Tales of the Blood Moon

Whole Lot of Lunatics

The bullet racespast my ear, buzzing like an angry hornet. I take a half-step backand use the corner of my kitchen wall for cover. I fire a blind shotaround the corner before retreating to the back stairs. I don't wantto get cornered, but if I stay down here, I'm dead for sure. Plentyof people are against guns, but I wonder what tune they'd be singingif two psychopaths barged into their house and tried to killthem. Whole lot of lunatics in the world today. I've got twoof 'em in my house right now. It's a good thing I'm armed, but I'mwishing I hadn't stopped at that convenience store to buy orangejuice on my way home. If I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have hadmade those three Screwdrivers and I wouldn't be worried about my aimgoing south right when I really need it.

I'm halfway up thestairs when I hear boots moving across my kitchen floor. I stop atthe top of the stairs, using the hallway wall for cover, and point mygun down the stairs. A head peeks around the corner and up thestairs. I fire at that head, but my aim is slightly off and he'sable to pull his head back before I can kick off another shot. Isuspect his friend is trying to make his way up the front stairs sohe can cap me in the back. I crouch down and press my body againstthe wall. It doesn't take long before I see him poke his head aroundthe corner and then immediately yank it back. Doesn't matter,though. I know the power of my weapon, so I just shoot through thewall. I hear him scream and shuffle back down the front stairs. Icould run over and try to finish him off, but there's a better thanaverage chance he's backing up with his gun pointed at the top of thestairs. If I stick my head out, I'm a goner. No thanks.

I can hear hisfriend shouting at the bottom of the back stairs. Man, that guyknows a lot of profanities. I slowly make my way down the backstairs, my gun pointed at the landing below. I don't hear the guyanymore, but I'm not convinced he's gone to help his friend. I stopon the second-to-last step and hold my breath. I can hear the guy Ishot saying something. Sounds like he's standing near my front door. I take another step down and throw my arm around the corner whileonly leaving about half of my head exposed. I don't see anyone inthe kitchen. Accompanied by the sound of sirens blaring in thedistance, I'm about to walk fully into my kitchen, when I see someonestick his head around the corner of the opposite wall. I fire and aspray of red mist goes flying. One down.

I slowly inch backup the back stairs, across the hall to the landing at the top of thefront stairs and poke my head around the corner. I don't see anyoneon the landing below. I also don't see any blood on the wall orstairs. I'm pretty sure I hit the guy I shot through the wall, butthere's no evidence except for a hole in my wall. Is this son of abitch even human? Fuck! Is the other one dead? Maybe this is worsethan I thought?

I'm considering mysituation when a head peeks up the stairs. It's the guy I shotthrough the wall. Okay, fuck this shit. I race down the stairs,taking two and three at a time. I stop on the bottom step and throwmy arm around the corner, firing blind. I stop and wait. I don'thear anything. I peek around the corner, snatching my head back thesecond I see what's over there. The body of the guy I shot in thehead is still laying there. Good. I don't see the other guy. Thesirens are getting really close, but I'll finish this before they gethere. I crouch down, turn the corner and make my way toward thekitchen but, just before I get there, the other guy sticks both hishead and his arm around the corner. We both shoot. My shot catchesthe top of his head and he stumbles backward before falling down. Unfortunately, his shot hits me in the chest, so I'm down too.

I lie therebriefly, listening to the sounds of sirens making their way to mystreet. The police will be in my front yard in a few moments. Isummon all my strength and try to stand, but it's not gonna happen. I manage to crawl into my kitchen, latch onto the edge of my kitchentable and somehow muster enough strength to pull myself up to myknees. Scattered across my table are the dangerous threats I wouldhave eliminated if I hadn't gotten this giant, fucking hole in mychest.

The pain becomestoo much and I fall backward, pulling several of the photos off thetable onto the floor beside me. I stare up at the ceiling as severalpolice officers come rushing into the kitchen. Through their radios,I can hear something about a stolen car, switched plates and whatsounds like an address. The sound, much like the light, is fadingfast. The police are saying something to me I can't quite make outthrough my mental fogginess but, considering I've just shot two oftheir friends, I doubt it's anything nice. I don't know why they'reso angry. I didn't want to kill any cops, but the two who showed updidn't leave me any choice. All I wanted to do was get rid of thepeople in the photos before they had the chance to vote for more guncontrol. Why don't they understand people need guns to protectthemselves from the dangerous element? After all, there are a wholelot of lunatics in the world today, don't you think?