The Confrontation

The moonlight pierced through the clouds, carving silhouettes from the darkness.  A man stood toward the center of the clearing, staring down at a set of double doors that looked like the sort that might lead to a basement or storm shelter.  Strings of profanities poured from his mouth.  Even without his wide-brimmed hat, Grace knew it was Sheriff Mitchell.

Keith crept forward, into the clearing.  Jane leaned in toward Grace, her breath warming Grace's frigid cheek.  "We surround him," Jane said.  "You go around the woods 'til you're opposite where my dad is.  I'll go halfway between."

Grace nodded.  She shoved her phone, which she had been using as a flashlight, into her back pocket, and unholstered her shotgun.  Her heart thundered in her chest as she inched along the edge of the woods.  Each leaf that caught beneath the soft soles of her boots blared in her ears.  Were the sheriff not cursing so loudly, he would hear them for sure, but so far, he seemed not to notice.

"Put your hands up, fucker," Keith said, training his shotgun on the sheriff.

Sheriff Mitchell whirled toward Keith, the moonlight glinting against the revolver he clutched in his hand.  Grace's stomach dropped.  She forced her feet forward, inch by inch making her way toward the spot Jane had marked out for her.  It was three against one, and they were all armed.  She and Jane just had to get into position, and then it was over for the sheriff.

"You lost your mind, Keith?" Sheriff Mitchell said.  "Put that gun down now."

"No way in hell.  You've got my daughter, you bastard."

A gunshot rang through the night.  Keith Howard moaned and crumpled to the ground.  Grace's heart froze.

"Dad!" Jane shrieked.

The sheriff whirled around, aiming his gun at Jane.  "And who do we have here?  The other Howard bitch."

Grace bit down on the inside of her lip, cutting off the shriek building in her throat.  A coppery taste spilled over her tongue.  

 

"Leave her alone," Keith said.

The sheriff's head flicked toward Keith.  Another gunshot rang out, and Keith slumped back, whimpering.  Jane made a strangled sound.  Her gun tumbled from her hand.  The tears pouring down her face glistened in the moonlight.  Her cries seared through Grace's chest.  Jane looked so small and timid standing there, a shell of her usual presence.  An urge to protect her overwhelmed Grace, but every muscle in Grace's body was locked in place.

"You ... you're killing him," Jane said.

Sheriff Mitchell smiled.  "Sure looks like it.  And now I'm gonna kill you too.  And after that, I'm gonna kill that whore of a sister of yours, like I shoulda done weeks ago."

"You don't have to do this," Jane said.

"Oh, but I do.  Can't have you tellin' anyone about my little secret."

"I won't tell.  I promise."

"Oh sure, I kill your daddy and sister, and you're not gonna say nothin', huh?  Like I believe that."

The weight of Grace's gun drew her out of the trance she had been in.  She looked down at her rifle, its polished body shining under the moon's pale rays.  She was the high school's champion shooter, but she had honed her skills on clay pigeons.  She had never shot an animal, let alone a person.  But this was life or death.

She drew in a deep breath and raised her rifle, tucking the butt into her shoulder.  She focused the sight on the sheriff.

Sheriff Mitchell pulled back the hammer on the revolver.  Jane raised a hand in front of her chest.  "Please, don't hurt me."

A gunshot split the night.