James Hunt - Broken Lines

Mike picked it up and placed it back into her hand. When she went to take it he held her hand in his and squeezed. He locked eyes with his wife. There was no fear in them. Only the stubborn will to survive.

“Take the kitchen window,” Mike said.

Anne clicked her safety off and crawled over to the opening in the plywood at the corner of the window. Mike kept his head low heading for the living room. Bessie’s voice boomed outside.

“We don’t want any bloodshed, Mike. Your family will still get their fair share of food. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she said.

Mike put his eye up against the corner hole of the plywood, looking outside. He watched Bessie motion to a few of the people on the edges of the group. They scurried over to the sides of the house. Only one of them had a gun.

Mike hunched low as he moved to Anne, who was looking out her corner of the kitchen window through the hole in the plywood.

“A few broke off and went to the sides of the house. I’m going to head to the back.”

He leaned in and kissed her. The moment had his adrenaline pumping. He felt like he could smash through the walls if he needed to, but even with all of that, his lips still hit hers with tenderness.

“I love you,” Anne said.

“I love you, too.”

At the back of the house Mike peered through one of the plywood holes giving him a view of his backyard. He saw the barrel of a gun peek around the back corner of the house. The hand and arm came next, followed by the face.

Adam Stahl.

Nelson came running out of his house, his slippers nearly flying off his feet and his robe flapping in the wind.

“Bessie? What’s… What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nelson, go home. This will be over soon,” she said.

“But, what are you doing? Where’s Mike? Mike!”

“Quiet!”

“Mike! Are you okay?”

Bessie pulled a revolver from her side and shoved the barrel into Nelson’s face. Nelson threw his hands in the air and slowly backed away from her.

“Go home, Nelson. Now,” she said.

Nelson ran back to his house. Bessie pulled the bullhorn back to her mouth.

“You have sixty seconds, Mike. If you don’t come out by then, we’re coming in.”

A gunshot rang out. People ducked for cover, hiding behind cars, mailboxes, bushes, anything close that they could jump behind.

The bullhorn and pistol that Bessie held dropped to the ground, followed by her knees, and then her chest and face hit the grass of the front yard.

“Bessie?” Tim asked.

Tim rushed to his wife. Her mouth was spilling blood. She coughed and hacked, spitting it all over his shirt. She grabbed Tim’s shirt desperately, wrenching his collar.

A few final coughs of blood and her hand slowly let go. Tim snatched it up before it fell to the ground.

Tim rocked her back and forth. He brought her lifeless body up to his chest. Both of their bodies shook, but he was the source of the shaking. He laid her gently back down and kissed her forehead. He looked up at the house. His face distorted from grief and pain to anger. He picked up the revolver from the ground and cocked the hammer back. The shrill screams of his voice silenced by unloading the entire .45 revolver into Mike’s front door.

When the first gunshot went off, Mike watched Adam duck for cover. He took the opportunity to run back to the front of the house.

Anne had her shotgun through the plywood’s hole and blasted through the glass. She pumped the shotgun sending an empty shell flying to the floor and squeezed the trigger again, the recoil from the blast knocking her shoulder into the chair behind her.

“You all right?” Mike asked.

“Somebody shot, Bessie,” Anne answered.

“What?”

Anne scooted out of the way to let Mike get a look outside. He could see Bessie’s lifeless body sprawled across the lawn.

A few bullets came splintering through the plywood and into the kitchen. Mike threw his body over Anne’s until the firing stopped, then aimed his shotgun through the window and squeezed the trigger, sending a dozen steel balls through James Sturgis’ chest.

Mike pumped the shotgun and reloaded the chamber. He scanned the yard. He saw a few people hunched behind a car on the side of the street. He saw the pistols in their hands. He took aim and fired.

The blast from the shotgun shell shattered the car’s windows and peppered the metal on the side doors.

“Anne! Get to the Jeep, now!” Mike screamed.

Anne nodded and ran, keeping herself low, through the kitchen into the garage. The front door thumped loud and Mike could hear the wood starting to crack.

Ray watched the crowd around Mike’s house scatter with the exception of a few after he sent the bullet into Bessie’s back. He sat hunched behind a car on the other side of the street behind everyone. He re-racked the bolt-action rifle watching Tim make a beeline for Mike’s front door.

Ray adjusted the pack on his back and headed up the street, keeping low and out of sight behind the cars parked on the curb.

“Grandpa!” Freddy screamed.

“Just stay down!” Ulysses said.

The gunshots outside echoed loud from inside the garage. When Anne rushed inside she saw Freddy covering his ears and Kalen holding him tight.

“Where’s Mike?” Ulysses said.

“He’s coming.”

Mike splashed the gasoline all over the basement. He poured it on the walls, the floor, the couches, shelves, everywhere. He threw the can in the center of the room and backed up all the way to the stairs. He pulled a match from his pocket.

The head of the match scratched across the box and ignited into a tiny, yellow flame. Mike tossed it on the ground and watched the fire spread in a red glow around the basement.

He rushed up the basement stairs and down the hallway to the kitchen where the garage entrance was. Smoke rose from the basement, chasing him. He turned the corner into the kitchen when the front door finally gave way and Tim burst inside.

Before Mike could get a shot off Tim threw his pistol at him, sending the gun ricocheting off Mike’s shotgun. It gave Tim just enough time to fly into Mike, slamming him into the wall.

Tim sent his fists into Mike’s ribs. Mike doubled over with each vicious blow.

Mike grabbed the butt of the shotgun and smacked it into Tim’s head, relinquishing the assault on himself. Mike’s fist landed against Tim’s jaw. Tim countered with a left cross. Mike blocked it. Tim grabbed Mike’s head with both hands, and then head butted him. Blood spurted from Mike’s nose and he fell to his knees.

Tim came up behind Mike and put him in a headlock. Tim’s muscles ripped through his arms, squeezing Mike’s neck, choking the life out of him.

Mike stretched out his arms trying to free himself, gasping for breath. The smoke from the basement was getting heavy now. The flames had crawled their way into the halls and were marching down toward the front of the house where the two men were.

“You kill my wife and think you can get away with it?” Tim asked.

The smoke had filtered into the garage. Ulysses looked at Anne and then reached for the keys in the ignition. Anne’s hand jolted forward to stop him.

“Wait!”

“Anne, we have to go now.”

She looked at Freddy and Kalen in the back seat; both of whom were coughing from the smoke filling the garage. She let go of Ulysses’ hand and he started the engine.

Ulysses pumped the gas pedal a few times before the engine roared to life. Anne reached up to pull the cord above them that sent the garage door flying open and Ulysses slammed on the gas.