Final Chaos

20

The pickup shuddered to a rough stop just an inch from him. He’d jumped back, but not quite far enough. He was lucky not to have gotten hit.

Three men vaulted over the side of the pickup bed. Their boots hit the gravel hard. They moved fast.

Both doors of the pickup were thrown open. Two people stepped out.

“Stay right there,” shouted Jim, from the ground, where he’d fallen. He had his revolver out, pointed at the man who’d stepped out of the driver’s side. “Hands in the air.”

“Boys?” said the pickup driver. He nodded back at the three men who’d jumped out of the bed. Rob noticed now that they were all young. The youngest was probably eighteen, and the oldest couldn’t have been older than twenty four. Each held a rifle, which they now raised. “If I were you,” said the driver, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I’d put that gun down. You’ve got to recognize when you’re outgunned.”

Slowly, Rob put his hands into the air over his head.

The driver was a tall, lanky man wearing loose clothing. A woman, who must have been his wife, walked slowly around the front of the pickup. She was equally tall and thin, with long tangled hair.

The younger men had pimples on their faces and long, greasy hair. They wore ill-fitting clothing.

“What do you what, Carpenter?” said Jim.

“Turns out we’re running out of food. And as you can see,” he gestured over to the billowing smoke off in the distance. “It’s going to be tough to get it from anywhere else.”

“It’s not like the supermarkets are open,” said his wife, her pale thin lips twisting up at the corners in an approximation of a smile.

“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.