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"first_page_text": "SHALLOW MOON\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 1\r\n\r\nA shallow moon hung so low in the black as to be almost touchable. Alone in its splendor, isolated by its own exception, distinct and majestic, it shone peerlessly in the night sky. Joe Saphreaux gazed upward and remembered his wife, gone the better part of a decade now, and could almost hear her teasingly sarcastic voice saying, โWell you just hung the moon now, didnโt you,โ when he did something to displease her.\r\n\r\nHe listened to the silence the land on which he sat hadnโt known in over a century. No planes breaking the quiet from above, no big rigs from nearby highways rumbling in the distance, no lonesome whistles from far away freight trains bellowing their arrival as they approach deserted street crossings, none of the echo of industrialization he hadnโt realized heโd been hearing his entire life until it wasnโt there. \r\n\r\nThere were no sounds of people or their presence at all save the gentle snore of his thirteen year old girl and the worrisome wheeze of his eleven year old boy as they slept beside him, huddled together for warmth and comfort beneath a hideously gaudy blanket given to him as a white elephant gift at an office party in another life. Heโd sit for another hour trying not to remember before waking the boy for his watch and closing his own weary eyes.\r\n\r\nRemember he did, however. He remembered frozen meals made ready by the simple acts of puncturing transparent cellophane and pushing a button. He remembered the school bus picking up his kids in the rain, then reassuring his wife after reading the anxiety etched into the set of her eyes. He remembered all manner of things lost, then willed his jaw to relax and his teeth to stop grinding, staving off the headache beginning at his temples and reaching like tentacles into the spaces behind his ears.\r\n\r\nHe sat. He listened. He forced himself to maintain the vigilance required to survive.\r\n\r\nHis daughter turned, restless and wound as always, even in sleep. Something akin to a gasp escaped her lips as she did so. Joe wondered as to its source, then if he wanted to know it. In turning she left herself uncovered, arms bare to the chilled autumn air. \r\n\r\nHer brother woke, groggily looked at her exposed arm and clumsily covered her sleeping form. Kid brother, idolizer, protector and eleven year old. Life and the roles played in its span were in some ways little different than theyโd been when Joe was a boy. That way of thinking was an illusion, however; a false promise of normalcy that was no more.\r\n\r\nLife and its roles were nothing like what heโd known. To think otherwise, even in passing, risked all that was left. In the faltering light of reddening blue embers from the nightโs fire the boy looked to his father who in turn shook his head indicating it wasnโt yet time. Young Jake closed his eyes and quickly fell back into an easy all encompassing sleep of the sort available only to the innocent and those so daft or heartless as to live as if they were.\r\n\r\nJoe opened his eyes to muted sunshine, its rays diffused by a lifting fog quickly burning away to nothingness. The kids were still sleeping, Jenโs hair a tangle of straw colored chaos, fury and mischievous delight; Jake sprawled like a pile of dirty clothes, content in his condition.\r\n\r\nJoe didnโt bother chastising himself for faltering, for failing in his responsibilities, for falling asleep on his watch. It wasnโt the first time. He was exhausted. They all were. He lacked the energy to take himself to task for the lapse. \r\n\r\nNothing happened. He was grateful. He would try to do better.โ\r\n\n\nChapter 2\r\n\r\nJen sat bolt upright, quickly and alertly surveying her surroundings, then smiled a gap toothed grin at Joe. โItโs sunny,โ she said matter of factly. She leapt to her feet and ran behind the nearest bush before he had time to react. \r\n\r\nJen was lithe and supple in her movements without effort or awareness. Strength, too, was evident in her motions, sinewy muscles bestowing her with an agile grace. Her power was of a sort more akin to that of a cheetah than that of a lion. She sprang rather than mauled, but the results were usually the same for those who crossed her.\r\n\r\nHer eyes, a rich blue when she was born, had taken on a catlike quality as she aged. They shifted from blue to gray to green depending on the light. On occasion Joe could almost swear their tint changed with her mood or the squint with which she chose to convey it. Regardless of their color they were flecked, almost striped, with what resembled sparkling silver and gold. They were equally capable of mesmerizing and intimidation. Jen was quickly discovering their power and mastering the art of wielding it.\r\n\r\nLike the girl whose head it capped, Jenโs hair was unruly. It suited her personality; beautiful, but not in a classical sense. There was a cowlick at her hairline just above her exceptionally high forehead making bangs or styling requiring anything other than being pulled tightly back difficult, if not impossible. \r\n\r\nIt was dirty blond, the dirt winning out more and more as she matured. The blond was more hinted at than present in any tangible sense. For someone seeing her for the first time the likely inclination was to label her a brunette, yet blond was there too, sensed more than seen. It was there when glimpsed from the corner of the eye or when she entered a room, then faded as focus on her gave a clearer picture, however, like a desertโs watery mirage or a Fairy fluttering into the shadows to avoid detection. In summer, when sun-kissed by long exposure, the blond streaks returned to brush the freckles on her slender nose and prominent cheekbones that seemed to pop out to greet them.\r\n\r\nJenโs fair complexion, hypnotic and almost translucent at times in its clarity, reflected her motherโs Irish and Dutch lineages. The particular beauty reserved for those with her build and grace was herโs in abundance as well. Even when walloping her little brother just because she still could, an observer would likely note the graceful beauty with which she did so. A friend had once told Joe to get ready, that Jen was destined to be trouble. Trouble the kind of which teenage boys would find absolutely irresistible. Thee dyings had made that a non issue up to now, but his friend had been right in every respect excepting the presence of teenage boys.\r\n\r\nJen was short, and not just a little, but exceptionally so. Standing at least two inches under the five foot marker she so desperately wished to reach, the likelihood of that wishโs fulfillment was rapidly diminishing. She compensated for what she lacked in stature with a stubborn resilience. Jen ceded ground only on her terms and at times of her own choosing. The personal cost to be paid for her entrenchment was simply not a factor once sheโd set her boundaries.\r\n\r\nDespite her stature, short wasnโt the adjective that first came to mind when meeting Jen. She was as well proportioned as she was small. More likely than not the first descriptors to come to a strangerโs mind were some odd combination of beautiful, scruffy and petite. Occasionally strangers would include vulnerable in their impressions, usually to their detriment. An exceptionally observant stranger may even add dangerous to his perceptions of her. At least, as had so often been the case with girls her age before, the label rival had, as yet, not been draped like a sash over her shoulder. The dyings had spared Jen from the consequences of its petty cruelty; a silver lining to an otherwise very dark cloud, Joe sometimes thought, when he watched his daughter \r\n\r\nBeing who she was, who someone of her size and disposition had to be if they wished to accomplish or acquire things independently, Jen became adept at employing whatever advantages there were to be gleaned from the diminutive first impression she inevitably gave. She knew she appeared significantly younger than she was. She was also fully aware that she, as people regularly told her before things changed, was as cute as a button. That description, despite the fact that she recognized it as an intended compliment, always left her feeling worse; smaller somehow. Perhaps it was that feeling that allowed her to justify using those attributes to avoid consequences for actions others, who looked more their age, or who werenโt lucky enough to have her ingratiatingly innocent good looks, would undoubtedly pay for.\r\n\r\nIn both thoughts and actions Jen was impulsive and impetuous to the point that she had to be on guard against her own tendency for irrational action. Luckily for Joe and Jake, not to mention herself, she was growing into a young woman who both recognized that necessity and possessed the exceptional underlying intelligence to pull it off. Her undersized frame developed within her an uncommon ability to stand her ground. It was her newly found recognition of the value of self control and her determination to cultivate its development within herself, however, that was making her a natural leader.\r\n\r\nJoe caught himself wondering as to how sheโd managed to skip what people with less beautiful or coordinated children referred to as some variation of โthat awkward phase.โ He paused to recognize the conceit that thought revealed within himself. He then allowed himself to think it, nonetheless.\r\n\r\nโ\r\nChapter 3\r\n\r\nWith the commotion caused by Jenโs lively exit Jake stirred, eyes still shut to the inevitability of the day. He asked in a voice drunk with sleep and more than a little touched by irritation, โWhat dโyou want?โ He was asking the still morning air, of course. Jen was gone to meet whatever fate had to offer before heโd arched an eyebrow. Getting no response his face slackened, eyelids again at ease, no force pushing back the light.\r\n\r\nJoe envied the apparent ease with which his son fought off the sunrise for a few more minutes of sleep. He sometimes felt depleted of the strength to accomplish even so much as that. He rose nonetheless, trusting his spirits to follow. Recalling the whirlwind masquerading as his oldest child, they did. \r\n\r\nNudging Jake with the worn end of a walking stick heโd picked up somewhere between what was then and now Joe said, โCome on kiddo. Gettinโ there in your dreams donโt count.โ\r\n\r\nJake responded by scratching his head, though clearly not yet awake. His light brown hair had rich undertones the color of faded rust. It was sun-bleached, resembling something like Galveston Islandโs sand or long cut hay on top. He insisted that it be kept short, out of his eyes and ears always, despite his sisterโs pleas that he let it grow. Cropped short or not, however, it managed to look disheveled. โWhen you wash that mop you look like you just got highlights,โ Jen would tease truthfully and tauntingly at once, and maybe even a little enviously. โPlease let it grow,โ sheโd say. โYouโre the only boy Iโve got to look at except daddy, and heโs older than dirt. Youโre hair is firecracker hot, Jake. The rest of youโs just my stinky kid brother.\r\n\r\nStinky was, in so far as it went, an apt description of Jake. Very few would assent to limiting a description of him to just that, however. Methodical and capable of complex and naturally organized constructs of thought, his mind was equally agile and quick when the situation called for it. \r\n\r\nWhile the exceptional nature of his mind was what most separated him from others, it was his physical stature, even as a child, that drew him immediate attention and made him stand out in a crowd. He was lean like his sister, his muscles long and elastic, like those of a runner rather than those of a lumberjack. Unlike Jen, though, he was as tall as he was lean. He was already within a hair of surpassing her. Whether he had or not already was one of the few points of real contention between them.\r\n\r\nIt wasnโt an exaggeration to call Jakeโs prominent square jaw statuesque. His nose was narrow and straight, classically nordic in its origins. His eyes were so deeply set as to give their piercingly crystalline blue the illusion of genuine radiance; of emitting light from within, rather than simple reflectors of the light available to them.\r\n\r\nHe was a good looking kid, and knew it. He knew it not from a place of conceit, however, but from the fact that heโd been told so by practically every mother and teenage older sister of his friends and classmates before the world of friends and classmates ended. Women would stop his parents in groceries stores, malls or any other public spaces just to coo over him and shower him with complements. \r\n\r\nHeโd never had a teacher for whom he wasnโt among the favorites. More remarkably, his classmates never seemed to resent his favored status. He was valued among his peers for his loyalty and genuinely good nature as much as for his physical good looks.\r\n\r\nThose that knew him well would to a person point to his kind heart if asked what one quality best described Jake. His dad and sister were the only ones that knew him well now, of course, but his friends, family, teachers and others, all gone now, would have said so too if given the opportunity. \r\n\r\nEven as a kindergartner he would break up arguments and tussles among classmates. โBut not only that,โ Joe remembered Jakeโs experienced grandmotherly teacher saying, โAll three; Jake and the two fighting, always ended up friends laughing together. If Jakeโs getting involved Iโve learned to give him a crack at it and heโs yet to fail me. Iโve never had another student in my thirty years in the classroom I can say that about. Maybe Iโm getting too old for this,โshe laughed, โBut youโve got yourself something special in that boy. Very special indeed.โ \r\n\r\nGrowing more serious, the old teacher continued, โJust remember thereโs a high price to pay for special gifts. Youโll do right to raise him knowing that and preparing him to pay when his debt is called in.โ Joe had know idea how to respond to that. He just thanked her and left, a feeling of unease twisting his insides and holding Jakeโs hand a little more tightly as they walked away.\r\n\r\nโ\r\nChapter 4\r\n\r\nJoe nudged Jake again, this time with the toe of his hiking boot. Jake mumbled something unintelligible, but with a tone that oozed his own unique fusion of lethargy and vexation. Joe was fairly certain his inability to decipher Jakeโs grumbled repine was for the best. He watched his son unconsciously resettle himself, finding the hint of a smile on his lips for the first time in what seemed like days at the thought of damnation via the ire of an eleven year old roused too soon. \r\n\r\nJoe tossed the gnarled hickory stick he was holding aside, freeing his cracked and callused hands. In doing so he took in its form. Smooth on both ends from weeks of use supporting him as he walked, it was knotted along its length where smaller branches had once grown when the stick had been but a part of something more than itself. \r\n\r\nWhile examining his makeshift staff he suddenly realized he had no idea if it was hickory or not. Hickory sounded right, and so it had become. Recognizing his ignorance, the grin hinted at earlier turned into a barely audible chuckle as Jen walked back with much less urgency than that with which sheโd left.\r\n\r\nโMorninโ Sunshine,โ Joe said, as Jen looked incredulously at her brother.\r\n\r\nโAinโt you gonna get him up?โ she asked, trying to look scornful but failing. โWhyโs he get to sleep late, and didnโt he have last watch anyway?โ\r\n\r\nโCouldnโt sleep,โ Joe effortlessly lied.โ Didnโt see any reason to wake him and have us both sit up watchinโ nothinโ but the dark.โ\r\n\r\nโUh huh,โ she said with a sarcasm unique to teenage girls and the occasional sated feline. She left it there, however, confident her message was received.\r\n\r\nLooking up, the lightheartedness that had begun to raise its head above water vanished as Joe saw four figures come into view as they crested a slight rise in an overgrown pasture some distance to the south. Their approach was unremarkable, neither hurried nor notably cautious. They appeared to be talking, though at this distance Joe couldnโt be sure of anything other than the fact that they were coming his way. \r\n\r\nThey seemed to be wearing overcoats. He thought he could make out hats as well, or maybe hoods. His imagination was quickly turning the strangers into old-west outlaws from a bad western movie dressed in blood stained black dusters, murder and lust their only evident ambitions, accuracy with pistols and an insatiable thirst for blood their most distinguishing qualities. He could practically hear the ominous jingle of their spurs. \r\n\r\nHe took several deep breaths and reminded himself that the โdustersโ could just as easily be full length dresses. He simply couldnโt distinguish between the two at this distance. โBinoculars,โ Joe mumbled to himself, adding them to the ever-growing list of items he hadnโt realized they needed. His skin prickled with goosebumps. His stomach growled as his bowels reacted to the tension overtaking him.\r\n\r\nJoeโs countenance changed in an instant, senses alert and straining to glean even the slightest bit of information, an edge, an understanding of the developing situation. Jen detected the change in her father. She followed his gaze to the strangersโ approach. \r\n\r\nFeigned anger forgotten, Jen gently woke her brother. Jake opened his eyes to see his sister with her finger held firmly against her tightly puckered lips cautioning silence. He too was alert now and looked questioningly into Jenโs crystalline hazel eyes. As her father had done for her she wordlessly guided his gaze to the strangersโ advance.\r\n\r\n \r\nChapter 5\r\n\r\nTogether they waited, each finding fortitude in the stoicism displayed by the rest, each determined not to be the link in their little chain that broke. Despite the struggles within themselves to maintain the appearance of calm, or perhaps because of them, a sense of foreboding, an ominous dread, an almost overwhelming feeling of impending doom seemed to compel a collective state of inaction. \r\n\r\nJoe found himself in possession of a new appreciation for the phrase โa deer in the headlightsโ that had eluded his previous understanding. He tried even harder, though with dwindling confidence in ultimate success, to calm his fraying nerves and to set some sort of example for Jen and Jake. An example of what, exactly, he wouldnโt have been able to say.\r\n\r\nThey could run, but those approaching were likely to be faster. They could hide, but evidence of their presence was clear, strewn haphazardly about them and unable to be masked before the distance would be closed. Even if the debris belying their existence could be hidden the smoke rising from the remains of their fire hung above them in the still morning air as clearly as a battle flag marking their position. They each watched, unmoving, transfixed as their options narrowed with each footfall of the newcomers. \r\n\r\nThey could ready themselves for a fight. Between them they possessed a snub-nosed thirty-eight special revolver with a dozen rounds plus the five in the cylinder. Joe carried it in a holster clipped to his belt, easily accessible by his right hand. It was small enough that it was usually concealed by just a T-shirt. \r\n\r\nJen carried a bolt action twenty-two rifle with a well worn sling over her shoulder. There was a full box of a hundred short rimfire rounds plus thirty-two more in another ammo box. There was also a full box of fifty high velocity long rifle rounds and six long rifle hollow-points held for the most dire of circumstances. \r\n\r\nFinally, they had an antique but reliable double barrel sixteen gauge shotgun. Joe sawed off its side by side barrels just above the wooden forearm when they began their trek to make the gun easier to wield, reduce its weight and increase its close-in effectiveness. He rigged a homemade sling for it that allowed it to hang across his chest resting at his right side with just enough slack to be fired from the hip, though clumsily, if absolutely necessary. There were seventeen shells loaded with squirrel shot and five more loaded with double ought buckshot. \r\n\r\nJoe also carried a knockoff brand Swiss army knife, the scissor tool broken long ago and several of its other implements frozen in place by rust and lack of use. The longest knife blade, the saw and the can opener were still fully functional, however. Despite the burden he carried its weight gave him comfort.\r\n\r\nOn his left hip, clipped to his belt opposite the thirty-eight special on the right, was a perfectly balanced and well honed hatchet. Joeโs great great grandfather carried it out of the trenches and across no manโs land in World War I where itโs original handle was shattered by a bullet otherwise destined to, as family lore held, cut short the family lineage at Belleau Woods. His great grandfather carried it into the Ardennes Forrest in December of 1944 just days before he and the rest of the US forces there were caught flatfooted and unprepared by Germanyโs last offensive of WWII. His grandfather wore the hatchet on his hip as a US Marine for the entire seventy-seven days under siege at Khe Sanh seven miles from the Laotian border with what was then South Vietnam. \r\n\r\nJoeโs father was wearing the hatchet in the Mountains of Afghanistan when an IED took his left leg. Somehow the hatchet made it back with him, however, and thus to Joe. When Joe turned eighteen and told his dad he was thinking about enlisting he was reminded that all of the hatchet carriers before his dad had been drafted. โI was the only one to go looking for a fight, and itโs left me leaning left ever since,โ his dad quipped. \r\n\r\nโYouโre man enough to make this decision for yourself according to Uncle Sam,โ his dad continued more seriously. โBut consider the fact that you could very well end up walking the same ground in the same war that cost me my leg.โ After a long pause he said, โBefore I enlisted my daddy told me what I told you about it being my decision. He also had another piece of advice I often wish Iโd heeded.โ\r\n\r\nโHe told me that it was every manโs duty to defend his Country if called, but war was nothing to seek out. He said if I went, no matter how diligent my search for glory, I wouldnโt find it. I wish Iโd recognized the wisdom in his words. Maybe you will,โ Joeโs dad concluded.\r\n\r\nNo more was said about it. Joe opted for State U over boot camp, and carried the guilt he knew would accompany that decision. The hatchet did not pass to him as a young soldier as it had to his forbearers. It was willed to him with no elaboration when his father died of lung cancer a year before the dyings had begun in earnest. He wore it now with an amalgamation of guilt, reverence and utility. He was certain he felt its weight more than any of his predecessors.\r\n\r\nJen carried a boy scout knife Joe had been given as a reward for achieving the rank of Webelo as a cub scout back when things like that happened. She accepted it with a solemnity uncommon to her disposition when heโd given it to her, inherently recognizing the unspoken responsibility that came with the gift. The scissors still worked on it.\r\n\r\nJake carried a scabbarded buck knife with an imitation bone handle. It was bought for Joe by his grandfather when heโd been Jakeโs age in the gift shop of a cruise ship returning from Alaska over the protestations of his grandmother. Sheโd argued that Joe was too young for a knife, dull as a letter opener or not. A wolfโs head was stamped into the ivory plastic hilt with much more efficiency than even the most skilled inuit elder couldโve managed.\r\n\r\nJoe also carried a whetstone passed down from fathers to sons through more generations than anyone could remember. He kept it wrapped in oilcloth and tucked into the middle of his bedroll so as to protect it from breaking as best he could. With it he honed the blades whenever time allowed. The rhythmic gnashing produced as he worked the knives across its worn surface had come to be something of a lullaby, its gentle grinding the last sounds his children heard before falling asleep more often than not.\r\n\r\nJoe had grown up with guns and knives, hunting and fishing with family and friends since before he could remember. His children were familiar with firearms and blades as well. They were tools to be respected and handled with caution, but tools nonetheless. None of them, Joe included, had ever fired in anger or at another person nor held a blade with malicious intent.\r\n\r\nArming his children to face whatever was coming wasnโt an option with any realistic possibility of a positive outcome he quickly concluded. He calmly summoned his kids to him. Draping an arm around each, Joe told them that everything would be okay as he watched fate close the distance separating them from whatever was to come.\r\n\r\nโ\r\nChapter 6\r\n\r\nThe strangersโ approach halted almost immediately after Joe began reassuring his children. The smallest of the others, slightly in front and to the right of the rest of the group, pointed vehemently in their direction. She turned urgently to the rest of her party while doing so. \r\n\r\nThey appeared to freeze mid-stride for a long indecisive moment. They then dropped to the ground; first one, then the others, each as their situation and the idea of the need to become less visible, less of a target, took hold. In doing so it was more than obvious that their reaction was unrehearsed and seemingly unanticipated. In dropping to reduce their visibility and with at least one of their aims presumably to draw less attention to themselves, they nevertheless did so with enough clatter of carried accoutrements as to be easily heard from across the divide. The noise of their concealment was almost sure to draw the attention of anyone who had somehow missed their unguarded arrival.\r\n\r\nBefore Joe could process what he was seeing and consider a course of action he heard the barking of a dog. Soon afterwards he saw what appeared to be a mixed breed cross between what may have been a small black poodle and something like a mangy unkempt Schnauzer bounding toward them at full speed. Heโd never seen an uglier more scruffy looking dog in his life. Under different circumstances he wouldโve laughed out loud at the sight of it. \r\n\r\nJoe wouldโve guessed fifteen or twenty pounds if forced too guess the dogโs weight based on what looked for all the world like a four legged ball of black and gray steel wool scouring its way towards them. Judging by the bark alone, however, he wouldโve opted for something closer to fifty pounds. The stranger whoโd pointed them out earlier screamed, โJelly Bean!โ She jumped to her feet and began running after the dog even as she screamed for it to stop. \r\n\r\nA much deeper voice yelled, โGet your butt on the ground, now!โ \r\n\r\nThe girl reluctantly obeyed, dropping to a knee, skinning it, before lying prone. As she did she yelled, โJelly Bean,โ again, more plaintively this time, almost immediately followed by the plea, โPlease donโt hurt my dog.โ\r\n\r\nJoe watched with bewilderment as the surreal scenario played out across the field. Still frozen in disbelief and confusion, a shot rang out from amongst the strangers. Even before hearing the crack of gunfire split the still morning air glowing embers exploded outward from their fire; red hot sparks, charred blackened coals and pallid gray ashes rising then falling in an arc behind them. Joe turned to his kids, terror threatening to overtake his faculties. To have struck the fire the bullet had to have passed between Jake and Jen.\r\n\r\nJake was as flat as he could be, becoming as much as possible a part of the ground itself. He looked determined, focused, and shockingly unafraid. He didnโt appear to be injured. Joe was surprised, impressed and very much frightened by his sonโs reaction. His bearing, his expression, his posture, his being itself wasnโt that of a eleven year old; at least not that of a eleven year old from the world of cartoons, breakfast cereal, bike ramps and baseball cards Joe was familiar with. It was Jenโs reaction, however, that changed everything.\r\n\r\nThe report from her twenty-two tore Joeโs eyes away from Jake. He focused on his daughter just in time to see her working the little rifleโs bolt action, expelling the spent round and feeding a new one into the firing chamber. \r\n\r\nโWait,โ Joe said through gritted teeth with all the steadfast calm his shaking body and panicking mind could muster. Jen did not fire again. Nor did she remove her finger from the trigger or lower her aim.\r\n\r\nA scream came from across the pasture. โDaddy!โ the girlโs voice cried, no longer focused on the dog. \r\n\r\nโHeโs got a gun, a big one,โ Jen told her dad. Her voice was unsteady, but her hands were as still as a surgeons. Her finger rested easily on the trigger just as heโd taught her. Her eye kept the man at the other end of the pasture aligned with the beaded sight at the end of the barrel. A tear escaped the other eye. It left a track as it ran down her dirty cheek and splattered audibly as it fell onto a dry oak leaf. \r\n\r\nJenโs tears seemed to be born neither from sadness nor fear, Joe remembered thinking later. Frustration maybe? Something else? The thought brought its own sense of trepidation. This wasnโt the time, however. He made a mental note to revisit the question when and if he had the time and opportunity.\r\n\r\nThe man in Jenโs sights seemed to be having trouble with his left forearm. She thought, but couldnโt be sure given the distance, that that was where sheโd shot him. A voice in her head, one calmer and steadier than she felt, told her with an easy reassurance to adjust her aim a tad higher next time. โIโm gonna shoot him again if he points it like before,โ she said to Joe, the steadiness having returned to her voice.\r\n\r\nJoe swallowed, took a deep breath and tried to think; to become the rational man heโd always believed himself to be until this moment and these fears exposed the shallow nature of that rationality. โWait Sweetheart,โ he said to his daughter again, his voice noticeably quavering this time.\r\n\r\nโThe dog,โ he thought. Before Joe could formulate the idea, much less a plan, the dog was on them. It straddled his son, forelegs on either side of Jakeโs shoulder blades, hind-legs astride his hips as Jake lain perfectly still save a slight tremble Joe saw in his hand. With the boy face down, the dog was atop his back before it even occurred to Jake or Joe to offer a defense. Jake simply waited for whatever was next.\r\n\r\nโNo Jelly Bean,โ Joe hissed as firmly as he could without increasing the dogโs hostility. Jelly Bean gave Joe a quizzical glance before grabbing Jakeโs collar in his teeth, shaking it twice, then releasing it to vigorously lick Jakeโs bare neck with his tail suddenly wagging high in the air.\r\n\r\nโDaddy,โ Jen said, her voice tinged with uncertainty, a lack of assuredness, a questioning of itself out of character with what could only be described as her usual overconfidence. Her tone was turned on its end, desperate for direction and confirmation. โHe still has his gun. I shot him, Daddy. I think he might shoot again.โ\r\n\r\nโPut down your damned gun,โ Joe yelled across the pasture. โThereโs kids over here.โ\r\n\r\nโThat wasnโt no kid that shot me,โ the man yelled back, feeling the need to say something and yet coming up short when he reached inside himself for the right words.\r\n\r\nโMy name is Jen. Iโm thirteen years old and Iโll shoot you again if you donโt put down your gun right now.โ Jen replied. Her voice held conviction. No one hearing her statement was likely to doubt its truth.\r\n\r\nJoe was speechless. He looked at his daughter, mouth agape, and was frozen with debilitating uncertainty. How was he suppose to handle the disaster unfolding before him? What exactly was it he was seeing and hearing? \r\n\r\nStill without answers or even coherence, his system was further stressed when he saw Jake sit up, laughing no less, and holding the tail wagging dog back from his face by its ears as its long pink tongue reached out desperately to lick the face of his new found friend. Joe violently shook his head, forcing himself out of his stunned paralysis.\r\nโ\r\nChapter 7\r\n\r\nโFor โGodโs sake, nobody shoot,โ Joe yelled. โIโm gettinโ up.โ As he shouted he got slowly to his knees, then even more deliberately to his feet. He was careful to keep his hands held out, away from his body and in full view while he did so. He felt no bullets, heard no shots, felt no piercing pains as he stood. Across the field he saw a man mirroring his actions. He began to breathe again.\r\n\r\nโMy nameโs Joe. Iโm here with my kids,โ he said with as friendly and unthreatening a tone as he could manage through the fear that clenched his teeth, clipped his syllables and made his voice seem to crack like a pubescent boyโs. โWe donโt want this; not lookinโ for trouble.โ He looked hard at his counterpart staring back at him. โIโm steppinโ way out on a limb here and bettinโ yโall donโt either.โ\r\n\r\nโNo. We donโt; donโt want none neither. Trouble I mean,โ the man across the field stammered. โWeโre; weโre; Jesus, I didnโt mean to shoot at yโall. Weโre good people. All of us. Weโre good.โ The manโs voice trailed off as his ability to find words, to try to explain, to justify his actions, to stop what was happening eluded him. โOh, and my nameโs Sammy, Sammy Squalls,โ he added like a kid remembering his manners, remembering his mother was watching.\r\n\r\nโGlad to hear it,โ Joe said. โIโm gonna ask my girl to lower her gun now, but sheโs going to hold onto it for the time being if thatโs okay with you. Understand?โ\r\n\r\nโOkay,โ Sammy replied, not knowing what else to say. โIโm shot,โ he then added, feeling foolish, stupid somehow, for having said it even as the words left his mouth. They, after all, were the ones who shot him.\r\n\r\nโHow bad is it?โ Joe asked. \r\n\r\nโI donโt know,โ Sammy answered. โI never been shot before.โ The more he spoke the more asinine he felt. โItโs in my arm below my elbow. Where you shot me, I mean. Itโs below my elbow,โ he explained. โItโs bleeding,โ he then said even as he wondered why he would say something so obvious. โIt hurts.โ\r\n\r\nโIโm Stacy,โ came a voice from one of the people behind the sputtering man. โIโm his wife. I need to look at his arm,โ she said. โIโm a nurse. I need to tend to that wound.โ \r\n\r\nHer occupation sent a jolt of hope through Joe like a bolt of lightning. As with lightening, however, the revelation drew forth apprehension as well. Was she saying that to inflate her worth, to distract from the immediate danger she and her band of strangers posed? Was she placing a deliberate chink in their armor? If so it was working.\r\n\r\nโWho else is with you?โ Joe asked. The fact that the voice was that of a woman left him even more confused, forcing him to reassess yet again. These people seemed less and less like outlaws with every word, shooting his campfire not withstanding.\r\n\r\nโThe girl who was yellinโ before is our daughter, Ella. Sheโs eight,โ Stacy answered. Her voice was steadier than that of her husbandโs, both calmer and more self assured. It carried with it an air of confidence that was missing in Sammyโs as it found its way across the pasture. โThatโs Jelly Bean lickinโ the boy you got with you. But I guess you know that already.โ\r\n\r\nโThis is Mr. Brown lying beside me,โ she added. โHeโs our neighbor from back home.โ After a slight hesitation she continued, saying, โHe, โum, heโs with us now. After the; I mean; well, after everything that happened he was alone.โ \r\n\r\nAs Joe tried to think of what to say in response to the womanโs description of Mr. Brown her reference to what had happened dredged up emotions heโd just as soon keep below the surface. โI really need to look at Sammyโs arm. Heโs; I just need to tend to his arm. Is that okay?โ Stacy ended the request with a question, but the tenor of her voice left little room for anything but assent.\r\n\r\nThe man standing across the field from Joe no longer had his hands in the air Joe noticed when Stacy mentioned him again. Sammy was still standing, but with his left arm cradled in his right.\r\n\r\nโYeah, all right,โ Joe said. โBut please move slowly.โ After a few deep breaths and a conscious effort to slow the beating of his heart he asked, โAre you armed?โ\r\n\r\nStacy hesitated only a second before answering. โSammy shot your fire with a thirty-thirty. Itโs on the ground and nobodyโs gonna pick it up.โ After a very deep breath of her own she added, โThereโs a forty-five on my hip. Do you want me to remove it?โ\r\n\r\nโDo you intend to use it?โ After asking the question Joe felt like a cliche himself, like a character from the bad western heโd imagined when the strangers arrived.\r\n\r\nโNo sir,โ she answered. Her voice rang true. \r\n\r\nJoe had nothing but that to go on, but trusting his instincts and wanting it to be so he said, โSee to your husband. And please donโt give us reason to shoot again.โ\r\n\r\nSee to her husband she did. Stacy rose slowly, cautiously; confident but without threat. Her comportment from across the pasture telling Joe and his kids, โI wonโt hurt you, but donโt try me.โ\r\n\r\nShe took Sammyโs arm in her hands saying, โYour okay, baby. Let me see.โ\r\n\r\nSammy seemed to wilt under her touch, her hands appearing to sap what strength he had left, not give it. His shoulders slumped as he turned to his wife. He looked as if he were going to speak, but did not. He shuffled his feet, compelled to find his fortitude, but unsure of where to look. \r\n\r\nHis knees bent rather than buckled as he dropped to one, his left arm still tenderly held by Stacy. He looked away from her as she examined it. She prodded here and there, noting with a practiced eye his reactions. Other than wiggling his fingers when asked, however, he seemed to have none.\r\n\r\nโI think itโll be okay,โ she said, but without the confidence her voice had exuded when addressing Joe. โThe bleeding ainโt bad, considering. Iโm going to wrap it, okay?โ\r\n\r\nSammy nodded. Joe took note of the fact that he wasnโt facing her, wasnโt looking her in the eye. โThis will hurt,โ Stacy told her husband. Concern furrowed the lines on her forehead. They seemed out of place, showing themselves too soon, incongruent with her otherwise youthful appearance. Joe had the feeling that Stacyโs concern wasnโt for the pain, though he wouldnโt have been able to say why if asked. Sammy simply nodded again, somehow shrinking as he did so.\r\n\r\nโ\r\nChapter 8\r\n\r\nโElla,โ Stacy said, calmly but firmly, leaving no room for anything but compliance on her daughterโs part. She spoke as loudly as she could without projecting aggression so as to ensure she was heard by Joe and the others. โGet up nice and slow girl so these fine people can see you ainโt nothinโ but a kid who minds her mama and donโt mean them no harm.โ \r\n\r\nโMr. Brown is kinda old and donโt get around as easily as he used to,โ she told Joe in the same loud but even tone with which sheโd addressed her daughter; each syllable enunciated with deliberate clarity, each inflection considered for its possible effects before being spoken aloud. โIโm going to ask him to stand too, but please donโt take any jerkiness by him as anything but age and nerves while heโs gettinโ up. Weโre all kinda shook up over here. Same as you, I โspect.โ\r\n\r\nโYes maโam,โ Joe answered. Judging by what he could see of Stacy he guessed he was her senior by at least a few years, but the authority, not demanded but simply present, in her voice and the way she naturally took charge of her situation made the title maโam feel wholly appropriate. He paused for a long moment, like a kid before a headfirst dive, then took the plunge.\r\n\r\nโListen,โ he said to Stacy, his own voice sounding less commanding and more like a plea than heโd intended. โIโm armed too. Iโm carrying the shotgun you can probably see on a sling and a pistol clipped to my belt. Iโm gonna slowly take them off and lay them on the ground. Please donโt mistake what Iโm doinโ for anything more.โ \r\n\r\nJoe inhaled, holding the breath deep in his chest, and waited for a response. When none came he let it out slowly, took in another and continued, โThen Iโm gonna talk to my kids for a second before I walk over to you so we can talk face to face. Would that be okay?โ\r\n\r\nโIt is,โ was all he got in reply. Better than a bullet, he decided. He lifted the sling holding the double barrel shotgun above his head then laid it slowly on the ground. He did the same with the thirty-eight special on his hip before turning to Jen and Jake.\r\n\r\nโYou two listen and donโt say nothinโ back,โ he said, almost whispering. โIโm gonna go over and talk to these people.โ He could see alarm animate both of their faces, but to his surprise they both obeyed, remaining quiet. \r\n\r\nโJake,โ he said focusing his attention on the boy, โI want you to stay put, but look at my guns. Make sure you know right where they are. Be ready to grab them if need be. Do you understand me?โ Jake nodded, but his expression showed anything but understanding.\r\n\r\nโTry not to worry, Son. Itโll make more sense if the time comes and you need to do it,โ Joe said, all but certain his reassurance to be a lie, before turning to Jen.\r\n\r\nโJen, Youโre in charge while Iโm over there,โ he said, his eyes conveying the gravity of the burden he was placing on her shoulders. โI expect this to turn out well, but if it donโt I want you to listen close and do what I tell you.โ\r\n\r\nโIf things go south, if you hear shots, yellinโ, or, well I donโt know,โ his voice was chopped and uneven. He tried to organize his thoughts, rearranging them, attempting to complete them, as he searched for a coherent set of instructions to offer his daughter for the plans he couldnโt quite work out in his own head.\r\n\r\nโI know, Daddy,โ Jen said in a manner that managed to convey a comprehension of Joeโs thoughts that he didnโt yet have himself. โIโll be ready,โ she said. And Joe somehow knew she would be.\r\n\r\nโYeah, Sweetheart. Yโall be ready,โ he told Jen, then gathered himself as he turned toward Stacy, her bleeding husband, the man she called by a name he could not recall and a little girl crying for her injured father and her dog. He was propelled by a courage he had to find anew with each step forward as he closed the distance, his children further away from him with each stride taken.\r\n\r\nโ\r\nChapter 9\r\n\r\nJoe felt as if his walk across the pasture to the others took just short of forever, even as he arrived before he was ready. He didnโt know what to say to these people. They werenโt of him. They werenโt his. He didnโt know them. They fired a rifle at his kids. The shot passed right between them. His daughter just shot one of them, for Peteโs sake. He wished they werenโt here. \r\n\r\nAt a distance of no more than ten paces he stopped, arms consciously held out at least a foot from his body. He couldnโt help but feel foolish, like a man poorly imitating a scarecrow. After trying to swallow but finding his mouth too dry to do so he said, โIโm Joe.โ He looked at the strangers, determined to mask his apprehension. His eyes quickly scanned their ranks then settled on the woman. He waited.\r\n\r\nโThat much I know,โ Stacy said. Her wavy blond hair was greasy and matting. It appeared to be beginning to gray, but Joe couldnโt tell for sure. It carried the weight of a considerable amount of dirt and grime since it was last washed. Its tangles seemed to be alive, shifting, changing as she moved. Joe felt foolish letting something as superficial as the tangles in a womanโs hair disquiet him more than he already was. \r\n\r\nHe tried not to notice them. The harder he tried the more the tangles, seemingly with a life of their own, increased his uneasiness, though. At least until the name Medusa popped unbidden into his head. That was just ridiculous enough to jolt him back to his own crazy world and away from the brink of whatever precipice he was approaching. \r\n\r\nBlinking, he thought Miss Stacy might even be pretty beneath her grime. โMrs. Stacy,โ he reminded himself even as Miss crossed his mind. โHow many times had men, how many times had he, made stupid decisions because they noticed a woman was pretty?โ Joe tried to stay focused, to keep himself and his kids alive at least a little longer.\r\n\r\nJoe then noticed her eyes. They were a deep ocean blue flecked with what could only be described as a colorless gray. They held no light. They seemed to absorb it the like the black holes heโd read about before; powerful and unknowable things that sucked everything around them into themselves and out of existence. Stacyโs gaze took in everything and gave nothing back to the world. Joe looked for kindness in them. He wished to find it, but did not. 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Surprised you didnโt see himโ\r\n\r\nSquinting into the sun, then turning back to Joe, Stacy said, โYou ainโt much of a liar Joe.โ Her reply wasnโt accusatory, but stated matter of factly. โThatโs a good quality in a man, but there ainโt nobody over that hill, at least nobody thatโs with you.โ\r\n\r\nโNo,โ Joe conceded, looking down at the worn tips of his boots. โI ainโt much of a liar.โ Looking back up at Stacy he added, โIt tends to get me in trouble every time I try it. Youโd think Iโd of given it up by now.โ\r\n\r\nStacyโs face appeared to soften a little. The edge was still there, but her spring seemed a little less tightly wound. For the first time since stepping away from his kids Joe was beginning to feel like things might be okay.\r\n\r\nโWell,โ Stacy said, appearing to come to some sort of inner conclusion, โwe can shoot it out here and be done with it or we can chalk this up as a misunderstanding handled like fools so far all around.โ\r\n\r\nโI vote for the chalk,โ Joe deadpanned, โSeeinโ as my guns are over there.โ\r\n\r\nโChalk it is then,โ Stacy replied, her poker-faced delivery matching his. โNow that weโve established weโd rather not kill each other how do we get that girl of yours to play along?โ\r\n\r\nJoeโs initial reaction was to point out that it was her husband who had fired first. Deciding that this wasnโt the time, however, he answered simply, โIโll handle my end if you handle yours.โ His eyes shifted to Sammy as he finished, then back to her.\r\n\r\nStacy simply nodded, but her acquiescence cut the tension in the air.\r\n\r\nโIโm gonna go back over first and let my kids know whatโs going on,โ Joe said. He couldnโt disguise the uncertainty in his voice. โAfter that Iโll wave yโall over to join us. That sound okay?โ \r\n\r\nโWhat is goinโ on?โ Stacy asked. There was a jumble of appreciation, fear, caution and hope scrambled into her question.\r\n\r\nโWell, I guess weโve established that shooting each other isnโt the way we want to go,โ Joe said. โThatโs a start.โ After hesitating only a moment he added, โWeโve got some cereal in one of them plastic containers if yโall care to join us for breakfast.\r\n\r\nโCereal like from before?โ Ella asked. She knew she was supposed to keep her mouth shut at times like these. The question just kind of jumped out of her before she realized sheโd asked it.\r\n\r\nโYes,โ Joe answered the girl. โA little stale, but still good. Itโs real cereal from before. Youโll have to eat it dry, though. Weโre all outta milk.โ\r\n\r\nDryโll be okay,โ Ella said, timidity suddenly overtaking her and making her voice almost inaudible.\r\n\r\nJoe smiled at her and then turned to her mom. โI guess breakfast,โ he said to Stacy. โWhatโs goinโ on, I mean. Breakfast,โ he went on trying to clarify, but not feeling like he was doing a very good job of it. How โbout we eat a bite while we talk about what comes next?โ\r\n\r\nโThank you, thatโll be fine,โ Stacy replied. โDry cereal will be most welcomed. Not lucky charms, I suppose.โ\r\n\r\nโHoney-nut Cheerios,โ Joe answered, head turning ever so slightly while speaking. \r\n\r\nโGo on over and let your kids know weโll be joining yโall then,โ Stacy said. Her voice had grown almost friendly, Joe noted. In doing so he also took note of the fact that Sammy hadnโt had anything to say at all once Stacy started talking. His eyes were for the most part downcast and reluctant to connect as the situation played itself out. At any rate, he seemed content, or maybe resigned to the fact that his wife was going to tend to the crisis until things settled down.\r\n\r\nSammy simply stepped aside, ceding the leadership role he at first seemed to hold. Except simply didnโt quite capture the nature of Sammyโs apparent reduction in rank among the strangers; if, in fact, that was what Joe was witnessing. He was suddenly uneasy with the dynamics of the strangers relationships among themselves. He found himself mistrusting everything heโd been told by them.\r\n\r\nJoe nodded to Stacy. He then tipped his hat, feeling foolish for doing so even as his hand touched the brim. He turned slowly back toward his kids, second guessing himself all the while his steps carried him back across the pasture.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCopyright: Nobody can use, redistribute, reiterate, reproduce, copy, or in any other way incorporate what I have written without my express written permission or I might get really mad. I may even sue you. I live smack-dab in the middle of a town filled with starving lawyers. And not just that โ I have a lot of time on my hands and could really use some of your money.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nThis is a work in progress. It's unedited and unplanned, with no outline or idea as to where it is going. Watch for updates to follow along as I add to it if you're interested, intrigued or simply amused. I'm new at this and welcome comments and suggestions; the good, the bad and the ugly. Criticisms, grammatical corrections, plot suggestions, character revisions, praise and marriage proposals will all be given proper consideration.\r\n\r\n",
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