“So what we’re going to have to do, we decided, is requisition some food from our friendly neighbors.”
“Why should we give you anything?” said Aly, her voice full of anger.
“Well, if it comes to it, we’re going to take it.”
Rob’s mind was racing. He knew that if they lost their food, they might as well be dead.
Without moving much, he looked each of the Carpenters up and down, trying to find weak points.
The young ones had rifles. That was obvious.
The patriarch of the family, Mr. Carpenter, had a long knife worn on his belt. But he didn’t have a gun in hand or visible anywhere on his person.
The wife and mother didn’t seem to be armed.
But either of them might have had guns hidden.
Rob had his in a makeshift holster attached to his belt. Aly and Jessica had helped him fashion it out of some pieces of rubber they’d found. It was held together with plenty of duct tape.
Maybe he could reach his gun.
He’d learned from Jim and Jessica how to fire it properly.
But he’d still only actually fired it three times.
It wasn’t like he was an expert shot. Far from, actually.
He didn’t actually know if he’d be able to hit anyone.
And three rifles pointed at him made it a huge risk.
Where was Jessica? Was she sleeping through all this?
“So what’s it going to be?” said Mr. Carpenter. “What do you have for us? I hope you’ve got some nice juicy steaks in a cooler in there. I’ve been having a strong hankering for some good red meat.”
“You’re not going to get anything from us,” said Jim, speaking in a loud, commanding voice.
“Jim!” hissed Aly. Both of them were still on the ground. “They have guns!”
Jim ignored her.
“What my wife isn’t taking into account is that we’ve got three men inside. All armed. So you’d be fools to make a move on us. You’ll never get back into that truck alive.”
Mr. Carpenter laughed. A big, disgusting laugh. But his eyes showed his suspicion that what Jim said was true. His eyes cast across the windows of the little lake house, looking for some sign that there were three armed men hiding inside.
“I don’t believe that for one second,” said Mr. Carpenter. “If you’ve got three armed men in there, why haven’t they blown us to bits already?”
“Because some of us have a little dignity,” said Jim.
“Boys,” said Mr. Carpenter. “Go in and see what’s there. Make sure to bring me some meat.”
As the boys trudged in a single file line towards the front door, Mr. Carpenter reached into his waistband and pulled out a massive handgun. He pointed it directly at Jim’s head.
“It’d be wise not to do anything stupid,” said Mr. Carpenter. “I don’t want to have to kill you. But if I do, it’s not like the cops are going to come looking for me. It’s every family for themselves now.”
“You might as well be killing us,” said Aly.
“That’s on you,” said Mr. Carpenter.
His wife approached him and put her arm around him, pulling herself close to him. She kissed him sloppily on the cheek, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like “I love you, baby.”
From inside the house, a gunshot rang out.
Rob was ready. His eyes were on Mr. Carpenter. He saw the man’s eyes go wide in surprise.
Rob didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t trust himself not to make a mistake with it.
Instead, he launched his huge body forward. He didn’t bother swinging his fists.
He collided with Carpenter hard.
Carpenter let out a grunt.
The two of them fell to the ground.
Hard.
Rob was on top of Carpenter, his body pinning him down. Rob swung his fist, bringing it high in the air in an arc. His knuckles crashed into Carpenter’s face.
Right on the nose.
Carpenter was reaching for something. His knife or his gun.
With his left hand, Rob pinned Carpenter’s arm at the wrist, pushing it hard down into the gravel.
With his right fist, Rob swung again, smashing his hand hard into the right side of Carpenter’s face.
Carpenter’s face was bleeding. Mostly from the nose. There was blood on Rob’s knuckles.
Rob was filled with anger. He wanted to pummel Carpenter into nothing. He wanted to keep hitting him.
The world around him seemed to have shrunk. There was a thundering roar in his ears, and for a second it seemed like he might forget about the rest of the world altogether.
But there were other things to consider. Guns were involved. Someone had been shot.
He snapped out of it. Out of the rage.
Rob grabbed his handgun, the one that had been taken from the men last week, and shoved the barrel into Carpenter’s face.
There was no need to say anything. The message was clear. If Carpenter made a move, he’d be shot.
Rob looked up.
Aly was holding a gun to the back Mrs. Carpenter’s head. Mrs. Carpenter had her hands on her head.
Jim was on the move, heading rapidly towards the front door.
Another gunshot rang out from inside the house.
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.