With all the force I could muster, I kicked him hard on the crotch. Not once, not twice, but a dozen times. Making sure that the heels of my stiletto hit him on his balls.
He fell off his seat, writhing in agony, unable to take the gun that had fallen on the seat out of his reach. The attack must have been so painful, or a burly man like him wouldn't be tearing up.
Seizing the opportunity to escape, I grabbed the car keys that had fallen on the tattered seat. I climbed out of the car, took the child out of the backseat, and locked the man inside.
I was tired, weak, and thirsty. But my strong will to survive gave me just enough strength to run while dragging the child alongside me. The child didn't make a sound. Didn't complain. I was expecting him to burst into tears and whine like children about his age do but he didn't.
