Ahern, Jerry - Total War

"Drop it, lady. We ain't gonna hurt ya. Unless you put up a fight."

"You leave my mother alone!" Michael shouted, his voice sounding younger and smaller to Sarah than she'd thought it could.

Behind her, Sarah heard footsteps. Then the woman's voice "We got you covered, lady-drop the shotgun and move away from it."

Bitterly, with a feeling of great failure, she dropped the shotgun.

"Okay." it was the man who'd talked before from the loft. "Move away from the kids."

"No," Sarah shouted.

"Move-or they get it."

Sarah looked up at him. "No, please don't." Suddenly, she was angry. She knew that John would not want her to beg these people. And she knew that she wouldn't. As she started to edge across the barn floor, she saw Michael out of the corner of her eye. He was starting to walk toward their bags in the corner. No one was watching him.

"All right, lady-on the ground," the man in the loft commanded.

"What you gonna do, Eddie?" It was the woman.

"I'm gonna get me a piece. Then I'll see.

"Not in front of her kids, Eddie!"

"Why, maybe they'll enjoy it." Then-Sarah watched his eyes across the distance that separated them-"Okay, lady-down." Sarah started to drop to her knees, watching the man coming down the ladder from the loft. She had lost sight of Michael, but saw a pitchfork in the opposite corner of the barn, perhaps ten feet away.

"All right, Eddie-me and Pete and Al can go check the house." Sarah watched as the woman and the other two men left. Then she turned her eyes back to the man, who had reached the foot of the ladder and was turned to face her.

"I ain't had no head for a while. Maybe we'll get started with that. Stay right there on your knees, lady, or the kids get it." The man started toward her. Her eyes were looking past him-to the pitchfork. As she turned to look up into his eyes, he shouted "Goddamnit-" and started to fall forward against her. His body fell onto her and she pushed against him.

She saw the boning knife she'd taken from the house-it was buried up to the handle in the man's right kidney. In the same instant, she saw Michael, standing where the man had been a second earlier.

"Take daddy's gun, Mommy!" he shouted. She found herself reaching for it. The dead man was still half on top of her, and her legs were pinned. The .45 was in her hands now. She looked to the loft. The second man was already halfway down the ladder. She held the gun, cocked the hammer back, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She held the gun more tightly, pointed it, and tried the trigger again-the gun jumped in her hand. The shot rang in her ears, and the man fell from the ladder, his rifle sailing out of his hands. Sarah worked her legs under the weight of the dead man and pulled free. She stared at Michael. She knew in the back of her mind that the other two men and the woman would be coming any minute.

"Michael?" She looked again at the knife in the first man's kidney.

"Daddy said that when he's gone, I'm the man of the family."

Sarah Rourke swept her six-year-old son into her arms, holding him tight against her.

"Mommy!" It was Annie screaming. Sarah, on her knees, turned, the .45 Colt automatic still in her right hand. It was the woman. She was aiming a revolver at Annie.

Sarah pulled the trigger on her .45.

The woman screamed, fell back, and the revolver dropped to the ground. Both hands clasped her chest.

"Annie!" Sarah screamed. Then, "Michael! Get your sister to the back of the barn. The other two men will be coming."

Sarah Rourke started toward the open barn doors. One of the men was already running across the yard. She fired the .45 once, then again, and the man turned and ran back toward the house.

"It's the broad and the kids!" he shouted.

Sarah fired again, kicking up dust near his heels, but missing the man. She stayed by the barn doors, waiting.

"Give up, lady. We ain't gonna hurt you. Give up or we'll burn down the barn with you and the kids in it!" a voice shouted from the house. "Mommy?"

"It's all right Michael," Sarah said, surprised that her voice was so even and calm.

She looked down at the gun in her hand, remembering what John had said about the safety catch, and raised it. She saw now why it hadn't fired the first time-John had told her about the grip safety. She hadn't been holding the gun tightly enough. She looked around on the floor of the barn, then walked over to the first man-the one Michael had killed. The thought of that was still hard for her to accept. How one night can change your life she thought. She was proud of Michael for defending her.

She reached down and tried to pick up the dead-man's military rifle. The sling for the rifle was still over his shoulder, and she had to lift his dead arm to pry the gun loose. She read the legend on the left side of the gun. "Colt AR-15." It was like her husband's gun. It was better than the shotgun. She moved what she thought was the safety but the clip started to come out. She pushed the magazine back in and searched again for the safety. She found it and pointed the gun in the direction of the floor and pulled the trigger. The dirt and boards started to fly up and she took her finger off the trigger. "A machine gun?" she muttered. She remembered, then, having read an article dealing with how some people took sporting rifles and changed them to submachine guns, illegally. She guessed that this was one of them. Her husband's gun-the stock was definitely different-fired only one shot at a time. She moved the safety lever, then touched the trigger to see if she had it right. The gun fired, but only one shot. She tried the safety lever again. She pressed the trigger and nothing happened. She moved it all the way back, and the gun fired like a submachine gun again. In the second position, it fired one round at a time. She took a deep breath and searched the dead man's clothes, finding four extra magazines. She would have to empty one and count how many rounds they held, she told herself. "But first things first."

Already, she knew what she would do about the two men in the house. There had been others who had drifted by during the night. Outlaws, brigands-just people who wanted to steal. She'd frightened one group away with the shotgun, not even firing it. And she realized these men who had almost killed the children and herself wouldn't be the last. She would have to leave the farm. The pickup truck or the station wagon would only run out of gas. She looked at the two horses, standing peacefully in their stalls-her mind flashed back to the last time she and John had gone riding. She could load the belongings and both children on the horses, and still ride herself.

She turned toward the house and began to walk toward the barn doors. She had to get rid of the men in the house before she could do anything else. Several times through the night, when the wind had shifted, she had smelled the gas from the house. The basement had only one window-a small one that somehow hadn't blown out. The basement still had to be full of gas.

She got down on her knees and put the rifle to her shoulder, setting the selector lever to single-shot. Semiautomatic. She remembered the term. John used it frequently in his weapons articles. She found the sights and lined them up, then aimed toward the house.

The bullet hit the dirt in the front of the house. She raised the barrel, aimed again, and tried to squeeze the trigger-the few times John had forced her to try shooting, he had always said, "Squeeze the trigger-don't snap it back."

She squeezed the trigger. She saw a piece of one of the house boards fly off. One of her hanging planters was still attached to the top of the front porch, and she aimed at it. When she fired, the planter moved. She fired again and the planter disintegrated.

"Dammit, lady, keep up that shootin' and we'll burn down the fuckin' barn with you and the kids in it-so help me!"