Final Chaos

21

Ruger in hand, Jim ran through the open door.

The gunshot from seconds ago still rang in his ears.

But now there was just silence.

The interior of the house was dark. His eyes would take a moment to adjust.

He gripped his revolver tightly. His finger was on the trigger. The hammer was cocked.

They had it under control outside. Both of the Carpenter parents couldn’t make a move without getting holes in their heads.

Now it was time to deal with the offspring.

Jim’s worry was that being young men, they’d be more likely to act impulsively.

Jim pressed himself flat against the faux wood paneling in the small hallway that led to the living room.

He could hear breathing coming from somewhere. Ragged and intense.

He tried to control his own breathing, keeping it from being too audible. His heart was pounding and he was already sweating bullets.

He wanted to take stock of the situation. It wouldn’t be good to rush into it.

But he couldn’t wait too long.

He listened as hard as he could.

But he just heard breathing.

Finally, someone spoke. It was a male voice. Early twenties. Maybe the middle brother.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ve got to rush her.”

“You think so?”

“Come on, what are we waiting for?”

“Rifles aren’t good for inside. That’s what Dad said, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter. They still shoot, right?”

“And there are three of us.”

There were three separate voices. None of them sounded injured.

So who had fired the shots?

He’d thought it’d been Jessica, judging from the sound of the gunshots.

Maybe she’d missed.

There was also the possibility that Jim had misjudged the quality of the sound of the gunshots. Maybe Jessica had been shot at. Maybe she’d been hit. Maybe she’d holed herself up in the bedroom, where she was slowly bleeding out.

Jim needed to do something.

Jim inched closer to the edge that lead into the other room. He moved as quietly as he could.

“The next one won’t be a warning shot,” came Jessica’s voice, coming clearly from the bedroom.

“We aren’t messing around with warning shots,” shouted one of the Carpenter brothers.

There was no way to coordinate with Jessica without alerting the brothers to his presence.

He wished Rob was there with him. Or Aly. He should have brought them.

But there wasn’t time to go back and get them quietly.

Jim stepped around the corner, leading with his Ruger.

His heart was pounding. His adrenaline was pumping through him. Time seemed to have slowed down slightly. His vision was a tunnel of concentration, the periphery slightly blackened out.

For a long moment, none of the brothers noticed him.

He had his Ruger pointed at the back of one of their heads. The older brother.

Jim could pull the trigger. Kill him instantly. His body would crumple to the floor. His brothers would turn and open fire.

A memory of the young man Tim flashed through his mind. A brief image. Nothing more. It was Tim’s face, his eyes open wide, as he lay on Aly’s mother’s floor.

But the idea of bloodshed didn’t deter him. He didn’t relish the idea of taking a life. But he’d do what he had to do.

It wasn’t that that made him not pull the trigger.

It was the simple logistics of it.

He had a realistic opinion of his firearms skills, his abilities. He knew what he was doing. He could hit a target reliably. And he was fast. But he wasn’t going to win any competitions for speed. He wasn’t nearly as good or as fast as plenty of men and women he’d seen at the range.

He was just a guy. A realistic one, at that.

Maybe he could get off a second shot.

Maybe.

And after that, he’d get his own bullet. Probably to the stomach, given the level the brothers were holding their hunting rifles at.

It wouldn’t be hard to aim a rifle at this range. All the brothers would have to do is spin and pull the trigger. They wouldn’t even really have to aim at all. Just point and shoot.

It was time to act.

“Before you shoot,” said Jim, in a loud voice.

Two of the brothers spun around. The other remained facing the room Jessica was in.

“Know that we’ve got your parents at gunpoint outside.”

The brothers glanced at each other.

They didn’t open fire.

That was good.

For now.

“You hurt, Jessica?” shouted Jim.

“I’m OK,” shouted Jessica back.

“There are two ways out of this,” said Jim. “We can all open fire. The way I see it, no matter how it goes, most of us are going down. And then friends outside will have no choice but to come rushing in here to help. And to do that they’re going to have to shoot your parents dead. To incapacitate them. Is that what you want?”

“What’s the other option?” said the oldest and tallest brother.

“The other option,” said Jim. “Is that I let you walk out of this house alive. And you and your family leave the property and don’t come back.”

“What kind of assurances can you give us?”

“None,” said Jim. “Just like you can’t give me any. Words don’t mean much. Not these days.”

One of the brothers mumbled something to the other. The one who was facing Jessica’s direction kept looking back nervously.

“Jessica!” shouted Jim. “I need you out here.”

There was a noise as if Jessica was moving a piece of furniture. Then the door opened and she stepped out slowly, leading with her Glock.

Her hair was a mess. After all, she’d just woken up.

But there was fire and determination in her face and her eyes. She looked like she could have taken on all three of the brothers herself. Or at least die trying.

“What’s it going to be?” said Jim. “You’ve got two seconds to decide.”

“We’ll go.”

Jim nodded. He kept his Ruger pointed at them, and Jessica did the same.

The brothers walked single file out the front door that they’d come through. Jim followed them closely, with Jessica behind them.

Aly and Rob stood there tall, guns in hand, with the Carpenter parents completely under control.

Mr. Carpenter wore an expression on his face that was a confusing mixture of fear and shame. Mrs. Carpenter looked strangely haughty, as if she was a rich woman who’d been forced into less then luxurious accommodations.

“Keep your gun trained on them,” said Jim to Jessica.

But there wasn’t any need to tell her that. She had some innate sense of what she was doing. He said it more for the Carpenters.

“What’s the deal, Jim?” said Rob, who had blood on his hands and his shirt sleeves. “Take their rifles? Kill them?”

“No,” said Jim. “We’re not executing them. And we’re not taking their rifles. Keep the handguns, though.”

“Why not?” said Aly. “You’re going to leave them with guns, Jim?”

“Consider it a gesture of good faith,” said Jim. “We’re going to continue being neighbors. With rifles, you’ll be able to hunt for food. Between game and the fish in the lake, you’ll do fine.”

“Jim!” shouted Aly. “You can’t just let them go with their guns. They’ll come back and murder us.”

Jim hesitated for a moment.

Maybe she was right.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t kill an entire family like this. If it had been in a gunfight, that would have been different.

But it was no longer the heat of battle. There’d hardly even really been a battle.

Now it would be simply murder in cold blood.

But was he putting the life of his wife and his friends at risk?

Yes.

“I don’t trust them, Jim,” said Rob.

“Me neither,” said Jessica.

Jim’s thoughts were flickering, changing rapidly.

It was a hard decision.

Maybe they should confiscate the rifles.

It was just foolish to let them keep them. Especially after what had just happened.

How had he been about to do that? His mind must have been weak from the week of little food. And from the stress. He wasn’t thinking clearly. There’d been too many nights where he’d taken an extra watch, letting someone else get some sleep.

The brothers were standing there dumbly, their rifles held in limp arms at their sides. They didn’t look like a threat.

But they were.

Then again, it wasn’t really about taking their guns or not.

If the Carpenters wanted guns, they could get them.

If the Carpenters wanted to attack the lake house again, they’d do it, guns or not.

It was really a decision about whether or not to execute the Carpenters.

And Jim wasn’t going to do that.

“Let them keep the rifles,” said Jim. Now he turned towards the patriarch. Towards Mr. Carpenter. “I want you to remember this,” he said.

Mr. Carpenter nodded meekly, looking down at the gravel driveway, not meeting Jim’s eyes.

“Now get the hell out of here,” said Jim.

The Carpenter family loaded into their truck, the brothers hopping into the bed, and Jim and the rest of them watched the truck back up slowly down the driveway.

“I hope I did the right thing,” said Jim.

“I can’t believe you let them leave with their guns,” said Aly.

“It was either kill them or let them go,” said Jim.

“I think they’re trouble,” said Jessica.

“Maybe,” said Jim. “But we’re going to have no shortage of trouble. Soon enough, survivors from the city will be making their way out here, and one neighboring family is going to be least of our concern.”

The pickup reached the road and turned. Mr. Carpenter was visible through the windshield, his hands on the wheel.

The pickup paused there, the engine idling.

“What are they doing? Why aren’t they leaving?”

Mr. Carpenter leaned his head out the rolled-down window. But he turned backwards, towards his sons, rather than towards Jim and the others.

Jim didn’t hear what he said to the brothers.

But the next thing he knew, one of the sons was raising his rifle.

“Get down!” shouted Jim.

Jim seized Aly’s arm and pulled her towards him, trying to pull her out her out the line of fire.

But it was too late.

Time seemed to be moving slowly.

The shot rang out. The rifle cracked.

Holding onto Aly, Jim felt the impact himself as the bullet hit her.

Someone shouted.

The tires of the pickup spun, kicking up clouds of dirt.

The pickup moved forward with a jolt, the rear wheels slaloming.

With a roar, the pickup had sped off and was gone.

“Aly!” shouted Jim, peering down into her face.

He lowered her gently onto the ground.

It was his fault.

All his fault.

He hadn’t taken the guns.

He’d never forgive himself if she died.

He’d never forgive himself even if she lived. And she certainly wouldn’t forgive him.

But those thoughts of guilt weren’t going to help him now. He had to push them to the back of his mind.

“Aly, stay with me,” he said. “Hang in there.”

Rob and Jessica had already rushed over.

“We’ve got to get her into the house,” said Rob.

“I need to find the wound.”

Aly’s eyes were slowly closing, and she wasn’t speaking. She was just breathing slowly and heavily, as if she was in great pain.

There was blood on the ground, seeping out from underneath Aly.

“Jessica, get me something inside to stop the bleeding. Quick!”