Little Fighter (The Lost Boys)

Chapter Twenty-Two: My Way

"Argh! Shit!"

Lincoln jammed his blackened fingers into his mouth and sucked hard on them. He had been at it for nearly three hours and still he not could budge the trunk an inch. Every time he tried to use his claws to tear through the thick reinforced steel his fingers started to smoke.

"Those fuckers blessed the damn thing. Fuck!" Lincoln snarled as he adjusted himself so that he was pressed flat on his back. It was roomy in the trunk of the Chevelle but Lincoln was no ninety-pound soaking-wet sorority cheerleader. He barely had any room to maneuver his injured bulk one way or the other.

Did that stop him? Hell no!

Grrrrrrrr!

Lincoln had to get himself free of the muscle car even if it meant having to tear it to pieces. Ohhhhhh just wait until he got his hands on David and his Deadbeat Threesome. Lincoln was going to go ape-shit on their asses. No one locks him in his own trunk and gets away with it. No one!

"C'mon Baby...c'mon girl...work with me now." Lincoln gritted his teeth as he braced his screaming shoulders against the trunk floor. He adjusted his arms and legs before he pushed against the trunk lid with everything he had. Metal creaked and groaned ominously but after a hard-fought minute the car refused to release him from her clutches.

"Goddamnit!" Lincoln slammed his fist into the side of the trunk with a vengeful curse.

Sometime after sunrise Lincoln had regretfully regained consciousness only to find himself trapped in this make-shift hellhole. Stuffed in his own trunk battered and bloodied he was left broken and utterly helpless. The sun was barely in the sky before outside temperatures reached a whopping 90 degrees. There was no way to avoid the slow painful wait until nightfall. Thanks to his own god-damn insomnia Lincoln had cooked away all day like a turkey in an oven and experienced every vivid minute of it.

Think of hell. Now add a hundred degrees to that and Satan's chiropractor rearranging every single bone in his body for hours on end.

By the time night rolled around Lincoln was foaming at the mouth, madder than a hornet on hash. When he realized that the Lost Boys had trapped him in good by dosing his car in the tears of Christ or whatever the hell they had used, well, Lincoln was ready to annihilate something.

"Just you wait Dave. When I get hands on you there won't be enough left to feed a fuckin' hell hound you son-of-a..."

Lincoln spewed vulgarity as he balled his right hand into an iron fist and rammed it into the trunk's rear. Instead of punching a hole right through the taillight Lincoln let out a yelp of pain. The car pitched to one side in protest.

"Oh come on!"

The body of the Chevelle shuddered before its heavy bulk rocked to the other side. Lincoln whacked his throbbing skull against the car jack that was stowed away in the far corner.

Something large had collided into car. Before Lincoln could utter another colourful string of choice words a third ear-ringing wham rocked the muscle car once more before the trunk was wrenched open with a sharp metallic screech. Lincoln winced at the sound before he cautiously looked up into the face of his rescuer.

"I'm dead." A tiny voice whimpered in the back of his mind as he reluctantly met Lucard's furious eyes and saw death glaring back at him.

So. Very. Fucked.

Lincoln did not utter a word as the Master vampire reached in and grabbed him by the neck. Lincoln remained silent as he was yanked out of the trunk and thrown to the ground. A small yelp of pain shamefully escaped him when he landed hard on his swollen spine but other than that Lincoln swallowed his tongue. Experience had taught him that remaining silent was the best method of survival at a time like this.