Nick Stephenson - Eight the Hard Way

He looked around at the wall and fence. “Where’s the box?” he asked.

“Right here.”

She swung her arm at the gun, which went flying into the garden. Before he could react, she swung up again, catching him under the chin with her forearm. While he was still unsteady, she took a cross at his face.

That last blow put him on the ground. Since her legs were tied together, she couldn’t finish him off with her favorite weapon, a heavy stomp to the chest. Instead, she landed a hammerstrike to his throat.

George’s head flew back and hit the corner of the potting shed with a bounce. When he settled, he laid motionless on the pathway.

“Stupid dickhead.”

She had to hurry. Not visible from the patio windows, she got the potting shed door open and found rope. She was able to lash the man’s arms and legs together, and then pulled the rubber mask from his face. She had never seen him before. Without delay, she shoved an old rag in his mouth, wrapping the last of the rope around his head as a gag. Using only one hand, she dragged him into the potting shed.

Just before closing the door, she had a thought. She poked through his pockets, found the last of the plastic ties, and stuffed them in her pocket. She could use them later.

June found the gun in the garden and considered going back to the house with it. Having a shoot out with two armed men that acted as though they had nothing to lose seemed like a bad idea. Plus, with her nieces right in the middle of the group, there was no way she would risk their lives. Especially since she had never been a good shot with a gun.

She could also cut the bands with a tool and run, and call the police from a neighbor’s house. If it were only her, she would give it more consideration. But abandoning the kids was out of the question. She had to go back into the house.

She removed the magazine from the pistol and discovered it was empty. She tried a couple times to eject the cartridge already loaded into the gun, but there wasn’t one. In the end, the gun was never a threat to her or the kids. She tossed all of it into a small grove of bamboo at the side of the shed. Just as she began waddling back to the patio, she heard the back door bang open.

“What’s going on?” Clinton said from the far end of the walkway.

“Nothing.” June just had the chance to get her hand stuffed back through the plastic ties while waddling as fast as she could. “Your friend had a problem with the code number is all.”

“He left?”

“Yeah. He decided to walk since its so close.”

“That dumbshit.” He looked beyond June toward the far end of the yard. “This ain’t no picnic.”

She got up to him. “You could go get him if you want. It looked like he was going at a pretty good pace though.

He pushed June into the house and slammed the door shut behind them. June took an immense amount of pleasure knowing one of the three had been eliminated, even if Georgie was the dumbest one of the group.

“While we’re waiting for him to get back, can the girls go in and lie down for a while?” she asked Reagan.

He was fully engaged in the TV, which had been changed from the kids Disney movie to a men’s programming channel. She looked at the two girls on the couch, who looked either bored or stunned, June couldn’t tell.

He nodded them toward the side of the house with the bedrooms.

With little prompting, she followed the four year olds into the guest room and watched as they tucked themselves under the top blanket. Clinton watched from the doorway.

“Be quiet, okay?” she admonished them with kisses. “We’ll have lunch in a little while. But stay in here until I come get you, okay?” She pecked kisses at them several more times. “And please please please be quiet.”

With the door closed, she went back to the living room and stood facing Reagan, still plunked down on the couch intently watching the TV. She stood in his line of sight.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Park it somewhere.”

“Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.

“How ya gonna get your pants down?” Clinton asked with a leer.

“I can do it,” she said back with a hard glare at him.

She didn’t need to go, but she had another idea in her mind. It was working already.

Reagan nodded her off again. “Go with her, Clinton. Make sure she stays out of trouble.”

June waddled to the bathroom next to the master bedroom, Clinton following right behind. She heard the bedroom door shut behind them. It was exactly what she wanted.

When she got the toilet, she struggled to get her jeans button undone and the zipper down because of the plastic ties. Before she pulled her pants down, she looked back at Clinton, leaning against the doorframe watching with a new smile.

She pushed her pants down and sat. “Enjoying the show?”

“Oh yeah.”

She sat for a moment then stood again.

“Stage fright?” he asked with a laugh.

“Something like that.”

She waddled to the door, pretending to have a hard time getting her pants back up.

“Let me do that, little missy.”

He reached forward to her pants, and she let him take hold. She watched his thick fingers fumble with the button, and for the first time smelt the scent of old tobacco on his breath. What he hadn’t noticed about her was that she had worked her hand loose from the ties again.

As he struggled with her button, she reached up between his arms and grabbed him under the jaw. Using the element of surprise, and with as tight of a grip as she could muster, she pushed him backwards into the bedroom. Only able to scurry her feet a few inches at a time, she shoved as hard as she could when they got to the doorway. He stumbled backward, pulling her with him.

His gun fell to the floor when he was pushed, landing far from his reach.

They both landed on the bed. By then Clinton was fighting back, but she was straddling him. Trying to keep as much of her body weight on top of him, she landed hammer strikes to his collarbones, mixed with punches to his face and neck. Just as she felt his hands get a grip on her chest and push her away, she landed one last fierce blow to the center of his masked face.

He fell back, motionless.

She waited for Reagan to burst through the door, but he never did. Instead, he called out from the other room with a laughing tone to his voice.

“Not so rough in there, Clinton! We still need her later!”

“Shove it, jerk...” June muttered, panting quickly.

June dug into her pocket for the plastic ties she got from Georgie and zip tied Clinton’s wrists and ankles, using two at each place. She ripped the rubber mask from his head and didn’t recognize him either.

From being punched in the face so hard, blood welled up from both his nostrils and overflowed his cheeks. She knew if she left him on his back, he could easily choke to death on his own blood. Gagging him would risk suffocation. She would have to turn him on his side to allow the welling blood to flow away from his airway. It was emergency medicine at its most basic, to keep his airway open. But that would require compassion.

Instead, June dug through his pockets. All she found was a cell phone and a pocketknife. She gave the knife a stare, and looked at Clinton.

“Not worth it...” she mumbled.

She cut her own thick plastic ties with the knife, releasing her left arm and both legs from their prisons, working her joints loose again and some blood into her limbs.

Clinton’s breathing sputtered through his blood.

“Looks like I’m still the one making the decisions around here, huh?” she muttered.

She turned him onto his side, allowing the blood to flow away from his nose and mouth. His breathing improved to a soft snore as blood soaked into the bedspread. It was her bed he was on, and one of her favorite spreads.