The porch creaked noisily as he walked down to the corner and peered at Jake’s house.  No signs of anyone at home.  The assault had turned into a full-on disaster, no question about it.  He took one final drag of the cigarette and tossed it into the yard.  He reckoned it was time to find the old woman and force her to open the vault.  And if she refused, he would just have to kill her and open it himself.  Either way, it really didn’t matter.

He strolled back into the living room and down the hallway.  His footfalls were loud on the pine floor.  He let his fingernails scrape against the hallway wall as he walked.  The intruder pushed the doors open with the tip of his barrel of his rifle.  He casually swept the rooms, each in turn, before proceeding.  The man in the black boots smirked as he reached the final door of the long hallway. He stepped inside.

She was sitting in a rocking-chair in the far corner of the room.  It had been her grandmother’s once, long ago. The craftsmanship was apparent.  It was built to withstand the tests of time.  The walls around her were covered with hand-made crafts of her own and her foremothers.  In her lap rested a beautiful, half-finished quilt.

She wore a baby-blue dress with a pattern of smiling, yellow chicks.  She had made two others just like it for her sisters.  Sometimes they would all wear their dresses while they were out together.  The complements they received about the outfits from strangers always made her smile.

The man in the black boots had forced himself into their home and killed the only man she had ever loved.  He was a man who could be hard and rough because his life had been, but Frank always tried to be gentle with her.  The intruder had taken the spiritual leader of their home. For the first time since she could remember, she felt rage.  The man before her had destroyed her family, but she wasn’t dead yet.  This was her room.

They never exchanged words as she pulled the trigger of the snub-nosed revolver that she had concealed beneath her quilt.  The muzzle blast burned the fabric. The hollow-point bullet punched through the quilt and violently tore through the man’s flesh.  It fragmenting as it collided with his pelvis.  He groaned in pain and took a short step back, shifting his weight to his other leg.  He raised the rifle to his shoulder.

Her arthritic hands struggled painfully to re-cock the revolver, but she was too weak.  Finally, she gave up.  Mrs. Thames leaned defiantly toward him, as he leveled the barrel with her chest.  He fired three times. She groaned weakly, before slumping in the chair.  In her final breath she saw Frank waiting with an outstretched hand, and she smiled.

***

The man in the black boots cursed and coughed.  Nothing was going as planned.  The Thames were supposed to be at church.  He sat on a nearby bench and leaned against an old wooden piano.  He struggled to regain his composure.  His pelvis throbbed and his pants were beginning to stain crimson.  After several moments of rest, he stood and hobbled out into the hallway to try his luck with the vault.

As he turned the corner and looked up, a giant, dark blur sailed through the air and collided against his chest.  He shrieked as the beats sunk its sharp fangs deep into his cheek and then his neck.  The impact sent him reeling backwards.  His croaked in pain as he crashed against the floor, back in the room.  His face throbbed with pain from the bites.  He flailed about, searching for is rifle, but he had dropped it in the hall.

Sasha snarled and again to ripped at the man’s face.  He struggled to pry her off with his hands, but it only made her savage his gloves.  He wailed as she mangled his fingers.

The man mustered all of his remaining strength and arched back.  He worked his boots under Sasha’s chest as best he could.  Suddenly, he pushed as hard as he could with his legs. Sasha growled and clacked her fangs as she sailed backwards.  She landed with a thud in the hall.

With a quick motion, he spun and grabbed the bottom of the door. As he feverishly tried to push it shut, Sasha wedged her head between the door and the frame.  As he held the door with both hands, he spun and kicked Sasha in the center of her face.  She whimpered and stumbled backwards as the door slammed shut.

The man in the black boots writhed on the floor in agony.  He breathed in deeply as he tried to gather his resolve.  He could hear the beast still in the hall, snarling and scratching at the door.  He touched his face and neck to gauge the damage and immediately recoiled in horror.  Bits of bloody meat hung in tatters from his cheek and throat.  He crawled to the corner and grabbed an old, wooden cane that was propped against the wall.  He steadied himself between the cane and the piano pulled himself to his feet.  He hobbled over to Mrs. Thames and flung the quilt on the floor.  He pried the revolver from her hand, before turning and making his way to the window.

He climbed out and tumbled into the mud below.  He coughed and wheezed as the hard landing expelled the air from his lungs.  He weakly limped to the corner of the house to make his way back to the SUV.  When he peaked around to the front, he saw a figure slowly and purposefully moving towards the house.  He cursed under his breath and recoiled.  He was in no shape for another gun battle.  The man aimed for the deep swamp beyond the Thames’ pasture.

Cha pter 8

Jake

West Mississippi

Jake didn’t notice the bodies on the front porch until he had already pressed himself against the wall of the house.  They were hidden from the view of the ditch and he had been focused on the windows.  He cursed himself for not noticing sooner.  He carefully climbed onto the porch and slowly moved along the wall, just like Geram had instructed.  He ducked under the windows and planned his steps purposefully to avoid making any errant noises.  Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins.  He did not have the combat experience of his brother, so he had to focus very hard to remain calm.

As he reached a point on the wall several feet from the door, he pressed his back against it and listened for any sounds from within the house. He heard nothing.  He wanted to rush in and search for Frank, but instead he waited for his brother.

He watched as Geram drifted like a ghost towards him. Jake was amazed at how he moved within the shadows.  At times he would catch a glimpse, only for Geram to disappear.  Knowing his rear was covered, Jake rolled to face the door, and any trouble that may be coming their way.

Jake stared at the three bodies that lay at his feet.  Someone, most likely Frank, had done quite well.  He hoped against hope that Frank was still inside somewhere, perhaps tending to a superficial wound.  He knew the odds were against his old friend, but he refused to entertain any other thoughts.  He noted the military-style weaponry the men had carried and thought of the old lever gun that Frank had likely used.  He was amazed at the damage the old man had managed to inflict.

Jake was momentarily startled by the tap on his left shoulder before realizing it was his brother.  Geram leaned in close and whispered softly, “Swing right, whenever you’re ready.”

Jake crouched low. He felt Geram lean in and steady his pistol over Jake’s left shoulder.  Geram had slung his rifle across his back.  The scope would be useless in the confined space of the house.  Jake counted to three, rolled around the door frame, into the living room.  He panned to the right, searching for threats.  Geram swung left immediately behind him. They moved through the doorway as if they were but one.

Jake stayed low as they moved through the living room, past the large stone fireplace and towards the kitchen.  Geram followed closely behind as he fixed his pistol on the hallway to their right.  They stopped for a moment along the interior wall that separated the living room and kitchen.  Jake noted the bullet holes that riddled the wall around them.  He tilted his head back and mouthed, “Frank”, and then motioned with his head towards the kitchen.