Chapter 43

Wednesday was a good day, too. I walked out of my office and dropped a fresh CD on Sara's desk. "Gonna need that one printed out and in a binder, lady. Got the title page an' everything. Two copies."

She laughed. "And nobody had to go beg you for it?"

"I'm past the begging stage. How's Johnny an' the new job?"

She smiled. "He's lovin' it. You don't know how happy I am that he's outta the construction game."

"I can imagine," I smiled. "What do the kids think?"

She smiled. "Same school two years in a row? New record. They'll be fine."

I left work at the appointed time. Cindy and I went out for salads and soup and were home before it was fully dark.

"There's home," she said, sitting beside me.

We got out and went inside. We were piddling around the house when I noticed the flash of headlights in the curtained windows. I didn't place much thought on that. People were coming and going at odd hours anyway, especially with the dozen or so winter guests. I didn't even get concerned when I thought I heard the sound of tires on gravel nearby.

I perked up, though, when there was a knock on the door. We weren't expecting anybody, and on the few occasions when somebody dropped by for a visit, there was usually a phone call first. Even the neighbors in the park were good about asking loudly outside before knocking. And this knock didn't sound friendly. Couldn't put my finger on it. Call it a premonition.

The door was locked. Always was when we were at home. I approached it. "Who is it?"

The voice outside was male and slurred, like maybe a beer too many, or maybe some recreational pharmaceuticals. "Don' you worry 'bout who it is. I wanna see dat l'il redhead."

Cindy perked up. I made a pistol-shaped sign with my right hand. A cabinet thumped and my .45 automatic hit my open palm. "9-1-1, babe. Now!" I whispered. She retreated to the bed end of the trailer and picked up her cell phone.

"Sir, I'm not opening the door. I'm not talking to you in the dark. You need to leave."

The next sound, even through the wall of the trailer, was chilling: the unmistakable sound of a pump shotgun racking a shell into the chamber.

"Down!" I hissed at Cindy as I hit the floor. I heard a report and a small circle of the trailer wall disappeared in a cloud of splinters and fibers.

"I want dat l'il BITCH whut killt mah brother!" came a scream from outside.

I didn't hear the next shell being pumped, but the doorlock disappeared in a shatter of metal and wood. I was on my belly. I knew from experience that untrained shooters aim at waist height into a room. I wasn't going to be at waist height.

The doors on travel trailers open to the outside. Mine was now minus a lock, and the impact of the shotgum blast gave it enough kick for it to swing open. I thumbed the hammer back on my Colt 1911 and steeled myself. The inside of our trailer was lit, not too brightly, but brighter than outside, and when the guy jumped in the door, there was a brief second that he paused to regain his sight. I was pulling my gunsight onto his chest.

This caused me to come up on my knees and as I did, I saw the barrel of his shotgun coming down to line up with me. Time went into slow motion. I was lining up with his chest and my finger was squeezing the trigger as the barrel of the shotgun came down. I squeezed, felt the .45 buck, simultaneously with the searing blast of that shotgun. I felt tearing on my shoulderblade and my butt and my calf. I ignored those feelings and pulled the trigger once more.

The invader fell, and as he did, I pulled a third shot off. He hit the floor, not moving.

"Elray!" I heard screamed from outside.

'Omigod, ' I thought. 'There's another one!'

Another shotgun blast, this one from an angle. It raked through the wall and down the little aisle of the trailer. I heard Cindy cry out. Not fright. Pain! I tried to get up. Floor was slick. Blood. Mine. I couldn't see the shooter, but he was outside. Another blast. This one was closer to the door. I dropped the pistol and reached inside the cabinet next to where I was laying. I felt a familiar plastic shape, wrapped my fingers around it, and tugged. My AR-15 came out. Shaking, I cycled the charging handle and pulled it into firing position as a third shotgun blast shredded another bit of the trailer wall.

I could hear Cindy whimpering. I tired hard to keep the red veil off my eyes as I slid the rifle into my shoulder, not making a sound, waiting. I saw the barrel of the shotgun first. 'He's coming!'

I acquired my front sight and waited. He had the barrel at an upward angle.

'You ain't huntin' geese, dumbass, ' I said to myself. 'I shoot back.' And as soon as his head and torso appeared, I pulled the trigger.

I need to send flowers to Eugene Stoner's grave because that silly black rifle didn't move off the target with the recoil. I pulled twice more, three shots in less than two seconds, and in the exaggerated focus of the expanded time, I saw the impact, the dust flying from a dirty coat, three center of chest hits.

The shock of being shot caused him to pull the trigger on his own gun, but the shot was into the air, harmless, as he fell back, more from the surprise and his own gun's recoil than from the three high velocity projectiles that I'd just put in (and likely THROUGH) him. He landed on his back. I saw an arm and a leg move, and I squeezed off two more rounds into him. He didn't move again.

I laid the little black rifle down and tried to stand. The floor was slick and my foot slid and when I tried to catch my balance, pain racked my body, but there was my Cindy crumpled in the end of the hall, her orange sweatshirt, crimson down her left side. I went to her. I could feel blood running down my leg.

"Is it over, Dan?" she turned her pained face to me.

"It's over. Where do you hurt?"

"My shoulder. My side." Her eyes scanned me. "You're bleeding bad." She pulled her right hand back from around me. It was covered in my blood.

"No, baby..." I gently pulled her into my arms.

I was holding her in my arms as screams and yells came from outside. No sirens. Yet. The first human I saw was grey, balding, and carrying a revolver in a very workmanlike fashion as he scanned the scene.

"Mister Dan, are you alright?"

"No. Cindy's been shot. Me too."

"Ericka!" He hollered. "Come quick!"

I saw a greying brunette head appear in the door.

"Careful, sweetheart! There's blood all over!"

She, Ericka, came to us. "I'm a nurse," she said.

I held Cindy to her. "Look at my Cindy first!"

Erick knelt beside us and gently started assessing. I could hear sirens now. Getting louder. Blue flashing lights.

The old man said, "I'm going out there an' try to direct things..." He left.

"Cindy, you'll be okay, baby," Ericka said. "You got shot, but it's not life-threatening."

I heard more voices. Shouting. Saw the outside light up from spotlights. Saw red lights flashing. Ambulance.

I heard my friend outside (I didn't know his name, but I was gonna make sure I found out) talking loudly to somebody. "Two wounded inside. That's Dan an' Cindy. They live here. An' there's a dead one in there. My wife Ericka, she's a nurse, she's in there with 'em! Ambulance? Gonna need TWO!"

"One out here, too," that voice sounded vaguely familiar. "I know this trailer." I saw a head peer inside. "Miss Cindy, are you okay? It's me, Deputy Stevens. From last time."

"I'm ... not as good as last time. They shot Dan," she said tearfully.

Another voice, apparently the ambulance guy. "Is it safe?"

I saw Deputy Stevens poke the foot of the guy bleeding on my floor. "This one's not gonna do anything," he said. "Be careful, Stu. Blood all over the place.

"Stu" and another paramedic stepped into the trailer. Ericka stood up. "She's got left shoulder, superficial, and left chest, superficial, outside the ribcage. I haven't seen him yet. He won't let her go."

Stevens was behind the paramedics. He gingerly picked up my pistol.

"Clear it," I said. "I only shot three out of it."

The pistol was covered in blood. Mine. He dropped the magazine and pulled the slide back expertly, catching the live round from the chamber. As he did, he looked at me. "What about that AR?"

"Five gone out of it. One in the chamber. Rest of the magazine." I winced as I was being probed. A couple of volunteers snaked a stretcher down the aisle and I was loaded onto it, on my right side, and strapped in, then a second stretcher.

"I can walk," I heard Cindy say.

"You sure, baby?" Ericka asked.

"Just hold me."

"No," Stu said. "Put 'er on the other stretcher. Another unit'll be here in a minute. I don't want 'er slippin' an' fallin'."

I could feel the pain coming in now as the adrenaline rush died. They loaded me into the back of the nearest ambulance and buttoned the door. I felt the surge as we started rolling. The second paramedic started towards me with shears in his hand. "Let's see what you got, there, buddy!"

"Don't cut my stinkin' belt," I said.

"Oh, you got an attitude," he said.

I felt tugging and snipping and then he said, "You got a chunk blown out your ass cheek. That's where most of the blood came from." More snipping. "Just a furrow on your shoulder. Lucky." More snipping. "Entry and exit wound on your calf. Bleeding's almost stopped. Lucky again."

"Where's my Cindy?"

He looked out the back windows. "'Bout a half-mile behind us in the other unit."

I winced again. "She gonna be okay?"

"I'm not a doctor, ya unnerstand, but looks like YOU took the worst of this one."

The pain was really starting to get good. He checked pulse and blood pressure and a few other things and then made a radio call. He came back with a syringe.

"This won't knock you out, but it'll ease things up a bit."

It knocked me out. At least pretty much. I closed my eyes and opened them in the bright lights of the regional trauma center. I was lying on my stomach. I could feel tugging at various parts of my body, shoulder, calf, ass, and I gathered that local anesthesia was working its magic. A nurse noted my eye movements.

"He's back, doctor."

The doctor was masked but I thought I saw a smile. "Mister Richards, you're doing just fine."

I had only one thought. "Cindy..."

"Little redhead? She's fine too. Better'n you."

"Where is she?"

"On the other side of that curtain."

"CINNNNDY!" I croaked as loud as I could.

"You settle down, now, Mister Richards!"

I settled down. After I heard a sweet voice say, "I'm okay, baby!"

Some undetermined amount of time later I was unceremoniously wheeled over to the curtain and one of the nurses slid it back. Cindy was sitting on the edge of the table, one of those horrible hospital gowns on her, except for her left shoulder, which was a mass of bandages. A bulge under the gown on the left side of her chest told a further story. Her hair was a tousled red mess.

Our eyes connected. "Oh, gosh, Dan, I was worried."

"I was worried, sweetie," I said. I reached my hand toward her and it wouldn't reach. The nurse pushed my gurney a little closer. I clutched her fingers.

"We're still together, huh, babe?" she said.

"Yes, we are. Little ragged, though." I looked, and there was Helen and Charlie. And Deputy Stevens.

"Dan," Helen said, "We're gonna take Cindy home with us tonight. She's done here. They wanna keep you, at least overnight. We'll bring her in the morning if she's up to it."

I nodded. "Sweetness, go with 'em. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

A tear coursed down her cheek. She stood and came to me, trying to figure out how to hold me with the bandage on my back. She bent and gave me a little kiss. "I love you, Dan."

"I love you, Cindy..."

Helen left with Cindy. I noticed Judge Charlie standing there with Deputy Stevens.

The deputy asked the doctor, "Can we talk with him now?"

"Why don't you get him in his room?" the doctor said.

We had a little parade through the hospital and I was somewhat gently moved to a bed. The floor nurse did her thing and left.

"Dan," Charlie said, "Deputy Stevens wants to ask you some questions. I advise that you should always have an attorney present for this. I'm more than happy to do this for you, but if you want somebody else, I can call any of several good people."

"Judge Charlie, you ARE good people. Just make sure they use a clean rope to hang me, okay?"

Charlie laughed. "Either those are GOOD drugs, or he's back to normal," he told Stevens. To me he said, "Son, if my boy even hinted at charges in this incident, I'd be writing 'im out of my will!" Back to the deputy, "Go ahead. An' remember, you an' the sheriff BOTH came to the huntin' camp last fall."