"I'm scared."

Hugging him hard. So hard it seemed that she'd never be able to let go. "You'll be all right. I promise."

She closed the door and heard it lock.

Meg sprinted into the den, tore open the gun cabinet door. The carbine, smelling of oil and sulfur, was in her hand. The hundred-year-old Springfield (breechloader, not muzzleloader… Oh, Pellam where are you?). The saddle ring jingled as she blew dust off the brown metal barrel.

She found a dozen of the long, heavy shells, put one in the chamber and the rest in her sweater pocket. She closed the breech with a snap and ran into the hall.

On the first floor she checked the front and back doors. They were locked. The windows on the ground floor? She usually kept them locked but had she aired the house recently? She couldn't remember and she wasn't going to check now.

She paused, heard delicate scraping sounds. Metal and wood being adjusted. She walked to the kitchen. Slow, determined. Okay, asshole, she thought. With both hands pulled the hammer to half-cock.

Footsteps were coming up the stairs.

Meg clicked out the kitchen light. She took a deep breath, reached forward, undid the latch and swung the door open wide. She stepped back so fast she almost tripped.

The man was three-quarters up the stairs. She couldn't see his face. He stopped. There was a laugh of surprise. He held a flashlight in his hand. His high, playful voice-vaguely familiar-said, "Meter reader."

Meg said, "I've got a gun. One more step and you're dead."

The light beam started to sweep toward her.

"Shine that light in my eyes and you're dead."

"Risky place, this house."

"What do you want?" She tried to keep her voice from quivering.

"Just passing Go. Looking for my two hundred. But seriously, folks… Tell you what, just let me wander out and I won't report you."

"I want you to lie facedown on the floor."

He laughed. "Uh, nothing personal but it's not real clean. And there might be spiders. I don't like spiders."

"Now!" With one thumb she managed to put the gun on full cock. The click reverberated through the kitchen.

He took a step down the stairs. He was debating. Then he said, "Don't think so. Thanks for the offer but I believe what I'll do is leave. Keep the jewelry, the silver. Wasn't my pattern anyway. Hey, just want to say…"

She held the gun up to her shoulder, started to squeeze the trigger.

He took another two slow steps into the darkness. "… dinner smells great, lady. Sorry I couldn't stay. Maybe some other time."

Now! Do it!

Her finger was frozen on the trigger. Shoot, shoot, shoot…

The man disappeared.

"Shit."

She slammed the door, slipped the latch, and heard him running through the basement. She sprinted to the front of the house. She peered out through the lace curtains beside the door. She couldn't see anyone.

Hell, hell, hell. Where is he? Where'd he go?

Pellam, she thought, please come home…

Keith…

She started toward Sam's room.

Which is when the other man stepped into the hall from the living room and got his arm around her chest, saying in the same sort of sick voice that his partner had been speaking in, "Whoa my! Big gun for a little girl."

My God, she recognized him! It was one of the twins. The ones who owned that disgusting junkyard outside of town. Billy, or Bobby, had his hand over her face and groping for the stock of the gun, trying to pull it out of her strong, desperate grip.

She felt painful pressure on her breast as he fondled her with his other hand. "Hmmmm," he said with approval. She smelled his cheap musky aftershave and coal tar.

He was very strong but so was she. Neither could wrest the gun from the other's grip.

So she pointed the gun into the kitchen and pulled the trigger.

The explosion filled the hall with sulfur-stinking smoke. The Sanyo microwave blew into a dozen pieces. The recoil slammed Meg backwards into the twin. Through the ringing in her ears she heard him inhale in surprise. With a resounding crack his head hit the front doorknob.

"Ow, damn! Shit, that hurts." He let go and grabbed his head with both of his hands.

Meg dropped to her knees, tore open the breech of the gun. The spent cartridge, hot and smokey, popped out, and she reloaded the rifle.

The twin blinked, squeezing the back of his head, spun around, undoing latches and locks on the front door. Blood stained the white enamel door and spattered the carpet.

Chain off, one latch, deadbolt.

Meg slammed the breech closed.

The door swung open.

Cocking the gun…

"Fucking cannon," he called to his brother, who must've been outside. "She's got a fucking cannon!"

Then a scream behind her.

"Mommy!" Sam had left the guest room and was running down the corridor toward her.

Meg turned toward him. "No, Sam, no!"

She spun back. But it was too late. The twin jumped toward her. Meg couldn't get the gun on full-cock in time and she swung it like a club. He caught it easily and jabbed his fist into her jaw.

"Mommy," Sam cried again as she dropped to her knees.

The brother stepped forward and, furious, hit her again, harder. A burst of electric pain just under her ears. Her vision went black and grainy around the edges. She slid down against the cornflower-blue wall. Tried to get up. Billy ripped the gun from her hands. Her head sagged against the wall.

Sam reached her, put his arms around her head. He screamed, "Go away, go away, you!"

The twin opened the door and shouted. "Yo, Bobby. It's under control. Come on in."

Bobby walked inside. Sniffed the air. "Stinks. Brimstone. Lookit that thing." He nodded at the Springfield in admiration. Then he saw the sheriff's body. "You have to do that?"

"He seen me coming through the window," Billy said, massaging his head where he'd struck it on the doorknob. "The fuck you think I should've done? Said 'Howdy-do'?"

Bobby closed the door, looked over at Sam. "Hey, young fella. Don't worry. You'll be okay."

His brother muttered, "Son of a bitch, I'm bleeding." He looked with satisfaction at Meg, whose head lolled back and forth against the wallpaper. Her face was white. He asked, "Where's Keith?"

Meg didn't answer. He slapped her hard. Still silence. She was only half conscious.

"No!" the boy cried.

"Where's your father?"

He hesitated then said, "He's at the office but he's coming home any minute and he's going to kill you."

"Any minute," Billy repeated, looking at his brother.

But Bobby was looking over at the little boy. "How 'bout you and me go watch TV or something. In the living room there? While we wait for him."

"No."

"You don't want me to hit your mommy again, do you?"

Sam didn't say anything, just shook his head, wiped tears.

Bobby smiled. "Come on. Let's you and me go in there."

Billy said, "We don't have time for that now."

Feeling good that he'd thought of something his brother hadn't, Bobby said, "We gotta wait anyway, don't we? May as well enjoy ourselves."