crazy dog, swimming out here in shark-infested waters!”
“Pull him aboard, Walter.”
“But Captain…”
“But nothing. That’s an order,” the captain said, looking through his binoculars at a barge.
As Walter leaned over the side with outstretched arms, the little dog chomped down on his hand and started swimming away. Walter lost his balance and was dragged overboard.
“What the hell?” the captain blurted.
Blood from Walter’s hand immediately triggered an attack. Walter screamed, then disappeared below.
The two other crewmen relinquished their posts on the small boat to join the captain. “What happened to Walter?”
Before he could answer, the dog came bounding up from behind, slamming the captain square in the back and sending him overboard. “Throw me a line!” he yelled just before he felt the first shark butt him.
The men scrambled for a rope. The dog grabbed one end of it and started tugging. They couldn’t believe how strong he was. “Pull hard on three!” one man yelled and, as they got to three, the dog let go. They both went flying backwards, into the water. Sharks made quick work of them.
The dog knocked their grenade launcher off the bow and into the water. He watched as the barge got closer. When he saw the containers filled with Cheesy Bites, he barked. No one messes with Mr. Pish’s treats. No one.
Terry, the terrier, quickly reached deep water. He rendezvoused with Flip, the bottlenose dolphin, and his training partner. Terry’s teeth clamped Flip’s harness. They were off, speeding towards the stolen boat. Closer, Flip slowed, rolled his head, and met Terry’s eyes. No sound necessary. The two friends had put in many hours together. They knew the drill.
Terry was on point. He clawed onto the diver’s step at the rear, out of sight from the cabin. He crouched low, eyes and ears twitching, nostrils flaring. He risked a peek. The four hijackers were looking toward the island, and shouting Stone’s name into the radio.
Flip positioned the tracking device, resurfaced and gave Terry the nod. Now it was Terry’s turn. He sprang lightly onto the tackle box, and commando crawled toward the A.K 47s. Quietly he began the skilled task of removing the firing bolts.
Straight from the blue Flip leapt high into the air gaining the pirates’ full attention. He spiraled, thwacked the surface, fluttered backward on his tail, chattered, whistled, and generally acted like an idiot. It did the trick. Terry achieved his objective.
When Terry trotted through the doors at Navy SEAL headquarters, the team gave him a standing ovation.
“Good work, Petty Officer Terrance! The owner and wife were rescued safely, thanks to you and Flip,” boomed the Commander.
Terry lapped down a cold one then went to join Flip at the end of the wharf. Together they watched the sunset.
The white demon fought the surf, riding the waves further out the coast. He blended perfectly with the white froth at the top of the waves. Like a ghost he slipped on board the ship.
The men onboard looked toward the shore for the source of the explosion but saw nothing. “Stone, you there?” Blake Smalls said into his radio, nothing but static on the other end. “Pull anchor,” he yelled at the others. “We’re out of time if they took Stone out.”
One by one, the white demon took out the men. The hirelings were little more than obstacles that stood in his way to the villain. No remorse for Stone, and none for Blake. He would cut them deep and end their rot.
As he rushed into the wheelhouse, Blake stood ready. A .38 in hand stopped the dog short. “Agent Pish,” he said, “I hoped to never see you again.”
Pish sat on his haunches and took a moment to chew his butt. Then he turned to Blake with a wide puppy smile. With little more than a quick pant he shook the seawater from his fur. Blake dodged the wild spray and left himself open to the white demon. He launched himself at Blake’s gun hand and knocked it up into Blake’s chin.
Blake’s finger slipped and the bullet slammed up through his chin and out the top of his skull. His body hit the floor. Another gang down at the hands of Agent Pish.