Julie watched Benny go with a strong mix of emotions. She knew she was dying. She had known for a while, but admitting it and accepting it was impossible. It would destroy her sanity.

Nonetheless, there was no sense in dragging Benny down with her, so she struggled between refusing to give up and recognizing the futility of her situation just enough to say goodbye to the last bit of hope she had. At least he didn’t really love me, she thought to herself. He’d never have been able to leave me behind.

He turned and ran as she knelt, grasping at the latest wound in her thigh, and she realized she had grown to care rather strongly for him. He was a creep, and he had serious self esteem issues, but underneath it all there was a genuinely good guy trying to break through. It occurred to her that she'd never see him again, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

There was no time to feel sorry for herself, however. She had to stand up and keep moving forward. No matter what, she had to keep moving forward. It had been her mantra since she caught that first bullet, and it had gotten her this far. With Benny no longer around to help, it took all her will power and concentration to find her footing, but somehow she managed.

A couple steps later she was shot in the right bicep again, but this time the bullet smashed into bone instead of passing clean through the muscle. Julie winced, but didn’t waver. Keep moving forward.

For a short time her left knee had been numb, and then she hadn’t needed to move it much when Benny was supporting her, but now she felt the excruciating pain of damaged tendons and cracked bone working in tandem with every step. To make matters worse, both her thighs and both her buttocks were wounded and weakened, and the simple act of moving one foot in front of the other was treacherous work.

One step at a time. Keep moving forward.

Julie stared down the road as she focused on walking, and Benny was almost out of sight when she was shot for the thirty-fifth time. The bullet punched a hole in her right tit, on the outer rim of her areola. It felt like a vice was slowly closing on her chest, and with each breath she could swear she was inhaling jagged shards of fiery glass. When she heard the horrible wheezing and panting sounds she was making she wondered how long she had sounded like that.

If Benny heard this, it’s no wonder he didn’t think I would make it.

Shot number thirty-six came just seconds later and slapped into Julie’s belly about an inch and a half to the left of her navel. “Oof,” Julie grunted. “Thirty... six.” She scanned the desert and saw nothing. “Motherfucker’s a ghost.” Even Benny was no longer in sight, and panic started to close in on her.

I’m all alone in the middle of nowhere, shot thirty-six times, and the shooter’s still out there blasting holes in me. “Come out, you fucking coward!” she tried to shout, but her voice was faint and raspy.

Keep moving forward.

Spots dotted her vision, she felt dizzy and light-headed, her fingers and toes were numb, her skin was clammy, and she would kill for a glass of water. Each step was a mile, and she needed several thousand of them to reach the highway. She wasn’t sure how many she managed to take before the next bullet struck her, but it was nowhere near enough.

Shot number thirty-seven punched into her left breast, less than an inch above the nipple, and Julie lost her footing.

She wasn’t even sure how she ended up on the ground, but she found herself battling a bout of nausea as she struggled to get back on her feet. I can’t throw up. I need to retain my fluids. And I need to keep moving forward. As she planted her left hand in the dirt for leverage, a bullet smacked into her left forearm and she thought she felt the bone crack. It would have been enough to topple a lesser person, but Julie remained propped up.

It’s okay. I’m okay. I just need to get up and keep moving forward.

Before long she was kneeling again, her left foot on the ground and her right knee beneath her, and that’s when shot number thirty-nine struck her in the front of her left calf, just to the left of her shin. The pain was staggering and her balance was nearly spoiled, but she concentrated on not falling and somehow still managed to stand.

I need to keep moving forward. I can’t die. I won’t die.

For nearly ten minutes Julie’s resolve held strong and no more shots were fired. A considerable amount of ground was covered, and enough time passed that Julie began to wonder if she had actually done what she’d hoped to do and outlasted her shooter. Maybe he really had run out of ammo. She took another snort off the coke bullet and felt a surge of energy.

Thoughts were beginning to circulate in her head about what Benny would say when she showed up at the van, bloodied but not beaten, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on that cunt Beth’s face. Unfortunately this was all spoiled when the reprieve was broken and another bullet sunk into the left side of her lower back.

“Uh,” she grunted, before muttering, “Of course.” I've been shot forty times now. There were seven bullet holes spread out across her back, and the only area not perforated was the section between her shoulder blades. Similarly, on the front side of her body the only bit of flesh that had been spared was between her breasts. The bastard was deliberately not targeting her heart so he could make her suffer.

That’s good. My heart’s still beating strong. Keep moving forward. Keep fighting. Don't die.

Knowing that the bullets were coming in spurts now, she moved cautiously, expecting another shot any second. She could not afford to lose her footing again - if she went down now she might never get up. Five steps later her optimism began to return. For the first time since Jeremy and Mark had left her behind, there was no follow up shot. Ten steps after that she was convincing herself she had done it. She'd taken everything the shooter had and was still standing. After another twenty steps she was almost certain of it.

I’ve got this. All I’ve gotta do is keep walking.

As she fell back into a rhythm, putting one foot in front of the other, cocaine surging through her quickly thinning blood stream, Julie caught her second wind. Strangely confident, she called out to her shooter, “Is that all you got?” Her voice carried farther than it had for some time. “Did you finally run out of bullets, fucker?”

She was answered with a shot to the gut, less than an inch to the right and a couple inches above her navel. It was definitely not what she was expecting, and after the initial shock wore off she snorted with laughter, finding it darkly humorous. “I guess I deserved that.” This time another shot quickly followed, catching her in the right thigh, less than two inches above the knee. “A la verga,” she muttered, the humor fading and frustration taking its place.

Her thrice pierced right quadriceps seized up, her left big toe drug in the dirt and she stumbled to her knees. “Hijo su... I’ve gotta get up.” Before she could even begin struggling back to her feet, the forty-third gunshot smashed into her chest just below her right tit. Another hole was added to her already tattered lungs, and Julie suddenly found it impossible to breathe.

She labored desperately, gasping and clawing at her throat, all in vain. She was drowning in the open air. Her blue eyes bulged like golf balls in her skull, and her mouth yawned in a silent scream. I can’t die. No. Not now. Not like this. Drawing on her incredible will power, Julie forced her body to adapt. An excruciating cough violently racked her chest, blood and phlegm shot from her lips, and sweet, cloying air filled her shredded lungs at last.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, swiping at her mouth. "Forty-three. I can't take much more of this." While she had counted every bullet wound, she had lost count of how many times she had to pick herself up off the ground, and it was now time to begin that terrible work again. Somewhere in the back of her head she heard Sylvester Stallone telling her it's not about how many times she gets knocked down, it's about how many times she can get hit and keep moving forward, and she stifled a giggle.

At first it seemed she could not even move, as her brain's relay signals were ignored. Her legs were full of holes and her muscles were cramping. Her thighs told her they'd had enough; that they'd given her everything they had and there was nothing left. Tapping every last reserve of strength she could find, once again drawing on her youthful body's magnificent resiliency, her right leg finally moved forward and she planted her right sneaker in the gravel. After a hellish struggle, she was back on her feet.

Walking was growing increasingly challenging. Once a simple, mindless task, it now required all her effort and concentration, and still it felt like she would lose her balance and stumble with every step. If she was three miles from the highway, it would take her hours to reach it at this pace, yet she walked. She continued to put one foot in front of the other and refused to give up.

Time and distance became background noise, irrelevant to the daunting task of walking, so she was unsure how much of either had passed before she was shot for the forty-fourth time. Apparently she'd at least covered enough ground to get ahead of her shooter, as she was plugged in her right butt cheek, not far from where the second shot had struck her a lifetime ago.

It reminded her of the quip she had made about assholes, and she smirked. "I can't believe nobody appreciated my pun." Her smirk became a pout however, as she thought of her friends who had left her behind.

More specifically, she thought of Benny, and how he had grown on her. They really might have had something, given the opportunity. What if the van hadn't broken down? What if that asshole Mark had kept his fucking eyes on the road and not run over that deer? What if that deer hadn't been in the road in the first place? They'd probably be setting up camp right now, with a whole week of good times to look forward to. Maybe her and Benny might have shacked up after all. Who could be sure?

Keep moving forward.

Before Julie managed to take another step she was shot again, in the back of her right calf. Her mouth yawned wide in a choked, gurgling scream, and her balance was spoiled. She hobbled briefly before falling to her knees, fearing this would be her final resting place. It had taken everything she had to stand back up the last time, and there was truly nothing left in her tank. "Well, fuck," she sighed, and she looked down at herself.

She had never really bothered to take a self assessment and inspect the damage she’d sustained, but doing so now she was mortified. There was so much blood and gore. Fucking bullet holes everywhere. "Oh, lookit me," she whimpered. She glanced around at the surrounding terrain and finally admitted to the empty desert, "I'm gonna die."

As if in affirmation of that statement, another bullet struck her, this time in the neck. It entered just to the right of her spine and exited above her right collar bone. She slapped a hand against the exit wound, her blue eyes bulging wide as saucers. Is this it? Is it over now?

Taking her palm away from the hole did not douse her with blood, so she guessed the shot had missed her jugular, and since she could still breathe, apparently her trachea had also been spared. Perhaps she had a bit more time left, after all.

She fished the bullet of coke out of her pocket and took a snort. Keep moving forward, that nagging voice in her head told her. She couldn't walk, but she could scoot forward on her knees, so she did. It was hopeless, but it was better than sitting still and waiting to die.

It wasn't long before she heard a noise from the brush behind her, and she turned and saw her killer for the first time. He was a middle-aged man with a close crop of graying hair, creased black eyes, thin lips, and leathery skin. He wore desert fatigues and his face was painted with camouflage, and a rifle rested in his hands.

"It's you," she said.

"It's me," the man confirmed.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get a look at you,” she said in a breathy voice, the hint of a smile playing on her blood-stained lips.

“I had to see you up close before you expired. You’re a remarkable creature, Julie.”

“Thanks, I guess. You know... I really don’t want to expire.”

“I could see that.”

"And I'm a person, not a creature."

"Same thing," the man said with a shrug.

Julie started to disagree, but decided it wasn’t worth it. “So why are you killing me?”

“You’re dying. Does it really matter why?”

“No. I’m just curious.”

“Fair enough. I enjoy killing. More specifically, I enjoy killing pretty, young women. You just had a stroke of bad luck, I’m afraid. I was supposed to be killing Beth today. I’ve been stalking her for months, planning this ambush, but I saw you in her company and I couldn’t resist switching targets. You are indeed the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Great. I’m dying in that cunt’s place.” Julie chuckled at the injustice of it all.

“Yes, her life is spared thanks to your sacrifice.”

Julie was reminded of the scenario she had proposed in the van. She had asked her friends if they’d give their lives for a perfect stranger. As it turned out she was doing just that, and she would do anything to switch places with the bitch. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

"She doesn't deserve to die?"

"Well, probably not. Not like this, surely. But I mean she doesn't deserve... I shouldn't be here."

“We seldom get what we deserve.”

"Right? Like how many girls have you killed?"

"You'll be my thirty-eighth."

"Holy fuck." Julie thought about all those poor girls going through what she was experiencing, and it was an awful thought. "Do you normally shoot your victims forty-six times?"

The man smiled. "You are really special, Julie." He held up the rifle. "You counted every shot?"

Julie nodded.

"This is a Winchester 1873 repeater rifle. How the west was won. I'm using custom made rounds - .32 rim fire. So they don't pack much punch, but I've never seen anything like this. I expect most girls would have gone down after the first five or six shots."

"How many more bullets do you have left?"

"I brought a total of sixty." The man cocked an eye at her. "You think you can take the last fourteen?”

Julie mulled it over. She didn’t want to be shot anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to die, but both of those things were going to happen. What she wanted wasn’t really relevant, so she decided all she could do was make the best of whatever time she had left. “Bring it on, fucker. I could take a hundred more bullets.” She stuck out her tongue in gleeful defiance.

Her killer nodded, seemingly pleased, and backed up ten to twelve paces. “Where should I shoot you next?”

“What if you just, like, graze my arm a little?”

“Julie, you disappoint me. I thought you were tough.”

“Alright, fuck it. Put another hole in my belly.” I can't believe I just said that.

Smiling, the man chambered a round, raised the rifle and fired, and Julie felt the lead smack into her guts, an inch above and roughly three inches to the right of her navel. “Oooo fuck,” she groaned. The man very quickly pumped another round into the chamber and fired again, plugging her less than an inch above the previous wound. “Uhh, okay, I said put one hole in my belly, not two.”

The man shrugged. “I’ve still got twelve more rounds. Besides, you already had ten holes in your gut. What difference did that last one make?”

Julie winced. “It made a difference. Those last two... seemed to sting a little more.”

“Probably because I’m closer, they got more force behind them. Where now?”

Julie looked down again at her bullet-riddled torso and wondered where he would fit twelve more gun shot wounds. “Maybe put another one in my thigh for now?”

"That seems a bit soft, but I guess you've earned it." The man chambered a round and blasted her in the center of the right thigh, where she felt the lead smash into her femur. She wasn't sure, but she thought the bone might have cracked.

"Ah! Puta madre! Have you ever been shot in the thigh?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well believe me, there's nothing soft about it."

The man shrugged. "I suppose you're right. I choose the next shot." He pumped the rifle and fired before Julie could object, and his bullet found her tender underbelly, an inch below the waistline of her jeans and slightly off to the left.

"I think that was my bladder," Julie remarked.

"Did you piss yourself?"

"I think I did." It was hard to tell how much of the warm wetness in her jeans was her blood and how much was piss, but she was pretty sure it was a mix of both now.

"The great and formidable Julie, pissing in her pants."

Julie laughed and spat blood. "Fuck you."

"That's fifty shots now. Ten more to go. You still up for it?"

"What if I said no?"

"I could put the next one in your heart."

Julie didn't think he would. He had kept her alive this long because he was enjoying this. He wasn't going to suddenly end it, and she didn't want him to. She was once again amazed by her sheer desire to live, no matter the circumstance. "And ruin all our fun?"

"Give me another target, then."

Julie looked down and gave it some thought. Her left breast was still mostly intact, but she remembered what happened the last time she was shot in the chest - she had nearly suffocated in the open air. Could she survive another shot there? Fuck it, one way to find out. "My left nipple."

"I like it. Why don't you open your vest so I know where to aim?"

Julie smirked. "Everybody wants to see my tits today. They're not even that big."

"I'm going to see them anyway. When you're dead."

The old, self-respecting Julie would have refused. This fucker was killing her, so why should she cooperate? The new, enlightened Julie had no use for pettiness or self respect. She was dying, so the only thing that mattered now was retaining as much good cheer as possible and savoring every last moment. "If you wanted to see my boobs all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to shoot me fifty times." Julie's smile broadened as she managed to draw a chuckle out of her killer.

Unbuttoning her top was slow work. She found her fingers clumsy and numb and her vision spotty at best, but her stubborn persistence won out in the end. When a button was particularly evasive, she simply tugged until it either popped off or slid through the button-hole. Her bra was even more of a challenge. The clasp was in the back, and both her shoulders and arms were wounded, so reaching behind herself was not as easy as it once was. After a brief struggle she looked at her murderer and asked, “Maybe you could help me out with this?”

“I’m actually enjoying watching you squirm.”

Julie frowned at him. “Do you want to see my nips or not?”

“I told you, I’m going to see them anyway. Tell you what though. I’ll give you to the count of five to get out of that bra, or the next one goes between your pretty blue eyes.”

“Bullshit,” she answered, but she began to panic as her fingers continued to fumble ineffectually. What difference does it make if he shoots me in the head? I’m already dying. But it did make a difference. It might be the difference between five minutes and five seconds, but it mattered. Every second mattered. Every second was precious.

“One.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Two.”

Julie couldn’t feel anything behind her back. She wasn’t even sure if her hands could reach high enough.

“Three.” The man pumped a round into the chamber.

He’s not gonna do it. He won’t. Julie’s fingers clawed frantically at what she hoped was the back of her bra. The clasp was there somewhere. “God damn it!”

“Four.” The man raised his rifle and aimed at her.

Julie’s eyebrows arced. “Wait.” Did she feel something? Was that it? She yanked and pulled and the fabric stretched taut across her breasts.

“Five.” The man fired, but Julie did not feel her head cave in and her world did not end. Instead she felt the impact in her left breast, and that familiar feeling of inhaling jagged shards of glass and molten iron returned. Her hands fell to her sides, and her bra dropped to the dirt in front of her.

A horrible, wheezing, gurgling cough wracked her lungs and blood spewed from her lips, and she gazed down at her now bare left tit and found that there was a perfectly circular, dime-sized hole where her nipple used to be. How many times had she flicked it and pinched it and squeezed it and massaged it as she pleasured herself? I’ll never be able to do any of those things again, she thought with wistful melancholy. “Nice shot.”

“Thanks!” the man said, thoroughly pleased with himself.

After battling another painful bout of coughing, Julie asked, “Are you picking the next shot? Or am I?”

“Did you have something in mind already?”

Examining her bullet-riddled midsection, Julie noted the bullet holes were primarily clustered around her navel. Her upper abdomen, on the other hand, had been largely spared. Without realizing how many nerve endings there were in her solar plexus, Julie pointed to the soft spot an inch below her sternum.

The man nodded and complied, shooting her precisely where she had pointed. The bullet ripped through her stomach and glanced off her spine. Her blue eyes bulged wide and her mouth gaped as she tried to cope with the fresh wave of pain surging through her midriff. After a few seconds she managed to articulate her thoughts. “Fuck... Just when you think it can’t hurt any worse.”

“Ready for the next one?”

“You’re fucking relentless. My choice?”

“As long as you don’t wimp out on me, sure.”

Julie grimaced, took a deep breath, swallowed a whimper, and pointed a little farther to the right, just below her rib cage. Once again the man’s aim was impeccable, and a bullet hole quickly appeared right where she had pointed. She tried to remember her high school anatomy class, and wondered if that was her liver she felt being pierced. “You’re a really good shot,” she told him, spitting blood. “It’s fucking incredible.”

“It takes a lot of practice. You’re a really good target.”

Julie smiled. “Thanks. I didn’t hafta practice at all.”

“Some people are just born naturals, I guess. You want to pick again?”

“Alright, just a sec,” Julie agreed, and this time she pointed to the spot below her left breast where her ribs began and her lungs ended. The man obliged, and Julie thought the bullet might have found her kidney but it missed her lung as she had hoped. She grunted softly, then complimented her killer again. “Another good one.”

“Next one goes in your right tit,” the man told her, and without a moment’s hesitation he loaded and fired the shot, plugging her on the inner rim of her areola.

Her breath died in her throat and blood filled her mouth again. She clawed at her chest, as if she could rip herself open and restore life to her lungs, and her mouth yawned and her lips peeled back from her teeth. There was no reprieve. This time she was really drowning. Seconds turned into minutes and Julie’s buttocks came to rest on her heels. I’m dying. This is it.

Dizzy and light-headed, her vision faded and the world around her disappeared. It felt like she was falling through dark, empty space. She slammed a fist into her chest, and one miraculous breath of air squeaked into her lungs. She coughed and vomited blood, phlegm and gore, and reality slowly returned to her.

“Chinga su madre.” She blew a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Okay, I need to regroup.” The cocaine bullet came out of her pocket and she snorted deeply of its contents, then snorted again. It seemed to be drying up. “No more shots in my chest, please.”

“There’s only five rounds left. Where do you want them?”

Julie stuck her thumbs through her belt loops and tugged her jeans a little lower on her hips. “Below my belly button,” she said softly.

“As you wish.” The man repeated his magic trick with the rifle, demonstrating remarkable speed and accuracy, and a hole appeared beneath Julie’s cute little navel.

Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled heavily, and with the back of her hand she swiped a mixture of blood and saliva from her lips. “Four more. Piece of cake. You should have brought a hundred rounds. With your bitch ass.”

“Is that so?” The man promptly chambered another round and shot her high in the chest, beneath her left collar bone. Thankfully it did not hit a lung, so Julie continued to draw breath, but it was too close for comfort.

“I was kidding, motherfucker,” she told him. “Chill.”

“I could have killed you with one shot if I wanted. You’ve only survived fifty-seven because I’ve allowed you to live.”

“How generous of you.”

“Where would you like the last three?”

“Hmm, how about one here?” Julie pointed to a portion of flesh on her upper left abdomen where there were no bullet holes for a radius of about one and a half inches. The man quickly changed that, drilling her with hot lead dead in the center of that section.

Julie winced and grunted, then asked, “Do you think the last two could go in my right shoulder and right hip? You’ve got my torso pretty well covered now.”

“Very well,” the man agreed, and in less than two seconds Julie had fresh holes in both places.

“Shit. God damn. That was fast. You could probably make a lot of money as a trick shooter. Like in a show or something.”

“I don’t need money, and I enjoy live targets.”

“Right. Well... this live target’s been shot sixty fucking times now. I still can’t fucking believe it.”

“How does it feel?”

“I’m dying so... not good. I think I want to walk for a while. Could you help me up?"

"Walk? Where? Why would you want to walk?" The man looked incredulous.

"Just to take my mind off things, you know."

“You’re not actually still trying to live?”

“Well I really don’t wanna die, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m not going to help you up. If you want to walk, then stand up and walk.”

"Dick," Julie said, and she tried to stand up as the man suggested. As soon as she began shifting her weight to her legs she toppled over onto her side, then rolled onto her back. She made one more vain attempt to sit up before resting her head in the dirt. “Well fuck. I guess this is where I die.”

“I should think so.”

“It’s, it’s just so fucking...” Julie found she didn’t have the words to describe how absolutely, mind-bogglingly awful this was, but at least she had someone to talk to now, even if he was a murderous psychopath. "So are you gonna jerk off on my corpse when I'm dead, or what?"

The man raised an eyebrow. “That interests you, does it?”

“Sure. I mean it’s not everyday you get to meet a serial killer. I guess I wanna know what you’re getting outta this.”

“I might masturbate and spray my seed on your face. I might fuck your dead body. I haven’t decided yet. I will take some photographs to remember this moment, and it will give me quite a few orgasms in the months to come.”

“Nice. My life for a few orgasms. Seems like a fair trade. If you like to fuck dead chicks, why don’t you just get a job as an undertaker or some shit?”

“I told you, I like to watch girls die. The dead don’t turn me on if I didn’t interact with them when they were living.”

“Got it. You’re a kinky fucker. Wanna hear something crazy?”

“I’m listening.”

“The last thing... my friend told me. None of these fuckers that left me to die, but my real friend. The reason I came on this trip. She told me, ‘don’t get murdered by a serial killer.’”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. It’s good advice.” Julie chuckled. “I really shoulda listened to her.” The man smiled, and tears suddenly filled Julie’s eyes and spilled down her temples. “I love laughing. I love living.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s all over for you now.”

“It’s a real bitch,” Julie agreed. “So what are your thoughts on God? Beth... the girl you were supposed to kill today... said God sent you to kill me for not believing in Him.”

They both laughed at that. “God sent me to kill you, huh?”

“Yeah. I thought it was pretty stupid.”

“God didn’t send me. I am God. And this is Heaven.”

“Right. Well I used to believe in God. Or I thought I did. Maybe I just wanted to. Nobody wants to die, right? Eternal life sounds so good... at least until you really think about it.” The man held a camera and was snapping pictures of her. She hadn’t noticed when he started photographing her, or where he had found the camera, but he had it now. “You gonna put those on Instagram?”

The man ignored her question and asked, “You don’t want to live forever?”

Julie continued, “No, but I want to live for another hundred years. Maybe two hundred.”

“I don’t think you’ll make it that long.”

Julie lifted her head and looked at her bloody, bullet torn body. “I don’t think I will,” she agreed.

The man set aside the camera, unzipped his pants and pulled them down. His cock was bigger than Benny’s, but just as hard. “That’s the second penis I’ve seen today.” Without a word, the man wrapped his fingers around his throbbing erection and began to jerk it up and down. "Oh, okay. We're doing this now then?"

The man stared her dead in the eye as he stroked his salami, completely unabashed, and it was a boldness Julie had never known. He had effectively killed her, and now he was masturbating in front of her without a shred of guilt or shame or remorse. It was oddly impressive in a unique way. The most upsetting thing for Julie was that she couldn’t talk to him while he was doing this.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, and she reached her hand out to him. The sooner he finished, the sooner they could get back to having a discussion.

The man fell to his knees and leaned closer, allowing her to stroke his mushroom with her finger tips. I’m now jerking off my killer, Julie thought, dumbfounded, but it helped take her mind off dying, and anything to that end was a good thing.

“I don’t even know your name."

"Brandon."

"Do you enjoy dominating girls, Brandon? Is that what this is about?"

Brandon shook his head.

“It’s sadism then.”

Brandon continued to stroke his penis, but offered no response.

Julie felt something sticky and wet begin to ooze out of Brandon’s erection as she fondled the tip. “My pain turns you on, Brandon? Does it make you happy that I’m fucking terrified?”

Brandon nodded this time, and Julie saw the climax building in his face, in his eyes, in his posture. He was tensing up.

“I don’t wanna die, Brandon. I don’t...” A hot blast of semen spurted through her hand and spattered her face. Julie blinked and licked some of the cum from her lips.

Brandon was grunting harshly and squeezing out the rest of his seed. “Holy shit. That was incredible.”

Julie weakly spit the salty semen out and it drizzled down her cheek. “Was it?”

“Might be the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

"Too bad you had to kill me for it. You know, I've only jerked off two guys in my entire life, and they were both in the last hour or so. Imagine what I could do with a little practice." Julie licked her lips again, tasting the bitter mixture of her blood and Brandon's cum, and tried to appear seductive.

"Stupid bitch," Brandon slapped her hard in the face. "Even now, you're trying to convince me to save you. You're incorrigible."

The slap stung, but it was mild when compared with sixty bullet wounds. Julie blinked and answered, "It's just hard, you know? Accepting your death. Like there's really nothing else. Nothing left. I just... I can't..."

Her fingers were like icicles, too cold and numb to feel, but she groped in the pocket of her jeans for her coke bullet, and after a brief struggle she retrieved it. She snorted deeply once. Twice. A third time. She swallowed. “I think... it’s cashed.” She let the bullet fall in the dirt, then let her head do the same. “I guess I’m cashed too.” She laughed sadly. The coke gave her heart a boost though, as she had hoped, and a small amount of energy surged through her dying body.

"Tell me about the first girl you killed. What was she like? What made you decide to kill her?" Brandon looked at her solemnly, saying nothing, and Julie thought he wasn't going to answer. Her death was drawing close and she needed a distraction. “Not in the mood for conversation?” Brandon continued to stare wordlessly. “Fine, I’m getting up then.”

Brandon still said nothing, but he raised his eyebrows in surprise as Julie forced her torn and mangled muscles into action. Her abdomen was ripped to shreds but she found enough strength in her core to lift herself onto her elbows, and from there she was able to roll onto her side, and then use her mostly healthy arms to push herself to her knees. “Alright,” she muttered. “Now the hard part.”

"That was easy then?" Brandon asked her, breaking his silence.

Julie flashed a twisted grin. "Piece of fucking cake." Then she bit her lip and squinched her nose and swung her right leg up in front of her. It was the leg that didn't have a bullet hole in its knee, and it was her naturally dominant side, so she trusted it more than her left. Grunting and squealing and grinding her teeth, Julie pushed beyond limits she had no business, no right, to test. Fighting against exhaustion and blood-loss and catastrophically mutilated muscles, trashed tendons and broken bones, she somehow found her footing once again.

"Amazing," Brandon said, profoundly awe struck.

"Shot sixty times and still standing," Julie told him, and she put her hands on her hips and gave him a saucy look.

"Can you still walk?" Brandon asked her, intrigued.

"Fucking bet your ass I can." Julie pushed one foot forward, then the other, shuffling down the road. Maybe I can still walk all the way back to the highway. The fucker's out of bullets, after all, so he can't shoot me anymore.

"I've never seen anything so impressive," Brandon said earnestly. "Truly, I haven't."

"I'm full of... fucking surprises."

"You're full of holes."

"Well... that too. Yeah." Julie choked out a spurt of laughter.

"I need to show you something."

"What?" Julie asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead of her. One misstep and she'd be down for good. She didn't even bother to turn her head when she felt Brandon's hand on her shoulder and the cold steel pressed against the small of her back. She did, however, see her blood and bits of guts spatter the ground in front of her when the gun went off. "Ahhgggkk!" she cried, in her high-pitched voice. "I thought you were out of bullets."

"My rifle shot is spent, you have got me there. But I'm afraid I held something back." He help up a massive pistol for her to see. "Desert Eagle .50 caliber, for real stopping power. Have a gander at the hole that left in your gut."

Julie peered down at her bullet riddled midriff as instructed, and she saw an exit wound the size of a fifty cent piece roughly one inch left of her navel. As she examined the grisly damage to her abdomen Brandon shot her again, and she saw a fresh hole ripped through her, just slightly above the previous one. “Otra vez? Ay puta madre!” She barely had enough time to utter her curse before Brandon pulled the trigger a third time, and this hole was torn through the right side of her midsection, overlapping a couple of the smaller wounds to the right of her navel.

“There’s a bit of your intestines poking through there. You see that?”

Julie did see that. A section of pink tubing protruded from the expansive tear in the right side of her tummy. She poked at it, curious to see if she could push it back inside her abdominal cavity where it belonged, but it bulged around her finger and created a queasy, extremely unpleasant feeling so she let it be. “Yup. I see it.”

Brandon shot her again, just to the left of her spine, and she watched the bullet tear away a chunk of guts, skin and flesh above her navel. “Quite a bit more violent than that .32 rimfire, wouldn’t you say?”

“Feels like I’m being kicked by a fucking mule,” Julie told him.

“Still feel like walking?”

“Fucking A.” Julie cupped her guts in her right hand and tried to cover the gushing exit wounds left of her navel with her left hand, and she took a shaky step forward. Then another. “So why the sudden need for the Desert Eagle? I thought we were cool with the sixty bullet wounds.”

“I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Your friends will reach the highway soon, and I need to be gone before that happens. Didn’t really think you’d take this long to die, to be honest.“

“Told you I’m full of surprises,” Julie took another step. Then another.

“Let’s see if you can stop a .50 caliber point blank in the side, or if it will still rip right through you.”

“Do we have to?” Julie gave Brandon a pleading look, but he disregarded her question and nestled the barrel of his gun against the right side of her soft midriff.

“I’ll be surprised if you stop this bullet.” He fired, and there was no doubt of the outcome of his experiment. Neither of them needed to look for the exit wound on Julie’s left side. They saw the spatter as blood and innards were forced from her body by the hot lead’s brutal exodus.

“You’re such a dick,” Julie muttered. She took another step forward. And another.

“How the fuck are you still walking?” Brandon pointed his weapon at the right side of her thigh and fired. The bullet passed through her right thigh and then her left, moving in a slightly downward trajectory. Grotesque flaps of meat were exposed through the holes ripped in her jeans, and Julie’s legs wobbled, her thighs burned and stiffened, but she held out her hands for balance and refused to fall. “You are absolutely fucking incredible.”

“Thanks?” Julie said, the inflections in her tone making it a question.

“I don’t know anybody who can take six rounds from a .50 caliber and just walk it off, but you’re doing it AFTER I shot you sixty times with a rifle? This shouldn’t even be physically possible.”

Julie shuffled forward another step. And another. “How many rounds do you have for that thing?”

“Seven in the clip, and I always keep one in the hole.”

“I guess that means you’re gonna shoot me two more times?” Julie gulped, her eyes wide and blinking rapidly.

“That is my intention.”

“Lovely.”

“Would you like to make another game of it?”

Julie put one foot forward, then the other, and Brandon moved with her. “Game? That’s some word for blowing my ass away. Challenge maybe?”

“Fair enough. What do you propose? Keep in mind I’ll need you to be dead in five minutes, maybe less.”

Five minutes? Is that really all I have left now? “Let’s see if you’re as good with a pistol… as you are with that rifle.” Julie coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood. “I’ll take twenty steps down the road,” Julie gestured ahead, “and then turn and give you some targets.”

“I’ll give you twenty seconds. You get as far down that road as you can, and then turn around. You don’t turn around and I’m picking the targets myself.”

“Alright. Bet.” Julie started limping, moving as quickly as she could trust herself to move. The part of her that refused to give up and die was hoping that with enough distance, she might be able to get him to spend his ammo without completely finishing her off, and she could continue her trek to the highway.

When Brandon hit five she cast a glance over her shoulder and judged the distance at maybe ten feet, maybe a little less. At least he won’t be shooting me at point blank range anymore. When he reached ten in his count she was close to twenty feet away. This would be better than she originally hoped. When he counted fourteen she stumbled. Her legs were wooden and her shoes were full of lead. She was going to fall and never get up again. She threw her arms out and forced her right foot forward, and somehow, miraculously, she did not fall. Her balance was restored.

“Eighteen,” Brandon said, bemused.

One more step, Julie thought, and she moved her left foot forward. Just one more. She moved her right foot forward.

“Nineteen.”

One more. Her left foot moved forward.

“Twenty.”

Julie whimpered softly. She started to take another step, but the sound of Brandon’s voice stopped her.

“Julie. Don’t flake on me. I can still put the next shot through the back of your skull.”

Julie turned around and grinned sheepishly. “Who’s flaking?” She was a good thirty paces away now. Holding out her right hand, palm forward, she asked, “Do you think you can put one through the middle of my hand?” Before she could even blink there was a hole in the dead center of the triangle formed by the creases in her palm. “A la madre! Motherfucker!” She looked at Brandon and laughed. “Pretty fucking good. Okay. One more, right?”

Brandon nodded. “One more.”

“And since you want me dead in five minutes…”

“More like four now.”

Julie wrinkled her brow. “Four minutes. I don’t guess I could convince you to just shoot me in the shoulder again?”

Brandon stared at her, wordless, but his eyes conveyed his impatience better than any sentence could. “Pick your target,” he finally told her.

“Ooooh, fuck. Alright. Alright. Okay. Let’s see if you can make my other nipple disappear.” The Desert Eagle bucked and Julie’s right tit jiggled as it absorbed the rapidly hurtling ball of lead. Julie grunted and gasped, her tortured, collapsing lungs bearing the worst damage yet. She looked down, all her concentration focused on standing and breathing, and she saw her right nipple was gone, a grisly hole of torn fat and flesh in its place.

“Oof. Nailed it. You know… people kept telling me I have well proportioned tits. That other nipple had to go to… keep that proportion.” Julie grinned, strained through a wheezing cough, and spat blood. “I’m gonna keep walking now.”

“Suit yourself. I reckon I’ll reload and keep shooting you.”

“Reload?” Julie gulped.

Brandon produced a clip from his belt. “Backup clip.” He ejected the empty and swapped it for the full one.

“Seven more rounds?” Julie’s eyes were wide.

Brandon nodded and raised the pistol. “Would you like to pick some more targets?”

"Fucking Jesus. You're really gonna finish me."

"Truly a pity we don't have more time." Without further discussion, Brandon shot Julie in the left shoulder. The bullet sheared away chunks of flesh and bone and cartilage, not far from where she had been shot through the left shoulder a short time ago.

“Awkkk! Almost ripped my damn arm off,” Julie squawked.

“Figured I’d honor your earlier request, since I was not forthcoming with the amount of rounds I had left.”

“How sweet of you. Maybe you could do my right thigh next?”

Brandon was once again prompt with his trigger finger. The bullet smashed into the dead center of Julie’s thigh, and when it struck her femur its inertia was not as easily diverted as so many of the slugs that came before it. The bone was shattered and split into shards, and Julie dropped to her knees, then her buttocks came to rest on her heels. Her mouth gaped and she clutched the wounded leg, then after a beat she said, “Alright. I guess I’m done walking now.”

“Next five are going in your torso.”

“My tummy?” Julie didn't savor the idea of five more gaping holes in her guts, but she knew she'd last longer if he blew out the rest of her plumbing and spared her heart and lungs.

“I’ll give you three in the abdomen.” Brandon fired three shots in the space of a single second. The first bore through her left of her navel, the second right of her navel, slightly higher in her belly than the first, and the third struck her in the center of her midriff, taking a piece of her spine and ejecting it from her back.

“Oh fuck.” Julie rocked back and planted her palms in the dirt to support herself. Peering at her midsection, she smiled wanly and added, “If they were… weren’t still sticking outta… my tummy, I’d think all my intestines were in the dirt behind me.”

“I’d wager quite a lot of them are.”

“I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“I think that last shot snapped your spinal column. If it’s any consolation, you won’t feel anything anymore very soon.”

“I'm not consoled." Julie’s eyebrows arched prettily. "The last two in my chest, huh?”

Brandon answered with his weapon, punching holes through the lower curve of her right breast and the outer areola of her left breast. Chunks of bone from her ribs exploded with the flattening lead and ripped away huge swaths of her badly flagging lungs, and exit wounds the size of silver dollars opened in her upper back. A gurgling cough sprayed blood from her lips, and any delusions of miraculous survival were resolutely erased.

The strength went out of her arms and Julie collapsed on her back. Brandon walked casually over to look at her, and he found her staring up in bewilderment, blinking at the darkening sky and trying to make sense of it.

"Shot seventy-five times. Can you believe it?" she told him. I didn't even wanna come on this trip. Why did they invite me? Just so James and Brenda could fuck, and Benny could ogle me? Why did Mark hafta hit that fucking deer? Why did I leave the van? Why did Beth hafta have a serial killer stalking her? Why... The sky darkened and her thoughts trailed away to nothingness. Her life ended. Julie Huerta was gone forever.