whispered laugh. “Son of a bitch, we made it!”
The house was part ranch, part two story with a wraparound porch. The pale yellow siding with brown shutters and roof gave it a sunny demeanor, opposite of the world it was cruelly placed in. A little brown and white striped awning hovered over the front doorway, beckoning them in.
Lonnie imagined the family who lived there—a perfect family with a clean-cut dad who worked Mondays through Fridays and was always home for dinner, a mother with pinned up hair who wore an apron and baked cookies for her three perfect kids. He wasn’t sure if his senses were playing tricks on him, but he thought he caught the wafting scent of an apple pie cooling in an open window.
The two men crept closer as their eyes scanned every window in the home. There wasn’t a single light on. Either no one was there, or the family was smart enough to make it look like they weren’t there.
Once they reached the porch, Lonnie held his fist up to signal Rowan to stop where he was, bringing authenticity to his Army façade.
“We’re not makin’ the same fucking mistake twice and goin’ up to the front door. You go that way,” he pointed to the right of the house, “and peek in. See if you see anything. I’ll go this way and meet you around back.”
“Got it.” Rowan’s face was stern and unflinching, but his voice wavered when he spoke.
Lonnie wanted to slap him and yell in his face. He was in his goddamn thirties for Christ’s sake and he was acting like a sniveling baby, too scared of his own shadow to be of any use. Lonnie was only twenty-two and more in control of his emotions.
The image of Buddy Lands beaten to death on the floor flared in his mind. Well, maybe “in control” wasn’t the right choice of words. Without a doubt, Lonnie was the only reason he and Rowan were still alive, though, and that irked him. He wasn’t anybody’s goddamn babysitter.
Thoughts of resentment fueled the fire inside Lonnie as he walked around the left side of the house carefully, his rifle readied in both hands at his chest. He raised up onto his tip-toes to look into the first window across the porch. The setting sun behind him was too bright in the glass to make out any details, but he was sure he didn’t see any movement inside. The same with the next window and the next one.
He turned the corner to the back of the house and ran into something hard. Without hesitation, he raised the gun and pointed it right between the eyes of the towering figure.
“Whoa, it’s just me!” Rowan practically yelled as he threw his hands up over his head, dropping the pistol to the ground.
“Jesus-H-Christ, don’t fucking sneak up on me like that!” Lonnie bent down to pick up the 9 mil and tossed it back to his companion.
Rowan bounced it around as he tried to get a grip, his sweaty fingers slipping against the slick metal comically.
Any other day, Lonnie would have been rolling on the ground. Instead, he looked at the pathetic man with a wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes. The only thought in his mind was how long the guy would last before one of those fuckers ripped his throat out. Deep down, buried beneath that thought, was a shameful afterthought—he couldn’t wait for the day Rowan was no longer his problem.
XII.
The house was stifling. The air conditioning units had been removed and piled on the living room floor so the windows could be locked shut. After doing a quick walk-through of the home to find it empty, Lonnie collapsed on the living room sofa.
He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he was secured behind walls and doors again. His head pounded at both temples and ran down the back of his neck, giving him a nauseating feeling deep inside his stomach, which
The house was part ranch, part two story with a wraparound porch. The pale yellow siding with brown shutters and roof gave it a sunny demeanor, opposite of the world it was cruelly placed in. A little brown and white striped awning hovered over the front doorway, beckoning them in.
Lonnie imagined the family who lived there—a perfect family with a clean-cut dad who worked Mondays through Fridays and was always home for dinner, a mother with pinned up hair who wore an apron and baked cookies for her three perfect kids. He wasn’t sure if his senses were playing tricks on him, but he thought he caught the wafting scent of an apple pie cooling in an open window.
The two men crept closer as their eyes scanned every window in the home. There wasn’t a single light on. Either no one was there, or the family was smart enough to make it look like they weren’t there.
Once they reached the porch, Lonnie held his fist up to signal Rowan to stop where he was, bringing authenticity to his Army façade.
“We’re not makin’ the same fucking mistake twice and goin’ up to the front door. You go that way,” he pointed to the right of the house, “and peek in. See if you see anything. I’ll go this way and meet you around back.”
“Got it.” Rowan’s face was stern and unflinching, but his voice wavered when he spoke.
Lonnie wanted to slap him and yell in his face. He was in his goddamn thirties for Christ’s sake and he was acting like a sniveling baby, too scared of his own shadow to be of any use. Lonnie was only twenty-two and more in control of his emotions.
The image of Buddy Lands beaten to death on the floor flared in his mind. Well, maybe “in control” wasn’t the right choice of words. Without a doubt, Lonnie was the only reason he and Rowan were still alive, though, and that irked him. He wasn’t anybody’s goddamn babysitter.
Thoughts of resentment fueled the fire inside Lonnie as he walked around the left side of the house carefully, his rifle readied in both hands at his chest. He raised up onto his tip-toes to look into the first window across the porch. The setting sun behind him was too bright in the glass to make out any details, but he was sure he didn’t see any movement inside. The same with the next window and the next one.
He turned the corner to the back of the house and ran into something hard. Without hesitation, he raised the gun and pointed it right between the eyes of the towering figure.
“Whoa, it’s just me!” Rowan practically yelled as he threw his hands up over his head, dropping the pistol to the ground.
“Jesus-H-Christ, don’t fucking sneak up on me like that!” Lonnie bent down to pick up the 9 mil and tossed it back to his companion.
Rowan bounced it around as he tried to get a grip, his sweaty fingers slipping against the slick metal comically.
Any other day, Lonnie would have been rolling on the ground. Instead, he looked at the pathetic man with a wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes. The only thought in his mind was how long the guy would last before one of those fuckers ripped his throat out. Deep down, buried beneath that thought, was a shameful afterthought—he couldn’t wait for the day Rowan was no longer his problem.
XII.
The house was stifling. The air conditioning units had been removed and piled on the living room floor so the windows could be locked shut. After doing a quick walk-through of the home to find it empty, Lonnie collapsed on the living room sofa.
He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he was secured behind walls and doors again. His head pounded at both temples and ran down the back of his neck, giving him a nauseating feeling deep inside his stomach, which
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