L Akers - Shoot Like a Girl

Off to one side, there was a reasonably decent out-building. It was a small pre-fab, with a standard door and two windows in the front. But through the window he could see boxes and old furniture stacked to the gills. You probably couldn’t walk two feet into it. A hoarder’s dream closet.

The yard was a disaster of junk and disarray. The garden was overgrown and filled with weeds. Two burn barrels barely stood up; light shone through the rust holes. A stack of bagged trash was piled beside them atop a mound of broken trash bags that had left a pile of stinking, rotting debris. The entire yard was littered with junk: broken bicycles, faded Coca-Cola crates, cracked and jagged flower pots, and enough bald tires to start a recycling center.

The place reeked of rotten trash and chicken poop.

They wrinkled their noses at the smell, while Ozzie ran full throttle ahead with his own nose to the ground, sniffing in super-speed.

The only thing worth something on the homestead was a pole-barn, standing off to the side, and that was being generous. Beside the barn stood a dilapidated pop-up camper that wasn’t fit for a dog. The torn canvas flapped in the breeze.

Jake pointed at the camper. “The girls are gonna love that.”

Grayson scoffed. “That fine specimen of wheel estate? Yeah… no. The girl’s wouldn’t step foot in that.”

“They don’t have to. It’s the full water pressure they’re going to love. That camper probably has a freshwater pump that runs off a 12-volt battery. If it works, it’ll push water through the whole house. They can enjoy a real shower in your bathroom.”

Grayson smiled. “Really? You can do that? Oh, yeah. They’ll be happy as a dog with two tails. We’re going home heroes, brutha. I’ve even got an Instant-On hot water heater stashed. Will it work with that?”

Jake held up his fist. “Heck yeah it will. Hot water? Shoot!” He fist-bumped his brother-in-law.

Suddenly, Ozzie stopped in his tracks directly in front of the porch, his hair standing at attention. He gave a low growl and tucked his head down, staring at the door.

Grayson and Jake stopped walking, and Grayson reached for his gun, sliding it out of the holster that he now wore at all times… effective today. The stories that Olivia had told him of their trip home had prompted him to dig it out, as well as a few more which he passed to Jake, Gabby, and Graysie. They would all be armed now—all the time. Well, all but Olivia and Puck.

“Ozzie, come,” Grayson instructed the dog.

Ozzie hesitated, giving another low growl deep in his throat, and then circled to stand between Jake and Grayson, taking an aggressive stance.

BANG!

The loud sound sliced through the air and the guys dropped to a squat on the ground, Grayson pulling Ozzie down beside him.

Tucker ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, wishing he’d got it cut before all hell had broken loose. He’d already been weeks beyond his normally scheduled appointment before ‘the event,’ and now it was a mess, hanging over his ears and running down his neck. If it got much longer, he’d have to band it up.

His patience was running out; with more than just his hair.

Curt, the president of Tullymore’s home owners’s association, was on his last nerve. But at this wife’s prompting, he’d tried to make nice with him, again. He’d come over, hat in hand, and offered to let them help out building latrines that the whole neighborhood could use. But the short fireplug of a man was bound and determined to keep a hot head and a divisive neighborhood.

Tucker was done being nice.

“You think your shit don’t stink?” he yelled at Curt.

Curt stood on his porch, his hands on his hips in a defiant stance. He shrugged. “I think my shit—and the shit of my people—is none of your business.”

Joe, his new sidekick, stood beside him looking all the world like a flagpole, and gave a firm yessir-wave of his head, as though Curt spoke the gospel.

Tucker scoffed. “Look Curt, first of all, they’re not your people. We’re all our own people. I didn’t ask for this, but I got voted in anyway. If you don’t want to go with the results of a democratic vote… fine. Like I said before, no one has to listen to me. But, we can do this much together. Everybody shits. It’s the one big equalizer in life. Am I right?”

He attempted a smile to soften his earlier scoff and rein in his temper and then stood waiting for a response. Curt leaned against his front door and stared back defiantly, not blinking an eye.

“So, the silent treatment? What are you, twelve?”

Curt ignored him again.

Now totally at the end of his patience, Tucker snapped. “This affects all of us. You people can’t be crapping in your houses—and I’ve heard of a few who are doing it—or shitting and pissing on the ground all the time. Eventually, that is going to soak into the ground and many of you are uphill from your neighbors. If the power doesn’t come back on, we need the grounds to be clean for gardens. And if still don’t understand why you can’t use your toilets… well, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Curt crossed his arms and glared at Jake. “Stick your shitters up yours, Tucker. You do whatever you want with your people. We’ll do whatever we want.”

“You’re stupid, man. You’re such an asshole that you can’t get out of your own way. Look, you don’t have to do what we’re doing. When Jake talked to all of us, he offered up some great ideas for a simple latrine or outhouses. We’ve already built one of those simple latrines, but we need something bigger. Separate facilities for men and women, too. You can even use the old one if you want, hell it’s only a few days old. We’ll stop using it. But as of right now, we’re doing something new, something better. It just requires a bit more work.”

Curt turned his head and spit over the rail and onto the ground. “Jake doesn’t know shit.”

Tucker shook his head.

This man would bite off his own nose to spite his face. Having words with him was like pouring water into a sieve.

Useless waste of time.

He’d made this trip over here with the best intentions. To try to bring the neighborhood together, and to offer the other side help. Several of his group had seen Curt’s group defecating directly on the ground, not even bothering to bury it—like a pack of dogs. And there were rumors some were still piling it up in their toilets.

No one could see where a latrine had been dug, or even a single hole or two.

Lazy.

They’d all be stronger together, if only Curt could get out of his own way.

Not to be.

He nodded at Curt. “Okay, fine. Keep doing what you’re doing if that’s what you want. And just so you know, I’ve got guards set up. Two at the entrance all night—rotating shifts. We also have a few walking through checking the ‘hood throughout the day and night. They’re here for everyone. If anyone from your group wants to offer some time—and they have a gun—we’d love to have them. If there’s trouble, you’ll hear three short blasts from an air horn.”

Tucker turned and walked away from Curt, meeting up with his guys at the road. Just like the seven dwarfs on their way to work, they swung their shovels, picks, tubes and pipes over their shoulders and in marching file, stepped into the woods and down a trail between two houses, where they’d picked a private clearing for their new latrines.

Jake frantically looked around. “What was that?”