Mine

The ringing in his ears was deafening but he could still hear the struggle one the front porch heading down the stairs, banging of bodies on the exterior siding as the fight led out to the gate where the lifted truck waited. Seven carefully placed shots had left one unknown lump in the living room next to the bookshelf, splattered with blood and clothing pieces glued to the spines of conquered stories. A second dying body crawled screaming toward the front door begging not to be left behind as if the rapture had forgotten him. He stood up from the floor with a burpee motion and exchanged clips to the secondary one, grabbing his box of ammo immediately after from the dresser drawer. He can reload the other clip on his way to his truck, a skill he practiced for some reason as fun after watching each John Wick movie with full attention, which now in an unwanted event is being put to use without stumble. His jeans were still on from the day and he quickly threw on a hoodie from the same high school his son went to without losing a step toward the crawling stranger. He reached to his left pocket taking the knife off the dirt stained seam and with one hand opened it to expose a sharp yet worn blade, stepping on the random intruders back he slowly, almost grateful for the opportunity, stuck the blade into the left side of his neck using the serrated edge in a quick sawing motion upward and out the back half feeling the tip scratch the vertebrae just under the skull. Wiping the blade on his leg he grabbed his keys, put the knife back in his pocket and started to rush out the door after them.

He remotely started his truck and jumped in watching the lifted Chevy take off down the street swerving knowing he is putting up the best fight he can inside against whoever it is that decided to test him. Stuffing the gun in his cup holder, peeling out in reverse he pointed the hood toward his target quickly changing into drive launching him forward after the chaos. No time to call the cops, or the sheriff, they wouldn't get there in time anyway. He caught up to the truck as it made a wide turn eastward in his favor as the east side of town he knew like the back of his hand. He had grown up and ran around the east side all his teenage life. This was HIS hometown and he wasn't letting go of what who was in that truck. As he raced after them another vehicle came into sight on the right side of the street, a little too far out from the stop sign and in an inexperienced reaction jerk of the wheel the Chevy swerved and fishtailed out of control. His heart felt like lead in his chest, he lost his breath for a second watching in agony as it erratically went from left to right back to left taking to it's side and rolling twice off into the small park lined with pine and mesquite trees. Stomping on his brakes he slid up behind the twisted metal and flashed his high beams. "No, not like this, I'm here I'm here" he said in a hushed yell as he unbuckled to get to him. As his boots hit the muddy edge of the park loud pops sounded off hitting his truck like a metal bat hitting an aluminum sided boat. No sparks, no whistling sound like the movies. Only a hiss of a whisper of bullets missing their hopeful target. This wasn't like the movies. No random lighting over head, no super enhanced focused vision, he dove back to the floorboard reaching for his gun in the cup holder. Waiting for the right time to fire back, but, was it the right time? Where is he? Is he there? He can't see him. He waited, he HAD to wait. Squatting down and crawling under the truck he could see three pairs of legs, two in shoes and one barefoot, bloody but moving under their own power. Fighting still and landing heavy kicks the best they could. He recognized the motion, he knew what he was seeing was a combination of soccer and at home MMA training. The basics of striking, and it was paying off, for now. The shots stopped, either reloading or completely out this was the time to move, scratching his arms and knees through mud and gravel he sprung from the passenger side of the truck and took aim, three shots broke the new silence and the ringing started again this time not as bad since he was outside. Two hit the previous shooters leg, just above the knee on the right and just midway up the thigh on the left. Risky shots but the safest considering who was behind the prey at the end of the barrel. More screams of agony filled the midnight air mixing with distant sirens now making their way to the scene. One left he thought to himself, then a nose stuffing, head thundering pain filled his senses. For a few seconds he stopped and shut down. He had felt this before, system rebooting he thought of every way to get clear vision again. Spitting out dirt and sniffling the smell of wet pennies watching another vehicle, a car this time, pull up and take now four pairs of legs away.

He screamed, not words just a sound, a horrible voice cracking sound of pain and anger toward whoever could hear. He ran to the driver side and took off again after a new goal. The car was much quicker, not faster just quicker. Turns were sharp and somewhat precise, still novice in sight though harder to stay with. It was headed north now on a main road into town, but there was construction at the intersection, they wouldn't risk getting caught up in the line, only side streets to the left were accessible until then. He quickly made a detour and got on the next street over rolling through stop signs hoping and praying nobody would hit him. or he them. But the moon smiled on him and in his line of sight the car shot across a four way stop, there they were. He followed suit gaining valuable distance back. These roads weren't the best since each street was dug down to help with drainage so the car bottomed out with each ignored stop sign. Now he was bumper to bumper but he couldn't just force them into the next street light. He pulled along the passenger side and let loose his last three rounds of the second clip into the front passenger tire. holding steady absorbing the shock when the car lost control and slammed in his truck allowing him to grind the car to a halt. Using his shorter height to his advantage he was able to shift to the passenger side and out of the truck to the rear, quickly changing clips again to his seven round primary and an uncounted pocket full of 9mm.

As he came around the right rear he was sure to keep his legs behind the wheel as best he could, crouching for a vantage point the driver side doors opened, confused yelling mixed with cursing body blows he knew the fight raged on. Black Converse and skinny jeans appeared behind the blown out car, "not him" he told the exhaust pipe with a smile. One shot to the shin, slumped on one knee exposing the entire torso of a medium built young man, two shots center mass. Minus one. Four rounds left, he dug into his hoodie front pocket pulling out the other empty clip and loaded four more rounds into it. All he could get in the five seconds he had before more gunfire tore through the bed and tailgate of his Ram. Again no sparks, no ringing of clanking metal like Hollywood incorporates into the movies. The smell of melted painted aluminum entered his nostrils turning the penny taste in the back of his throat into an even worse flavor. Duck walking to the front of the truck he rose up taking aim just above the hood of both vehicles finding another shadow to aim at, four shots in quick succession and two hitting the intended mark. Change clips, this was it. Four again, four horsemen but all clones of Death. He looked to his left seeing the fight, the unstoppable, unrelenting fight raging from each foot and bloody fist landing on a crumbling figure. No remorse, no retard in action as each strike brought the man down as a traditional logger brings down a woodland pine. He ran to him wrapping his left arm around his bare stomach pulling him back within the same motion extending his right arm unleashing each horseman. No name given for no name was needed. Their task complete. He lowered the pistol and looked up at him, seeing his swollen eyes, blood soaked hair and busted lip he grabbed the back of his neck to focus his sight. Looking down at him through tears and flailing rage he couldn't help but cry more and hug his broad shoulders as his legs melted from under him. Seventeen years the difference. Best friends from the start. He held him up with both arms now still clutching the deserted black chamber etched Anubis, sirens nearing with blue and red strobes reflecting on nearby windows and bloody skin. "I've got you". "I'm here babe". You're my son, MINE".