An excerpt from Rust, Gore, and the junkyard Zombie :
Jimbo actually tried to bite him. Dad’s reflexes have never dulled in the twenty years since he left the military. He was always a more physical person, it was one of his more annoying personality traits. His exercise routine was nearly a religious thing. He jogged five miles every morning, and did other muscle builders as well. He claimed it was how he kept his body in shape. I was so stunned that all I could do was stare.
Dad dodged away and started cussing. “Jimbo, you damn fool! What the Hell is wrong with you? “ Jimbo only groaned, and followed Dad. Again, Jimbo lunged and tried to bite.
“Have you been in my good stash again? You know that you have no tolerance for the booze! Get your drunk ass up to the couch to sober up! And how did you get so damn bloodied up boy?”
Dad clocked him, as Jimbo tried yet another time to bite him. Not the first time Dad sent him flying, but this time something was different. Dad knew it too. A look of deadly steel settled in his eyes.
“Jimbo, I am done playing with you. This is the last warning. Back off!” Dad pulled out his Colt Desert Eagle, and grimaced as if he really did not want to use it. To be honest, he probably didn’t. He rarely did. “Pull your head out your ass boy!”
Dad snarled as he backed away, but Jimbo didn’t seem to hear him. Dad aimed for the knee. The shot rang loudly, ringing painfully across the entire garage.