windowsill. They looked to be about forty yards away, close enough for the small caliber to do its job.
I aimed for the nearest target and my heart sank when I saw who it was. My eyes shifted from one to next as I realized I knew them all. It was Mr. Crousley’s family, or what was left of them. His wife, daughter, and two sons. I started to shake, tears clouding my vision. I squeezed them shut and buried my face against my arm. Gus whined again and snuck closer to me, then nudged me with his nose. I looked at him, he tilted his head in that special way they do, and I suddenly felt anger instead of fear and sadness.
“Alright Gus, let’s do this and stop screwing around.” I gripped the forearm and pulled the butt stock tightly against my shoulder. They were moving slow and had only closed in to roughly thirty-five yards. I felt myself fall back into the old zone, the years of training and shooting taking over. My breathing slowed and hands steadied as I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. In one fluid motion I worked the lever, ejecting the spent cartridge and loading the next, then lined my sights on the next target.
Over and over I did this until nothing was left standing. I didn’t rush, I didn’t hesitate. My head was finally clear and I was feeling like myself again. I sat at that window for a long time, watching the perimeter and listening for any more intruders. When I was sure there were none, I stood, reloaded the gun, and propped it against the wall. I was hungry and in desperate need of coffee.
* * *
After the moment of clarity I had while putting my neighbors out of their misery, the past evening’s events started replaying in my mind. It dawned on me that I had Ben’s story all wrong. Yes, Mr. McKinley had killed himself. Yes, he had swallowed a bottle of Percocet. But Mrs. McKinley hadn’t condemned herself to self-destructive wallowing and eventual death. The more I thought about it, the more details I remembered. I only chose to ignore them the night before because of the panic that had loomed all around me. She had chosen to live. She was supposed to commit suicide with him. Eat the rest of the pills, close her eyes, and die with her husband. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t. He was afraid and couldn’t face what was happening. She loved him so much she couldn’t torture him by demanding he stay. So she agreed.
And as he lie there, finally falling asleep and his breathing becoming fainter, she set the pill bottle down and instead held his hand. She had found it within herself to carry on, had found something worth living for. I walked around the house, sipping coffee, as I thought about these things and the lessons I could learn from them. I decided I did want to live, hell I wanted to fight. But first I would have to get back on track and make my home as strong as I could. If I had more nightmares, I would dismiss them as such. Keep my mind on the here and now, that’s what I would do.
My goal for the remainder of the day was to reinforce the lower level windows with plywood on the outside. I would bring some of the canned goods and other dried foods I had tucked away in the basement upstairs and stack them with what I had brought in from the garage if I had time, and get this place prepared for company. Things were happening too fast, and this was no time to screw around. People who did, didn’t live long nowadays. This was the new reality and those who accepted it would survive. There was a lot of work to be done and I finally felt… no, I knew , I could do it.
* * *
It ended up taking the entire day to finish the windows. As it turned out, I severely underestimated the job. That little pep talk I had given myself didn’t help for shit either when I found myself trying to hang a sheet of plywood, while standing on a ladder, and simultaneously attempting to screw the plywood into place. Yeah, it can’t be done. I knew it wasn’t a one-person job but didn’t actually
I aimed for the nearest target and my heart sank when I saw who it was. My eyes shifted from one to next as I realized I knew them all. It was Mr. Crousley’s family, or what was left of them. His wife, daughter, and two sons. I started to shake, tears clouding my vision. I squeezed them shut and buried my face against my arm. Gus whined again and snuck closer to me, then nudged me with his nose. I looked at him, he tilted his head in that special way they do, and I suddenly felt anger instead of fear and sadness.
“Alright Gus, let’s do this and stop screwing around.” I gripped the forearm and pulled the butt stock tightly against my shoulder. They were moving slow and had only closed in to roughly thirty-five yards. I felt myself fall back into the old zone, the years of training and shooting taking over. My breathing slowed and hands steadied as I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. In one fluid motion I worked the lever, ejecting the spent cartridge and loading the next, then lined my sights on the next target.
Over and over I did this until nothing was left standing. I didn’t rush, I didn’t hesitate. My head was finally clear and I was feeling like myself again. I sat at that window for a long time, watching the perimeter and listening for any more intruders. When I was sure there were none, I stood, reloaded the gun, and propped it against the wall. I was hungry and in desperate need of coffee.
* * *
After the moment of clarity I had while putting my neighbors out of their misery, the past evening’s events started replaying in my mind. It dawned on me that I had Ben’s story all wrong. Yes, Mr. McKinley had killed himself. Yes, he had swallowed a bottle of Percocet. But Mrs. McKinley hadn’t condemned herself to self-destructive wallowing and eventual death. The more I thought about it, the more details I remembered. I only chose to ignore them the night before because of the panic that had loomed all around me. She had chosen to live. She was supposed to commit suicide with him. Eat the rest of the pills, close her eyes, and die with her husband. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t. He was afraid and couldn’t face what was happening. She loved him so much she couldn’t torture him by demanding he stay. So she agreed.
And as he lie there, finally falling asleep and his breathing becoming fainter, she set the pill bottle down and instead held his hand. She had found it within herself to carry on, had found something worth living for. I walked around the house, sipping coffee, as I thought about these things and the lessons I could learn from them. I decided I did want to live, hell I wanted to fight. But first I would have to get back on track and make my home as strong as I could. If I had more nightmares, I would dismiss them as such. Keep my mind on the here and now, that’s what I would do.
My goal for the remainder of the day was to reinforce the lower level windows with plywood on the outside. I would bring some of the canned goods and other dried foods I had tucked away in the basement upstairs and stack them with what I had brought in from the garage if I had time, and get this place prepared for company. Things were happening too fast, and this was no time to screw around. People who did, didn’t live long nowadays. This was the new reality and those who accepted it would survive. There was a lot of work to be done and I finally felt… no, I knew , I could do it.
* * *
It ended up taking the entire day to finish the windows. As it turned out, I severely underestimated the job. That little pep talk I had given myself didn’t help for shit either when I found myself trying to hang a sheet of plywood, while standing on a ladder, and simultaneously attempting to screw the plywood into place. Yeah, it can’t be done. I knew it wasn’t a one-person job but didn’t actually
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