A Parade of Indignities

Chapter 14: Of Dumb Luck and Dire Repercussions

Dib's muscles went rigid. The dust swirled around the both of them in thick, choking billows, thinning by the second to reveal an icy stare in the large pupilless eyes.

The Irken slowly lowered himself down to the ground on his PAK legs, aim on the gun never faltering. As soon as his feet touched the floor, the metal appendages rose back up, surrounding Dib from four different sides with lethal, razor sharp tips that expertly pointed themselves directly at his neck.

Dib kept his eyes pinned on the plasma gun, caught somewhere between crippling shock and the distinct brand of terror that made one's surroundings feel like nothing more than a hazy dream. His heart thumped in his chest, as if trying to beat its way out, while his mind sluggishly worked through the fear that held his fragile rationality in its grip. Slowly, without so much as turning his head, he glanced over the Irken's shoulder, towards the gaping hole that was once his front door.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," the Irken said, blue electricity igniting the tips of the PAK legs. His voice was unpleasantly high and nasally. "If you know what is good for you, you'll tell me where your little friend is hiding out."

The PAK legs closed in on Dib's throat just by a hair, prompting his already-rapid heart rate to surge impossibly faster.

A little voice in the back of his head screamed at him to run; to find an opening and make his move. His feet stayed concreted to the carpet for another moment while he fought to make sense of it. Then, as if every instinct honed in his years fighting Zim had come flooding back to him, Dib snapped out of it.

He nimbly ducked down to the ground, away from the PAK legs, and quickly rolled onto his side just in time to miss a blast from the gun.

Once freed from the weapon's aim, he jumped to his feet and dashed to the doorway. Behind him, he heard another blast of the gun, and its lethal contents whizzed by his face in the blink of an eye. Plasma connected with the wall beside him, sending an explosion of powdery drywall through the air and nearly blinding him with the dust. He scrambled away from it and continued lurching towards the threshold. His bulging backpack slowed him down and he could feel his heavy overnight bag slip from his clammy fingers with each jolting footfall.

As soon as he made his way into the bright, dazzling sunshine and turned the corner to the other side of his house, he realized he had no plan.

What am I supposed to do? Run back to the base? Lead this psychopath straight to Zim?

As he was searching through the limited possibilities in his mind, he heard the very familiar sound of PAK legs engaging behind him. He had heard it a million times, from a million different angles. Only now was he realizing just how often Zim had bluffed when he used those against Dib; for this Irken seemed to see no repercussion in annihilating him if he didn't obey. Also, unlike Zim, it was increasingly obvious that he didn't care if he was spotted in his true form.

Dib's heart dropped to his stomach. He took off running down the thin strip of walkway nestled between his house and the neighbors'.

The sound of encroaching PAK legs only grew louder behind him, metallic scuffling that he knew so well. Just as he turned the corner to his backyard, in the direction of the adjoined garage that held Tak's ship, his left foot sank into the dirt and twisted sharply to the side.

Sharp pain erupted from his ankle. He flung forward, glasses flying off his face and tumbling elsewhere in the grass in front of him. He landed with a grunt as his knees hit the ground and briefly skidded along the sod. Dib's face, twisted into a tight grimace, fell in an instant as he opened his eyes—eyes that could see nothing beyond a ten-foot radius.