Ray Gorham - Daunting Days of Winter

“My ears are ringing, but that’s it. Now what?”

“Get off my property, Sean!” Dale’s voice carried through the hole in the front door. The sound of a shotgun being pumped followed it. “If I see you near me again, I’ll blow your head off!”

“This makes it a little more complicated, but confirms my suspicions,” Sean whispered to Craig as he quickly crawled toward the front of the house, situating himself beside Craig under the living room window. He found a large rock, hefted it in his hand for a few seconds, then tossed it through the window above him. Glass shattered and crashed to the ground. “Dale, you’re just making this worse!” Sean cried out. “Come out and let’s talk. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

The shotgun blasted again, and what little glass remained in the window exploded outwards. “I’ve got nothing to talk about. Just get away from me, understand? You’re a make-believe-cop, and I don’t recognize your authority.”

“Keep talking to him,” Sean said to Craig. “I’m going around back. If he doesn’t come out in a couple of minutes, fire four shots, five seconds apart. I’ll try and get the door open with the sledge hammer while you do that.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

Sean shrugged. “Make something up. Just keep him by the front door.” He patted Craig on the shoulder and scrambled towards the back of the house. He could hear Craig yelling at Dale to drop his weapon as he reached Ty at the side of the house.

“You said he didn’t have a gun,” Ty said as Sean passed.

“I didn’t know, alright. The kid surprised me. Come with me to the back.”

“Am I going to get shot?” Ty asked. “I told my wife this was just routine business. She’ll kill me if I get hurt.”

Sean laughed. “You can stay back. I just need your eyes.”

The two men hurried to the back of the house and quickly climbed the stairs to the back door. Ty held his pistol in one hand, and a sledgehammer in the other. Sean’s shotgun was at his side as he reached out for the doorknob, grabbed the cold metal, and twisted. Finding no resistance, he turned the knob the rest of the way and carefully pushed the door open. “Wait here,” he whispered to Ty, then crept into the house. The back entryway was covered in mud and smelled of rotting meat. As he crept into the kitchen, he saw a skinned rabbit spread over the kitchen table and a bucket on the floor filled with feathers and fur.

Sean spun around as Dale’s voiced boomed from the next room. “If you don’t leave, I’ll shoot you. I promise!”

Dale’s threat was followed by Craig’s voice, sounding distorted and strained. “I don’t want a shoot out. Put your gun down, and we can work this out.”

Sean let out a deep breath and reached for the table to steady himself, knocking a knife perched on the edge of the table to the floor in the process, where it bounced with a metallic clang. Sean paused, listened, aimed his gun at the door that led from the kitchen, and waited.

“Just come outside, Dale. This is the last time I’m asking!!” Craig’s voice sounded through the house.

There was no movement, so Sean moved towards the door and slowly pulled it open, exposing a cluttered dining area beyond which he could see the front door with a hole blown through it. The living room was past where he could see. He pulled the door wider and was about to move forward when he felt cold metal pressed against the side of his face.

“You ever hear of the Castle Doctrine?” Dale asked in a whisper.

Sean closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded.

“Then you know it means I can shoot someone who comes in my house, and not be charged with anything.”

“Please don’t, Dale. I have a son.”

“I don’t care.”

“What’s it going to be?” Craig’s voice carried through the broken window at the front of the house.

“Is that your brother out there?”

Sean nodded.

“I’m going to kill him next, you know.” He pressed his rifle harder against Sean’s cheek. “I see your gun moving. Drop it right now.”

Sean dropped his weapon to the ground. “Please, Dale. Don’t make things worse.”

“Worse? How could things get any worse? The country’s screwed, my mother’s dying, and you want to arrest me. Don’t you?”

“I wanted to talk to you, and your mother.”

“I’m not stupid. Get on your knees and beg. You only have a few seconds left to live, and I want you to die like a coward.”

Sean slowly knelt and clasped his shaking hands in front of himself. “Please, Dale, don’t do this. I beg you.”

Dale smirked as he raised his weapon. “You can go to hell and wait there for your brother. He’ll be joining you soon.”

There was a gunshot and a flash, and the small kitchen was filled with an ear-shattering roar of sound.

***

Emma’s eyes opened wide as Grace carefully brought the cake up the basement stairs. The words “Happy Birthday Emma” were written in blue, contrasting sharply with the white icing that covered the cake.

“Mom,” Emma gasped. “Is it real?”

Jennifer nodded. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Emma’s eyes glowed, her head swiveling slowly to follow Grace as she carried the cake around the table. “I can’t believe we have a real cake, Mom.”

Grace grinned. “Believe it, Emma. Made from scratch like they did it when I was a little girl, so it might taste a little different than you’re used to.”

“Is that real frosting, too?”

Grace set the cake down in front of Emma. “I didn’t have powdered sugar, but I did the best I could. Should still taste pretty good.”

Spencer reached out, jabbed a finger in the icing, and snatched it back before Emma could stop him, then plunged it quickly in his mouth. As he swallowed, his expression was one of near ecstasy. “It’s good!” he declared.

Emma cast him an angry glare, but refrained from saying anything. “There aren’t any candles to blow out, so can we just cut it now?”

Grace grabbed a knife and began cutting the cake. “I had to cook it in the Dutch oven, which is why it’s round,” she said as she sliced it into pie-shaped pieces. “But it baked up just as well as in a regular oven. I’ve gotten pretty good with these old Dutch ones. Here.” She placed a piece of cake on a plate and set it in front of Emma. “You have the first bite, and tell us how it is.”

Everyone watched as Emma quickly cut off a bite with the edge of her fork and scooped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, closing her eyes as she did so. “It’s sooo good,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “I forgot what cake tasted like.”

“I want some,” Spencer said, anxious to get in on the celebration. “The big piece.” He pointed to a slice of cake that was a shade bigger than the others.

“That’s for David,” Emma said. “He’s bigger, and he works harder than you do.” She slowly put another piece of cake in her mouth and gently bit down on it. “I’m going to make this last all night,” she announced. “It’s delicious.”

Jennifer took a bite and groaned. “I think we’re all going to be sick tomorrow. Our systems will be in shock.”

The group savored the cake, speaking little, just slowly, deliberately, taking one precious bite after another. When the cake was gone, it was time for presents, and Emma eagerly received each gift with a hug and a smile. The presents were simple and unwrapped, though Jennifer had found a few recycled gift bags that had been put to use. Emma’s gifts included a pretty, pink, oval-shaped rock that Spencer found and polished, a figurine that Jennifer had recovered from their old house, and a “get out of chores” coupon from David. Her friend, Britney, gave her two books, and Carol presented a bracelet with charms from Mexico, Italy, and several other countries she’d visited, while Grace gave Emma a hand-stitched quilt.