Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

One penicillin tablet became two, then three, and pretty soon he had a handful of penicillin.

He didn’t stop there. Not while he had the chance to gather up medicine that might save the life of someone else down the line.

He knew time was passing quickly. He knew he shouldn’t spend too long there in that pharmacy.

But who knew when he’d have another chance like that.

Glancing at his watch, Jim saw that half an hour had passed. He’d been absorbed in the whole process, the collecting.

Finally, he had enough tablets.

Jim stood up.

Suddenly, he realized that he’d been so absorbed in gathering the pills that he’d neglected to keep checking his surroundings.

He shouldn’t have done that.

But he’d be OK. After all, he would have heard if someone had been approaching.

Jim moved cautiously back around the counter and towards the back of the store.

Trash crunched under his boots and he shone his flashlight as a guide.

He was almost to the door that he’d come in through.

“Hands in the air,” came a gravely deep voice.

Jim turned his head to the right where the voice had come from. His Ruger followed the path. And his flashlight.

“Drop it and hands in the air.”

Jim’s flashlight illuminated the man. A regular looking guy. Except that he had a gun in his hand.

An image of Aly flashed through Jim’s mind.

He wasn’t going to leave without those pills.

He had to get back to her.

The guy would rob him. There was no question. Jim saw it in his eyes.

The guy was good. Waiting for him like that. Jim should have noticed.

But the guy had made one crucial mistake. He hadn’t shot Jim dead when he’d had the chance.

Jim saw the guy’s gun moving, tracking towards Jim’s chest.

Jim pulled the Ruger’s trigger. A good fast pull.

The Ruger kicked.

It was a good shot. Right in the stomach.

A whooshing in the air. Jim heard it. But it was too late.

Something hard hit him in the back of the head.

Someone else was there.

Pressure in his eardrums. Blackness overcoming his vision. But just for a moment.

Jim staggered forward, almost falling. But he caught himself at the last moment with his leg.

The heavy thing crashed again, this time into the small of his back.

Pain flashed through him, roaring out in all directions, up and down and across his back. And down his leg.

Jim lurched forward again, but he didn’t fall.

Jim’s face was only a foot away from the man in front of him, who he’d just shot.

There was blood on the man’s shirt, around the stomach. His face was contorted into rage and pain. His hand still clutched his gun.

And he was slowly raising that gun. It cost him a huge effort to do so. But inch by inch it was rising.

In another couple seconds, he’d shoot Jim.

Jim ignored the pain in his back, the black spots that remained in his vision.

He acted more out of instinct than anything.

Jim pulled the trigger again.

The Ruger kicked.

The shot rang out throughout the store.

The bullet struck the man in the face, leaving a grizzly mess where his features had been.

Jim swung around, trying to meet his still unseen attacker.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Another blow to his back knocked him over. He lost his balance and he tumbled into the corpse of the man he’d just shot.

Aly hadn’t been doing well. Jessica had stopped by her room when she’d gone inside to make the instant coffee, and Aly had been awake and moaning in pain.

There was much to do for her, other than dole out a few more tablets of aspirin. She was already taking a lot, and they didn’t want to overdo it. A couple tablets every few hours already was approaching a few grams of aspirin a day.

Too much, and Aly’s blood would get too thin, increasing the possibility that she’d bleed out.

Jessica stood there in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil on the stove. Aly’s moans of pain were perfectly audible from where she stood.

There just wasn’t anything she could do about it.

She hoped Jim would get back soon. With antibiotics.

If she knew Jim at all, though, she knew he wouldn’t come back without something that would cure his wife. He wasn’t the type of guy to come back empty handed.

Jessica was staring out the window to the trees as the water boiled.

All of a sudden, she saw something.

It was a flash of something. Some color that wasn’t natural. It had been so fast, she didn’t get a good look at it.

Maybe it was yellow. Maybe orange.

Aly’s mind went to the Carpenters.

Her hand went to her Glock. She seized it from its holster.

With her other hand, Aly killed the gas to the stove.

Her eyes scanned the area outside the window, but she saw nothing more.

She listened.

No sounds.

Except for Aly moaning.

Jessica knew she had to act fast.

She moved rapidly to the bedroom, grabbing the rifle where it leaned against the wall in the hallway and slinging it across her back.

“Aly,” she said, grabbing a handgun from the nightstand. “You need to take this. Someone’s here.”

Aly’s eyes were barely open. It was almost impossible to think she’d be able to defend herself with a handgun in that state.

But Jessica figured that if it’d been her in that bed, she’d have wanted to have a gun. After all, if she and Rob died, Aly would be helpless and alone in bed, unable to stand up.

Maybe there was a chance she could raise a gun and get one last shot.

“Here, grab hold of this,” said Jessica, taking Aly’s hot to the touch fingers and wrapping them around the gun.

Jessica turned on her heel and left the room. There was nothing more, after all, that she could say. Nothing that could help.

In her mind, she counted up the Carpenters. There were the parents. Two of them. And three of the adult children.

Five in total.

Five against two.

Not exactly a fair fight.

But since when had fighting, or anything, been fair?

And Rob, despite his efforts, wasn’t anything close to being an expert shot. Or even a competent shot.

Jessica paused by the door, listening, with her ear against it.

Nothing. No sounds.

Her heart was pounding and her grip on her Glock instinctively tightened.

There was only one door to the house. Two would have been better.

If she were going to invade the lake house, how would she do it?

Probably come in through the door.

She could post up near the door, ready to shoot anyone who came through it.

But Rob was out there.

She couldn’t leave him alone.

Jessica threw the door open, staying back and out of the way.

A gunshot rang out from somewhere outside the house. It sounded close.

Another gunshot.

Jessica flattened herself against the wall.

Now there was nothing but silence.

She had to move. Rob was out there.

She poked her head around the corner, looking out the open doorway.

Nothing. No one was there.

Where was Rob?

If only she’d had some way to communicate with Rob. A radio. Or a cell phone.

Something moved in the trees.

It wasn’t the same color she’d seen out the other window. This was a khaki color, like dirty khaki pants.

Rob wore jeans. No khaki. Jim too. It wasn’t one of them.

Jessica didn’t hesitate.

She raised her Glock and squeezed the trigger, tracking the target as it disappeared again into the thick trees, out of view. She anticipated its movement and trajectory.

Two quick shots, and a shout of pain.

Jessica’s ears were ringing as she threw herself back inside the house, out of view of the open doorway.