While still swinging the helmet at his side, he said, “I might just bury you down here. No one will ever find your body.”
Survival of the fittest mode kicked in for me. Phil was still positioned in front of me. His legs were separated ever so slightly, which gave me plenty of room to rush my right leg upwards, nailing him in the crotch with my foot, knocking the wind out of him. The football helmet fell from his grasp and rolled to his right. He became breathless almost immediately, caught off guard and slumped over, choking. I then used my other leg to push him backwards, ramming the bottom of my left bare foot against his shoulder. The guy tumbled to the dirt floor and let out an animal-like moan, which told me he was wounded.