Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

“I don’t believe that for one second,” said Mr. Carpenter. “If you’ve got three armed men in there, why haven’t they blown us to bits already?”

“Because some of us have a little dignity,” said Jim.

“Boys,” said Mr. Carpenter. “Go in and see what’s there. Make sure to bring me some meat.”

As the boys trudged in a single file line towards the front door, Mr. Carpenter reached into his waistband and pulled out a massive handgun. He pointed it directly at Jim’s head.

“It’d be wise not to do anything stupid,” said Mr. Carpenter. “I don’t want to have to kill you. But if I do, it’s not like the cops are going to come looking for me. It’s every family for themselves now.”

“You might as well be killing us,” said Aly.

“That’s on you,” said Mr. Carpenter.

His wife approached him and put her arm around him, pulling herself close to him. She kissed him sloppily on the cheek, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like “I love you, baby.”

From inside the house, a gunshot rang out.

Rob was ready. His eyes were on Mr. Carpenter. He saw the man’s eyes go wide in surprise.

Rob didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t trust himself not to make a mistake with it.

Instead, he launched his huge body forward. He didn’t bother swinging his fists.

He collided with Carpenter hard.

Carpenter let out a grunt.

The two of them fell to the ground.

Hard.

Rob was on top of Carpenter, his body pinning him down. Rob swung his fist, bringing it high in the air in an arc. His knuckles crashed into Carpenter’s face.

Right on the nose.

Carpenter was reaching for something. His knife or his gun.

With his left hand, Rob pinned Carpenter’s arm at the wrist, pushing it hard down into the gravel.

With his right fist, Rob swung again, smashing his hand hard into the right side of Carpenter’s face.

Carpenter’s face was bleeding. Mostly from the nose. There was blood on Rob’s knuckles.

Rob was filled with anger. He wanted to pummel Carpenter into nothing. He wanted to keep hitting him.

The world around him seemed to have shrunk. There was a thundering roar in his ears, and for a second it seemed like he might forget about the rest of the world altogether.

But there were other things to consider. Guns were involved. Someone had been shot.

He snapped out of it. Out of the rage.

Rob grabbed his handgun, the one that had been taken from the men last week, and shoved the barrel into Carpenter’s face.

There was no need to say anything. The message was clear. If Carpenter made a move, he’d be shot.

Rob looked up.

Aly was holding a gun to the back Mrs. Carpenter’s head. Mrs. Carpenter had her hands on her head.

Jim was on the move, heading rapidly towards the front door.

Another gunshot rang out from inside the house.

Ruger in hand, Jim ran through the open door.

The gunshot from seconds ago still rang in his ears.

But now there was just silence.

The interior of the house was dark. His eyes would take a moment to adjust.

He gripped his revolver tightly. His finger was on the trigger. The hammer was cocked.

They had it under control outside. Both of the Carpenter parents couldn’t make a move without getting holes in their heads.

Now it was time to deal with the offspring.

Jim’s worry was that being young men, they’d be more likely to act impulsively.

Jim pressed himself flat against the faux wood paneling in the small hallway that led to the living room.

He could hear breathing coming from somewhere. Ragged and intense.

He tried to control his own breathing, keeping it from being too audible. His heart was pounding and he was already sweating bullets.

He wanted to take stock of the situation. It wouldn’t be good to rush into it.

But he couldn’t wait too long.

He listened as hard as he could.

But he just heard breathing.

Finally, someone spoke. It was a male voice. Early twenties. Maybe the middle brother.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ve got to rush her.”

“You think so?”

“Come on, what are we waiting for?”

“Rifles aren’t good for inside. That’s what Dad said, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter. They still shoot, right?”

“And there are three of us.”

There were three separate voices. None of them sounded injured.

So who had fired the shots?

He’d thought it’d been Jessica, judging from the sound of the gunshots.

Maybe she’d missed.

There was also the possibility that Jim had misjudged the quality of the sound of the gunshots. Maybe Jessica had been shot at. Maybe she’d been hit. Maybe she’d holed herself up in the bedroom, where she was slowly bleeding out.

Jim needed to do something.

Jim inched closer to the edge that lead into the other room. He moved as quietly as he could.

“The next one won’t be a warning shot,” came Jessica’s voice, coming clearly from the bedroom.

“We aren’t messing around with warning shots,” shouted one of the Carpenter brothers.

There was no way to coordinate with Jessica without alerting the brothers to his presence.

He wished Rob was there with him. Or Aly. He should have brought them.

But there wasn’t time to go back and get them quietly.

Jim stepped around the corner, leading with his Ruger.

His heart was pounding. His adrenaline was pumping through him. Time seemed to have slowed down slightly. His vision was a tunnel of concentration, the periphery slightly blackened out.

For a long moment, none of the brothers noticed him.

He had his Ruger pointed at the back of one of their heads. The older brother.

Jim could pull the trigger. Kill him instantly. His body would crumple to the floor. His brothers would turn and open fire.

A memory of the young man Tim flashed through his mind. A brief image. Nothing more. It was Tim’s face, his eyes open wide, as he lay on Aly’s mother’s floor.

But the idea of bloodshed didn’t deter him. He didn’t relish the idea of taking a life. But he’d do what he had to do.

It wasn’t that that made him not pull the trigger.

It was the simple logistics of it.

He had a realistic opinion of his firearms skills, his abilities. He knew what he was doing. He could hit a target reliably. And he was fast. But he wasn’t going to win any competitions for speed. He wasn’t nearly as good or as fast as plenty of men and women he’d seen at the range.

He was just a guy. A realistic one, at that.

Maybe he could get off a second shot.

Maybe.

And after that, he’d get his own bullet. Probably to the stomach, given the level the brothers were holding their hunting rifles at.

It wouldn’t be hard to aim a rifle at this range. All the brothers would have to do is spin and pull the trigger. They wouldn’t even really have to aim at all. Just point and shoot.

It was time to act.

“Before you shoot,” said Jim, in a loud voice.

Two of the brothers spun around. The other remained facing the room Jessica was in.

“Know that we’ve got your parents at gunpoint outside.”

The brothers glanced at each other.

They didn’t open fire.

That was good.

For now.

“You hurt, Jessica?” shouted Jim.

“I’m OK,” shouted Jessica back.

“There are two ways out of this,” said Jim. “We can all open fire. The way I see it, no matter how it goes, most of us are going down. And then friends outside will have no choice but to come rushing in here to help. And to do that they’re going to have to shoot your parents dead. To incapacitate them. Is that what you want?”