The Storm (10 page)

              If Earth was falling apart, I needed to be a solid core that gave gravity to my family. We were locked together eternally through love, and they needed me at my best. Gently I set the gun down on the coffee table and sat down while continuing to take deep breaths. Reality was coming back to me now. I was in the den, supposedly on guard. Stacy would have a fit if she saw the loaded gun next to me and probably rightfully so. Another one of those dreams and I might wake up shooting at the TV. Perhaps going forward, it might be prudent to leave the gun at least a few feet away as I sleep. Our neighborhood was safe, I kept believing, as my nerves settled.

              A few minutes passed, and I decided I was grounded enough to return to sleep. Hopefully a blissful sleep. Maybe if I thought about sailboats or something fun, I might have better dreams. With that, I chuckled and tried to sweep the whole thing under the rug into some part of my brain that would forget by morning. As I started to lie back on the couch, it dawned on me that my shirt was soaked with sweat, and my body was thirsty. It was the middle of the night, so taking a shower was out of the question because it would wake the kids. I tossed my sweaty undershirt at Murphy, and it plopped right on his side. He had awakened when I got up, but he lay in place and watched me. Even with the shirt on him, he was too tired to move and laid his head back down to sleep after he had determined the coast was clear.

              I had walked from the den to the kitchen probably ten thousand times before and was able to do it by muscle memory alone. A simple nightlight that normally would soothe kids’ fears of the dark was now sorely missed. The conveniences of what we had, all gone in one fell swoop. At least I had the sense to clear the pathway of the kids’ toys before bed so I wouldn’t step on one of Paul’s little trucks again.

              When I entered the kitchen, I thought about lighting a match and a candle to see but decided that since I’d be going back to sleep momentarily, there was no need. “No need to waste any resources,” I said mutedly to nobody. My hands searched slowly on the counter for the glass cup I had been reusing since Friday. Washing everything by hand was a pain and we were trying to be somewhat efficient in our dirty dishes rotation. My hand connected with the glass and I firmly grabbed it while my other hand begun searching for the faucet when I heard something.

             
THUMP
.

              I froze in place as though hit with a stun gun and listened intently. Our ancestors were used to hearing odd noises and probably had a more keen sense of hearing. I was used to hearing car horns. A pause that lasted maybe twenty seconds but felt like two hundred . . .

             
THUMP . . . BUMP.

              “Oh my god,” I said to the sink in the dark. It was a faint sound, barely audible but definitely noticeable for someone who is awake. It was probably so subtle a noise that anyone and everyone would sleep through it. I mused briefly that maybe my nightmare was a good thing as I set the glass back on the counter and approached the large kitchen window which had the venetian blinds pulled. As silently and gently as I could, I eased open a slot between the two large wooden beams of the blinds and peered outside. All I saw . . . was a whole lot of nothing. I shook my head with a quick jerk to ensure I was fully awake and peeked through again. If I had closed my eyes, it wouldn’t have been any darker or worse than what I was seeing. My eyes searched for anything distinguishable or movement, but again there was nothing. The sky had been cloudy with dark rain clouds and tonight lacked even the faint illumination of starlight. I might as well be blind outside.

             
THUMP . . . CRACK.

             
What should I do? My mind started to race. What is going on? Maybe it’s a dog or a cat, I vainly hoped. Oh god, what if it’s whoever killed that woman? That was only last night, I remembered. It occurred to me in a sudden moment of clarity why people in the Middle Ages learned to associate night with evil deeds. The day was peaceful, but bad things do happen at night. What should I do? Will I sit here and wait my turn for them to come storming in my house and violate Stacy and kill my kids? “Hell No!” I said with as much confidence and anger as could be mustered. My family needed my protection, and this was the time to step up. Slowly I let the blind close and began making my way back to the den where my gun awaited. Quickly I slipped on my loafers while pulling up my jeans because they tend to sag without a belt on and suddenly remembered the plan with Tom.

              With a loaded gun in hand and five extra bullets in my pocket, I worked my way to the basement step by step in the dark. It would be nice if manufacturers would put instructions on the sides of guns such as how many bullets it can take. With a fear that it could be overloaded and misfire, I only placed six rounds in it. That should suffice, I hoped. I removed the metal bar that locked the back glass sliding door to the basement and heard a noise behind. A crumpling sound of paper on the carpet. Oh god, they were in here! Rapidly pivoting around, my gun was in hand pointing at whatever I couldn’t see in the dark.

              There stood Murphy, panting and excited because he thought he was getting a trip outside to the backyard. “I almost shot you, dog!” I said sternly, as though it was the dog’s fault and he should have known better. Deep breaths again and again. I have to keep calm I kept thinking. I can do this. “Sit down, Murph. You stay here, big dog,” came out in my best commanding voice, and he obeyed.

              The door slid open with a steady noise that probably wasn’t audible beyond a few feet but left me freaking out. I stepped out into the cool night and slid the door back ever so slowly. The wind was blowing in occasional gusts and made the night cool, but it felt relieving for me, at least at first. As I reached the door to the back gate, I gripped the rifle tightly and listened the same way a rabbit listens when it knows it’s being hunted. In that moment, my ears could have heard a pin drop. A gentle howl of the wind blew steady.

             
THUMP.

             
It was more distant now, barely audible. The sound was almost certainly coming from the front of my house and the wind probably carried it back to my location. Calculating that the noise of the back gate opening wouldn’t be heard very far, I slowly lifted the handle with rusted metal.
CREAK.
As I stepped out of the backyard, I released a small amount of tension and started to focus on my surroundings. It was too dark to see beyond five feet, but I reminded myself that I’ve walked these steps countless times and could do this with my eyes closed if I had to. I began making my way around my row of houses and would have to cross a clearing that could be potentially visible to whoever was in our cul-de-sac.

              Walking on the damp grass to keep my movements stealthy, I felt the wetness infiltrate my shoes and envelop my feet. Loafers aren’t meant for walking around sockless on wet medium-length grass. Finally I stood next to some bushes at the end of my row of townhomes, ready to make a silent dash across the clearing to get behind the next row and continue up to Tom’s house. Hands were tight and squeezing the gun as hard as one might squeeze to get the last bit of juice out of a lemon. The cool wind again howled briskly through the dark night and suddenly it was obvious to me that I had never put on another shirt. My core temperature must have finally been returning to normal because a slight chill enveloped me. Be it the chill of cold air or chill of possible imminent death, it was icy cold in its touch and gave me a determination to hurry but be careful.

             
THUMP
. . . and another sound that could barely be heard. Almost like a laugh in the air.

              When I was a kid and used to play basketball, I would always try to pump myself up just before tipoff. An old expression came to mind. “It’s go time,” I mouthed without uttering a sound. First, my right foot then my left moved as fast as they could. Within seconds, I was almost full speed in a crouched position. Fifty feet, I was halfway home and moving steadily. No noise from the people or gunshots that I could hear. Forty feet, I was holding my breath as best I could and almost there. Twenty feet, the wind kicked up and blew hard but it drowned out any noise my loafers were making as they shuffled about on the damp turf. Finally I made it!

              Immediately crouching behind a bush and squatting low to the ground, I listened, but only a rapidly beating heart could be heard. I’d safely made it across. I wondered if this is what assassins must feel like as they sneak about but quickly ditched that thought in order to focus on the here and now. Within moments, I was making my way quickly and probably too noisily to Tom’s back gate. Twigs cracked under my loafers as the pace quickened. If it was a large group of invaders and they were spreading out, I might be dead meat, making this much noise. My brain reasserted itself again over the fight of adrenaline as I slowed down and again breathed deeply. After a few breaths, I was again calm enough to continue and realized that my gun wasn’t ready in my shoulder as it should be in case a shootout was coming. I had been running with it down around my waist as one would carry a gun if on a long hike in the mountains. Damn you, Josh, I kept thinking. This is life or death. You can’t make mistakes.

              I arrived at Tom’s back gate and entered quietly. He always kept his property in good repair because it reflected on his landscaping work in the community. That included keeping the gate well-oiled, and it was silent as it opened. As I stepped inside, an immediate crunching sound shook me. Tom had tossed some beer cans on the grass, and I’d stepped on one. There could be more, but I couldn’t see anything. Shuffling my feet forward instead of stepping, I hoped to push any further beer cans out of the way instead of smashing them beneath my weight. Tom may have been drunk earlier, but he had remembered to leave a large stick back here for me to tap his window. Hopefully he wasn’t passed out and would respond.

              Gently laying the gun on the ground, I raised the long stick and began rapping on his glass window.
Tap, tap, pap
in a soft but rapid succession. It was too loud for my liking but this is what we had agreed upon. Suddenly I missed having a cell phone to call or text someone. That would have been so much easier. Again,
Tap, Tap, Tap
. Tom had done his work well earlier and gotten the word out to most of the neighborhood. I had spent time in long conversation with each family whereas he just informed them and moved on. Him being drunk and carrying a gun, people who opened their door probably weren’t too keen on having a long conversation anyway, I figured.

              The back door opened with a gentle quick whoosh as a black silhouette emerged. It suddenly spoke in a hushed but urgent tone. “Hey, Josh, that you?”

              The deep breath I had been holding finally came out in a long exhale. “Yeah. Glad you are awake, Tom. We have something happening, and I’m scared.”

              “Yeah, I know. I was actually about to come get you. I woke up and heard some noises. I almost pissed myself when I realized it was them people that killed that girl, but don’t you tell anyone I had a scared moment. I’m a tough guy and ready to do this.”

              The smell of alcohol on his breath was unmistakable. It was so dark outside that Tom was the invisible man at five feet away, but his breath would make him detectable much further out. His breathing was labored as well and carried the fear that he had tried so hard to marginalize. “How do you know it’s the same people? Could you see them? How many are there? I couldn’t see anything.” As I spoke with a heavy dose of trepidation, the excitement made my voice rise.

              “Ssshh,” came back from Tom. “Way I figure it, we got surprise on our side. We have to assume it’s the same people. Nobody should be out at this hour. My shotgun and me with you and your gun can probably scare ’em away or kill a few. “

              Scaring them off hadn’t even occurred to me, but it now seemed like a good course of action. As much as every man has fantasized about being a one-man army and destroying the enemy, when the time comes, few still carry the same appetite for destruction. Hesitantly I spoke, “Shouldn’t we just fire a couple of rounds in the air and they will go home?”

              He released a deep ball of phlegm. “Yeah, but then the little pricks will come back. Maybe they come back with more friends or worse. Let’s go confront them and let them know our neighborhood isn’t to be screwed with.”

              Tom was probably still drunk, and it was obvious he felt better about this than me, but I caved and went along with it. “Tom, let’s go around and you take the left and I will take the right. Let’s fire a warning shot, and then tell them to freeze or something.”

              A pause for drunken reflection and then he released another large phlegm filled spit at the ground. “All right. They do any stupid shit, I’m wasting ’em.”

              We made our way back out of the gate and silently to the side of the row of townhouses. The wind had picked up and was more consistent now. A faint dampness blew in the wind, signs that heavy rain might finally arrive soon. We stayed within two feet of each other, both armed and ready. Remembering my childhood days, the wooden stock of the gun felt natural in my shoulder and my head lay gently across the gun behind the sights. I had always been a good shot at long range, though tonight we would need to get close in order to see or hit anything. Danger flashed at me from some memory of a military movie.