Mint. That’s what was on the old man’s breath. Mint and a bit of sourness that reminded spoiled milk. But mostly mint.

Funny what the mind focuses on when the impossible happens. He glanced to his left and grimaced. Yes, it was that old man.

With his left hand holding the stock steady, he slowly dropped his right hand towards his belt. Another waft of curiously scented air floated past his nose.

“You grab your knife, and it could get messier.” The old man shifted slightly behind him and he felt a dull jab to the base of his spine. “You’ve already stepped in it, lad.” The pressure increased and pain started to bloom down to his legs. “No need to spread it around.”

This was ridiculous! He was a forty-year-old man! This decrepit degenerate wasn’t going to hold him down and -

A sickening crack shook his frame and his lungs seized. A sharp warmth followed by pins of bitter cold stabbed into his legs. He felt nauseated and numb as his body collapsed, held up only by the old man’s iron vise.