The Toothpick Flip (One Minute Cons)

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I threw the handle, and listened as the door tried to use its primary systems then clunked over to backups. When the door opened far enough, I ducked through and Donaldson followed me, slapping the lever on our side down. We hustled to the next door and followed suit, moving quickly into the locker room. I slammed down on my back, my ruck taking most of the shock, and the stench of rotting blood rolled over me. There was the sound of canvas tearing and something hissed, the stench of rotting carrion flowing over me.

I threw it to the left, rolling to my right and coming up to one knee. Whatever it was bounded off the lockers and came at me again as I came up to my feet. Rather than flinching from it, I ducked down and moved in, blocking what looked like an arm swiping at my face with my left arm and stabbing into the middle of the figure with my bayonet.

It coughed something wet into my face but I kept stabbing. It knocked me down again, and I heard something rip as whoever it was kicked at my legs. I stabbed it in the side, twisting the blade, and there was a snarling yowl. I threw it off me and rolled, coming up just in time to see it leap up on top of the lockers and then bound away.

Donaldson moved by me, and I thought I saw a shadow flicker against the wall on the right hand side. I heard sheet metal deform and pop back and checked to both sides, checking the top of the lockers as I did so. Two of the lights shattered, plunging the left hand side into darkness. I snapped my head down, and my NVG's popped down over my eyes as the two lights on the right shattered and dropped that side into darkness.

I snapped on the NVG's and the room instantly lit up. I scooted forward, grabbed my duffle, and slung it behind me.

I heard a rapid scraping, like a dog trying to get purchase on a tile floor, from the other side of the lockers. I pivoted to the left, and it came at me in a rush. Even with the NVG's I couldn't get a good look at it, it was just a strange four limbed lean mass that came straight at me.


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Rather than back up I stepped forward and kicked like I was going for a field goal. My boot took it right on the chin and it still crashed into me, bringing both of us to the floor. Something grabbed my left arm in a vise and started shaking it, something was tearing at my legs, but I rammed the knife into its side twice before it screeched and sprang off me again. I rolled to the left and whatever it was landed on the floor.

It went to crouch down and I swung my blade hard, catching it on the side of the knee. It screeched and jumped away.

FLIPPING FROM HANDS!

Something grabbed my boot, twisting my foot, and I rolled with it, ending up on my back. Instead of trying to kick it away, I braced my foot against the door and shoved hard, pushing myself out from under the door. Blackish green paws were attached to my boot, long white claws sinking into the leather. My damaged knee began to burn. Donaldson gave a Basic Training perfect war cry and slammed the weapon down on the slender arm. There was a screech and the paws let go of my boot.

The door thudded down and I scrambled to my feet, turning off my NVG's and flipping them back up. I put the bayonet between my LBE and my shirt and grabbed my ruck and the duffle.

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Allrecipes - September 2014 USA - bpfine

We rushed down the hallway to the door to the motorpool and I dropped the ruck and duffle then pulled my knife back out. Do not go through until I give you the signal. The kid went pale and I nodded. I nodded and he threw the bar.

Home Life – Average Momma Bear

The door began lifting and Donaldson waited nervously. My nerves were singing, every sense running in overdrive.


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  • A soon as it lifted out of the countersunk drop we could hear a klaxon wailing. When it lifted high enough, he began chucking stuff through as soon as he could stuff them through. I kept watch behind us. I set my feet, bringing my left hand up, ignoring the burning pain my forearm, and my right hand, knife point down, right below it, flexing my knees and bouncing slightly on my toes.

    Another light exploded, and I caught a glimpse of something reddish black with no muzzle, just a flat face, that was on all fours. Something came at us, but the door slid into place before whatever it was reached us, and I looked at Donaldson, breathing heavily.


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    • It was covered in blackish crap, and I wiped it on my hip before tucking it back behind my back. I could smell rotting blood from it. I could hear the Major or his dumbasses running up. I looked at my forearm, and the blood running down my hand and fingers.

      Toothpick Bar Trick

      When I turned around, I could see four of them running up as I fumbled my field dressing out of the pouch. I'd stopped what I was doing, just staring. I'd just finally noticed something. The scrapes on my shins stung, my right shoulder burned from over-exertion, and my forearm throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I was exhausted, even though it had only been a few seconds of fighting.

      His mouth was working while I held the field dressing in my mouth and unbuttoned my cuff on the injured forearm. My knees felt shaky, and my stomach was upset, making my feel like I was going to throw up, even though all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep. It doesn't matter how much you've trained, combat is exhausting.

      You train so you have the endurance and stamina to fight longer, but you're still exhausted at the end of it. You need to keep going, push through the exhaustion, and you can bounce back pretty quick if you've trained right. In my pocket was a small squirt bottle of iodine and a small tube of bactine, I made a mental note of them then I went back to tearing open my field dressing with my dentures, shaking my arm to let the sleeve fall down and expose the wound.

      He's been plotting with them against you, you know it, Ant, don't trust him Taggart whispered in my ears. Kill him first I pushed her voice away, looking at the injury and tearing my eyes away from the sedan. The meat on the outside of my forearm had a half-moon on either side of it, and I squinted at the injury. The holes were deep enough to bleed, but the wound didn't look right for an animal. I'd taken a dog bite across my other forearm, and it had been all the way across, straight line teeth marks.

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      The holes were also straight, not round. I pulled out the bactine and the iodine, smeared first one then the other on the wound, then pressed the pad of the field dressing on the wound. I moved backwards toward the duffles, elbowing one of the Meatheads hard in the gut as I went by, masquerading the motion as trying to wrap the field dressing around the wound with one hand and my teeth.