R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

He continued creeping down the hallway, stopping to listen for several seconds between steps. He heard one of the thieves upstairs rummaging opening and closing drawers. What worried Cooper was that he couldn’t tell if the second person was upstairs or not based upon what he was hearing. However, he heard nothing on the main level other than the faint sound of his own breath, measured and steady.

Jake’s room was now on his right and he peered in. From what he could see, everything looked to still be in its place. With the barrel of the shotgun, he pushed the door open further and it emitted what sounded like a thunderous creak from its hinges. Cooper stopped immediately and cocked his head to point his ears upward. The noise from upstairs continued unabated. The burglars were apparently intent on their search and not paying attention to security. He scanned the room from side to side and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

He turned back towards the staircase and started moving a little faster, taking only a second to pause between steps instead of several. A few paces later, he approached the office, also on the right. He heard it a split second before it happened.

A loud, animal-like grunt preceded a heavy-set man crashing into him from the office. Cooper smashed into the opposite wall, breaking one of the picture frames that hung in the hallway. The glass splintered and a shard tore into his shoulder. As glass pierced flesh, he felt the burning pain shoot across his body. His head was pushed into the wall with a thud and he was stunned. He smelled the foul breath of his attacker, the rank smell of whiskey mixed with Frito Lay corn chips. The other man ripped furiously on the shotgun, trying to wrench it from Cooper’s hands.

Cooper held on. He gritted his teeth and shook his head to rid himself of the loud ringing he now heard. With his left hand, he clamped down with a vice-like grip on the shotgun. With his right, he delivered a hard, straight punch to his attacker’s face. He felt bone and cartilage crunching and realized that he had delivered a direct blow to his nose. The man fell backwards, releasing his grip on the gun. He fell to his knees and gathered himself to leap at Cooper once more.

Cooper pivoted the shotgun, pointed it directly at the middle of his body. Time slowed and Cooper saw everything happening frame by frame. He saw the man’s face clearly, blood covering his shattered nose and flowing down to cover his lips and teeth. Bloody spittle sprayed as he breathed heavily. Some of his dark hair had escaped the black knit cap that lay crooked on his head. He was young, probably just a teenager. In the dim light, Cooper couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but they were wide open in terror. Cooper had stared down the barrel of a shotgun once before and he knew when you were on the receiving end, it looked as large as a howitzer. The boy began raising his hands in the universal sign of surrender. Cooper began to lower the shotgun just a hair and readied himself to call out to the intruder’s partner upstairs to give himself up, as well.

Then, to his shock, someone else tackled Cooper from behind. The blow vaulted Cooper forward. The shotgun was pushed against his trigger finger and exploded. The boy in front of Cooper was shredded with a point blank blast of 00 Buckshot. This close, Cooper was sprayed in blood and bits of ruined flesh. The boy pitched forward, his knees scraping the wooden floor. The other attacker landed on the back of Cooper’s legs and hip. Cooper knew enough to slide one leg to a bent position as he went down. This allowed him some leverage to swing his body over and to the left, lifting his opponent off of him and slamming into the right side of the hallway. Cooper was surprised how easy it was to swing this guy off him, he was so light. Now, on his back, Cooper got a good view of his second attacker as he ricocheted into the wall and bounced off.

He saw another teenager. This one was skinny, almost frail. He had blonde hair, which hung in ragged clumps, covering his eyes. He had not taken the blow well and had collapsed in a heap onto the floor. Cooper couldn’t see his face. The lower half had impacted on his dead friend, but his torso had slammed into the wall hard. He lay on the floor, gasping and moaning from pain and fear.

Without thinking, Cooper racked the slide of the shotgun, with the distinctive cha-chuk sound, and braced it against his shoulder. He aimed it straight at the new attacker over his body from where he lay.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” a voice shouted at him from the landing of the stairwell.

Cooper turned his head slightly to the right and was staring straight into the face of the teenagers’ leader from the other day. Dark long hair reached his shoulders; he had deep-set, intense eyes. Now it hit him. The other two guys are Rick and Smartie. Dumbasses decided to come back. Cooper was also staring down the barrel of a .45 pistol, 1911-style, the gaping bore looming large. He kept his breath steady and lowered the shotgun.

“That’s a good boy. Rick,” he said motioning to the blonde that Cooper had just catapulted into the wall, “grab his gun.”

Rick rose unsteadily onto his feet. He cradled his head with both hands and was slowly regaining his bearings.

“Hurry up, will you? We don’t have all night. Can’t you handle a little toss into a wall, you fucking pansy?”

Rick looked back at the leader, stung by the rebuke. He kicked Cooper in the leg for good measure and then leaned over to retrieve the shotgun. Cooper had landed at an angle, so his pistol was digging into his hip, but it was concealed from their view.

The long-haired man spoke again, “I’m going to make you a deal. You tell me the combination to your gun safe upstairs and we’ll let you live. No muss, no fuss.”

Cooper paused, buying time, before speaking. “How do I know you won’t just kill me after I give you the combination?”

The other man laughed, “Well, you don’t.” He cackled at his own joke and Rick joined in, but nervously. “But, I’ll make you another deal. You give me the combination, and I won’t go through your whole house looking for that little boy of yours. If I can get your guns, then tonight’s work will be well worth it. Even with losing Smartie, who was the dumbest bastard I’ve ever known. God rest his soul,” he leered sarcastically. “This way, you have two deals with me and even a snake slick punk like me will keep at least half of my word. Isn’t that right, Rick?”

Rick nodded rapidly, “That’s right Woody!” Rick was visibly nervous, standing next to Smartie’s corpse. Probably first time he’s ever smelled the blood and mess of a dead man. Cooper could see the shotgun shaking in his hands.

Cooper waited, breathing steadily.

Woody grew impatient and took a half-step towards Cooper and pointed the pistol at him, “Well, what’s it gonna be, old man? You gonna give us the combination to your safe or not?”

Cooper grunted, “Sure. I’ll do it. But, I have to go up there with you. I don’t remember the numbers without actually working the dial. Muscle memory, you know.”

Woody thought for a moment, weighing the truth of his words, “OK, OK. You can get up, but do it real slow.”

Cooper feigned an old man, rising ever-so-slowly onto his knees.

“Hurry up! I don’t have all night. I know the cops aren’t doing much these days, but I have no doubt one of your neighbors heard you give the buckshot greeting to Smartie and have dialed 911 by now. If you’re lucky, it might have been answered.”

As Cooper straightened up, he kept his right hip pointed away from Rick and Woody.

“It’s not the cops you have to worry about in our neighborhood. Drop it!” Dranko’s voice rang out strong and clear as he buried the barrel of his rifle into Woody’s head, just behind the ear. Cooper knew Woody couldn’t see the barrel, but it must have felt like a cannon notched against his head. Woody’s .45 clattered as it hit the floor.