Chapter 7

Standing, well really slumped, to my left was the guy that Shadow had mauled. He had his arm wrapped in a dirty, blood-stained towel. He wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on. All he did was cradle his arm and moan.

Next, in the middle, was fatso. He was the exact opposite. It seemed like he was almost quivering with anger. His pants were shredded from my shotgun load of rock salt and bacon rind. And I could see that he was favoring his left leg.

And finally, there was Mr. Big, the leader of the pack. He was trail worn. Dusty, dirty, obviously tired. They must have traveled all night to get to the cabin. So, I knew they had to be exhausted.

I could see the hate and anger in his eyes and hear it in his voice. But because his hands were empty, I knew that his piece was in his back. If he made any move that way, I would have to get...

Oh shit, where is my .45? last I saw Suzy had it. The Winchester was on the living room table. I was unarmed. This was not good.

With probably the most menacing smile and venom dripping from his voice, “Yo, buddy. Remember me? I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d ever see me again, did you?”

I opened the door wider but stayed inside. This limited any incoming fire to my front. Shadow, by my side, growled. “Be cool, boy,” I whispered.

“Good morning, what can I do for you?” I questioned, I had no hope for a civil conversation. Or in my ability to convince these guys to leave. The best I could hope for was time enough to think of a solution. And believe me, my mind was in overdrive.

He started looking around at the house. “Nice looking place you got here, buddy. We were wondering if we could bum some water and grub from ya.”

I pointed to the water trough. “Water’s free, take all you need. Food’s something else. I can’t help you there.”

he got a disgusted look, “Come on, dude, you’d make us drink that pissy horse water?”

“The pump works, it’s fresh and cool.”

He took a half step forward. “Well, that’s not quite the point, friend. What I wanted was to take a look around inside. See, I thought that I might like to buy it off you.”

Shadow’s growling got louder. “I’m not selling,” I replied.

He continued to have a sinister grin on his face. “Oh, I don’t know about that dude. I think I can offer you a real good deal.”

I was beginning to get tired of this back and forth, “And what would that be?”

In about the most insincere voice I’d ever heard, he leered at me and offered, “Well, the best I can offer is that you get to live. But, to sweeten the pot a little, I’ll let you keep the two bitches you stole from jumbo here.”

At that, the fat guy angrily leaned in closer and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

As fatso was a half-step behind him, Mr. Big half turned towards him. “Now, now jumbo, I know he wasn’t very nice before. But this is business. We’ll get you some new toys after we move into our nice new house.”

I was getting ready to end this and slam the door shut. “Like I said, it’s not for sale, and the women are not poker chips that you can bargain for. I suggest you and your friends take off.”

I decided that the best thing to do was to slam the door and bunker up. There was no way on god’s green earth that those three yahoos could get inside. But at the same time, we had limited supplies. Which, between 3 people, were going to run out quickly. Suddenly the whole thing was taken out of my hands.

From behind me came a deafening blast. At the same time, fatso’s head disappeared in a cloud of red.

I wasn’t quite sure what had happened, and I didn’t have time to figure it out. Shadow had bolted out the door and was heading towards his previous play toy. When he saw Shadow, the skinny guy immediately turned tail and started running, screaming. Shadow was on him like a bolt of lightning, and the last I saw of them was Shadow, on his tail, both of them disappearing into the brush.

Meanwhile, I watched as fatso toppled over like a tree, a topless tree. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Big pulling his pistol from his back. It was at that point somebody behind me shoved me, hard, out the door and slammed it shut behind me.

As I staggered out onto the porch, he fired and hit me in the left thigh, which dropped me to my knees. He tried to fire again, but it was an empty chamber. I staggered to my feet and rushed him.

What followed was a blur, a blur of punches and blows. Mr. Big made some, and I made some. He was hurt, but I knew that my time was limited. There was no way I was going to beat this guy. He was bigger, had years of prison weight lifting strength, and had probably been through more prison death match fights than I’d ever seen. I was dead meat. And I knew it.

For all you folks out there who think that the fistfights you see on tv and in movies are accurate, you are wrong. Personal, hand to hand, fight to the death combat, is mean, vicious, and cruel. It is winner take all, and the winner is almost always going to be the person with four qualities. Strength, endurance, training, and experience. I’m also not talking about fighting in a boxing or MMA ring or in a dojo, with rules and referees. I’m talking about reality. I’m talking end of the line, death is the goal, combat. And this is where I was.