He fell on me with the weight of a 220 pound man, the rage in his eyes searing into mine. Only the Winchester lay between us, pressing deeply into my chest, and adding to my inability to grasp a breath. My head thrashed left and right as I struggled for momentum, and then my right hand broke free. I pushed the barrel of the rifle upwards and struck his forehead causing spittle to be thrown from him onto mine. Attempting to roll first right, and then left, we eventually rolled off the balcony and onto the concrete below. We were facing each other now, both on our sides, and I pressed two fingers as deeply into his wound as I could. The scream was even excruciating to me.
But the next blow I felt brought a momentary lapse of consciousness as a rifle stock cracked across my head. I was laying on my back now, next to the first attacker, and I couldn’t tell how many stood over me. I only knew I fired at the center one, and somehow the rifle discharged. Perhaps the fall had freed the stuck cartridge, but I was glad it did. And then he fell on me as well.
By the time I shook off the daze and caught focus of the room, two more men were entering from the north doorway. My first attacker was still lying beside us and moaning, one of them rushing to his aid, the other went for the stairwell to check on the man left lying there. I didn’t want to breathe. I didn’t want to move, and give notice that I was conscious under the behemoth covering my body. My mind raced a million miles a second with possible developments, and then when one appeared, so did I. As he assisted the wounded man into a sitting position, I pushed from under the cover I had, and shot him in the side, under the ribcage, hopefully I thought, in the heart. I rolled as quickly as I could under the loft while cocking the 30-30, and fired again between the openings of the stairs. My first shot caught a kneecap, and my second his chest. I pumped the lever action one more time, swinging my body towards the north side of the building, and aimed directly at the wounded man. His right hand was outstretched in front of him, and I could now see in his eyes…remorse? “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot”, the words resounded within the empty plant, and I lay there a second longer, catching my breath.
He was unarmed now, and the shoulder, although a small hole at first, was aggravated when I shoved my fingers into it. He leaned, resting upon his right elbow, and fought for air as I was. ‘How many more of you out there?’ I asked with the most serious tone I think I had ever possessed. “No one, just my daughter…in the van, controlling the remote”. His words came in spurts and partial whispers, and his eyes squeezed together letting tears flow from them.
Rising to my knees, I inched my way out from under the loft, and towards the wounded man. Upon reaching him, I patted his upper body, then his trousers and finally his legs for a hidden weapon, and found none. I scooted back away from him only a yard, and sat, resting my rifle at my side. Thinking someone was watching me, I turned my head slightly and saw both of the boys standing there, and crying. I slid further back to be nearer them.
namkcorb 