Going Home by Angery American Page A

floor.
    “Gawd damn screamin’ runts, fuck!” Thomas said as he walked toward the door. He stopped just inside the door, and I heard him digging around his pockets. The unmistakable sound of a Zippo lighter popping open came from no more than six inches from my face and then the strike. I could smell the tobacco catch and heard him close the lighter. In the back of the house, Mandy was still screaming, and the sound of tearing fabric filled the house.
    “Now im gunna show yew whut yer good fer!” Lonnie yelled.
    “Then I will,” Thomas said as he pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, the door banging shut behind him. He stepped out to where my hat was lying on the porch. His right hand was in the pocket of his jeans, and I could see the grip of the revolver sticking out of his back pocket; Lonnie must have passed it to him, or he had his own. Thomas was looking down at the hat and stuck the toe of his boot out toward it. I took a step closer to him as I raised the hatchet. I brought it down with all my might on the crown of his head; the wet thunk sound was sickening. He immediately went limp and fell face first on the porch, his head hanging over the first step and the handle of the hatchet sticking straight up.
    I opened the screen door and sidestepped inside. The bedroom door at the end of the short hall was open about four inches, and I could make out movement but not much else. I eased up to the door and brought my pistol up; my eyes were burning a hole through the front sight. Inside I heard Mandy gagging and Lonnie cursing.
    “Open yer fuckin’ mouth, bitch!”
    I used my left elbow to push the door open. Mandy was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. He was standing in front of her with his pants around his knees. He had two fists full of hair pulling her head toward him. “Hey, Lonnie,” I said in a low voice. He turned his head over his left shoulder. I squeezed the trigger, and the round hit him just below the corner of his left eye, snapping his head back. That stupid-ass hillbilly hat flew from his head as his lifeless body fell to the floor. The explosion of the shot caused Mandy to scream out; she flung herself back onto the bed and pulled her knees up into a fetal position. I looked down at the body. There was a terry cloth robe lying on the end of the bed. I picked it up and moved toward Mandy; my hands were shaking so badly that I thought I would drop it.
    I tried to cover her, but she was fighting me, screaming like a banshee. “I’m not going to hurt you! Calm down!” She was obviously in shock. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. On the nightstand was a glass of water. I picked it up and threw the water on her. That stopped her, and she fell back on the bed, sobbing, not even trying to cover herself. I took the robe and covered her. “I’m not going to hurt you, and neither are they. Can you get up? I’m going to go get your kids. Can you get up?” I was trying to calm her down and get her head working again.
    “My kids?” She sat up clutching the robe.
    “Yeah, they’re okay. I’ll go get them. Get yourself together and come out. I don’t want to bring them in here. She looked around the room and gasped, covering her mouth. Most of what little brains Lonnie had were on the wall and curtains, along with hair, meat, and bone. It was a horrible-looking damn mess. I pulled the comforter off the bed and threw it over his corpse. “Come out when you can, okay?”
    I went out of the room. Pulling the table away from the door and opening it, I was greeted with the faces of two scared-shitless kids. Their eyes were red and puffy; the little one had snot all over her face.
    “It’s okay, guys. Mommy’s okay. Come here.” I picked the little one up; her diaper was full—I mean we’re talking load-test full. I reached out for the little guy’s hand. “Come on, big brother, can you show me where mommy keeps the diaper bag so we can change sister’s