Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Wednesday was a good day, too.  I walked out of my office and dropped a
fresh CD on Sara's desk.  "Gonna need that one printed out and in a binder,
lady.  Got the title page an' everything.  Two copies."

   She laughed.  "And nobody had to go beg you for it?"

   "I'm past the begging stage.  How's Johnny an' the new job?"

   She smiled.  "He's lovin' it.  You don't know how happy I am that he's
outta the construction game."

   "I can imagine," I smiled.  "What do the kids think?"

   She smiled.  "Same school two years in a row?  New record.  They'll be
fine."

   I left work at the appointed time.  Cindy and I went out for salads and
soup and were home before it was fully dark.

   "There's home," she said, sitting beside me.

   We got out and went inside.  We were piddling around the house when I
noticed the flash of headlights in the curtained windows.  I didn't place
much thought on that.  People were coming and going at odd hours anyway,
especially with the dozen or so winter guests.  I didn't even get concerned
when I thought I heard the sound of tires on gravel nearby.

   I perked up, though, when there was a knock on the door.  We weren't
expecting anybody, and on the few occasions when somebody dropped by for a
visit, there was usually a phone call first.  Even the neighbors in the
park were good about asking loudly outside before knocking.  And this knock
didn't sound friendly.  Couldn't put my finger on it.  Call it a
premonition.

   The door was locked.  Always was when we were at home.  I approached it.
"Who is it?"

   The voice outside was male and slurred, like maybe a beer too many, or
maybe some recreational pharmaceuticals.  "Don' you worry 'bout who it is.
I wanna see dat l'il redhead."

   Cindy perked up.  I made a pistol-shaped sign with my right hand.  A
cabinet thumped and my .45 automatic hit my open palm.  "9-1-1, babe. 
Now!" I whispered.  She retreated to the bed end of the trailer and picked
up her cell phone.

   "Sir, I'm not opening the door.  I'm not talking to you in the dark. 
You need to leave."

   The next sound, even through the wall of the trailer, was chilling: the
unmistakable sound of a pump shotgun racking a shell into the chamber.

   "Down!" I hissed at Cindy as I hit the floor.  I heard a report and a
small circle of the trailer wall disappeared in a cloud of splinters and
fibers.

   "I want dat l'il BITCH whut killt mah brother!" came a scream from
outside.

   I didn't hear the next shell being pumped, but the doorlock disappeared
in a shatter of metal and wood.  I was on my belly.  I knew from experience
that untrained shooters aim at waist height into a room.  I wasn't going to
be at waist height.

   The doors on travel trailers open to the outside.  Mine was now minus a
lock, and the impact of the shotgum blast gave it enough kick for it to
swing open.  I thumbed the hammer back on my Colt 1911 and steeled myself.
The inside of our trailer was lit, not too brightly, but brighter than
outside, and when the guy jumped in the door, there was a brief second that
he paused to regain his sight.  I was pulling my gunsight onto his chest.

   This caused me to come up on my knees and as I did, I saw the barrel of
his shotgun coming down to line up with me.  Time went into slow motion.  I
was lining up with his chest and my finger was squeezing the trigger as the
barrel of the shotgun came down.  I squeezed, felt the .45 buck,
simultaneously with the searing blast of that shotgun.  I felt tearing on
my shoulderblade and my butt and my calf.  I ignored those feelings and
pulled the trigger once more.

   The invader fell, and as he did, I pulled a third shot off.  He hit the
floor, not moving.

   "Elray!" I heard screamed from outside.

   'Omigod, ' I thought.  'There's another one!'

   Another shotgun blast, this one from an angle.  It raked through the
wall and down the little aisle of the trailer.  I heard Cindy cry out.  Not
fright.  Pain!  I tried to get up.  Floor was slick.  Blood.  Mine.  I
couldn't see the shooter, but he was outside.  Another blast.  This one was
closer to the door.  I dropped the pistol and reached inside the cabinet
next to where I was laying.  I felt a familiar plastic shape, wrapped my
fingers around it, and tugged.  My AR-15 came out.  Shaking, I cycled the
charging handle and pulled it into firing position as a third shotgun blast
shredded another bit of the trailer wall.

   I could hear Cindy whimpering.  I tired hard to keep the red veil off my
eyes as I slid the rifle into my shoulder, not making a sound, waiting.  I
saw the barrel of the shotgun first.  'He's coming!'

   I acquired my front sight and waited.  He had the barrel at an upward
angle.

   'You ain't huntin' geese, dumbass, ' I said to myself.  'I shoot back.'
And as soon as his head and torso appeared, I pulled the trigger.

   I need to send flowers to Eugene Stoner's grave because that silly black
rifle didn't move off the target with the recoil.  I pulled twice more,
three shots in less than two seconds, and in the exaggerated focus of the
expanded time, I saw the impact, the dust flying from a dirty coat, three
center of chest hits.

   The shock of being shot caused him to pull the trigger on his own gun,
but the shot was into the air, harmless, as he fell back, more from the
surprise and his own gun's recoil than from the three high velocity
projectiles that I'd just put in (and likely THROUGH) him.  He landed on
his back.  I saw an arm and a leg move, and I squeezed off two more rounds
into him.  He didn't move again.

   I laid the little black rifle down and tried to stand.  The floor was
slick and my foot slid and when I tried to catch my balance, pain racked my
body, but there was my Cindy crumpled in the end of the hall, her orange
sweatshirt, crimson down her left side.  I went to her.  I could feel blood
running down my leg.

   "Is it over, Dan?" she turned her pained face to me.

   "It's over.  Where do you hurt?"

   "My shoulder.  My side." Her eyes scanned me.  "You're bleeding bad."
She pulled her right hand back from around me.  It was covered in my blood.

   "No, baby..." I gently pulled her into my arms.

   I was holding her in my arms as screams and yells came from outside.  No
sirens.  Yet.  The first human I saw was grey, balding, and carrying a
revolver in a very workmanlike fashion as he scanned the scene.

   "Mister Dan, are you alright?"

   "No.  Cindy's been shot.  Me too."

   "Ericka!" He hollered.  "Come quick!"

   I saw a greying brunette head appear in the door.

   "Careful, sweetheart!  There's blood all over!"

   She, Ericka, came to us.  "I'm a nurse," she said.

   I held Cindy to her.  "Look at my Cindy first!"

   Erick knelt beside us and gently started assessing.  I could hear sirens
now.  Getting louder.  Blue flashing lights.

   The old man said, "I'm going out there an' try to direct things..." He
left.

   "Cindy, you'll be okay, baby," Ericka said.  "You got shot, but it's not
life-threatening."

   I heard more voices.  Shouting.  Saw the outside light up from
spotlights.  Saw red lights flashing.  Ambulance.

   I heard my friend outside (I didn't know his name, but I was gonna make
sure I found out) talking loudly to somebody.  "Two wounded inside.  That's
Dan an' Cindy.  They live here.  An' there's a dead one in there.  My wife
Ericka, she's a nurse, she's in there with 'em!  Ambulance?  Gonna need
TWO!"

   "One out here, too," that voice sounded vaguely familiar.  "I know this
trailer." I saw a head peer inside.  "Miss Cindy, are you okay?  It's me,
Deputy Stevens.  From last time."

   "I'm ...  not as good as last time.  They shot Dan," she said tearfully.

   Another voice, apparently the ambulance guy.  "Is it safe?"

   I saw Deputy Stevens poke the foot of the guy bleeding on my floor. 
"This one's not gonna do anything," he said.  "Be careful, Stu.  Blood all
over the place.

   "Stu" and another paramedic stepped into the trailer.  Ericka stood up.
"She's got left shoulder, superficial, and left chest, superficial, outside
the ribcage.  I haven't seen him yet.  He won't let her go."

   Stevens was behind the paramedics.  He gingerly picked up my pistol.

   "Clear it," I said.  "I only shot three out of it."

   The pistol was covered in blood.  Mine.  He dropped the magazine and
pulled the slide back expertly, catching the live round from the chamber.
As he did, he looked at me.  "What about that AR?"

   "Five gone out of it.  One in the chamber.  Rest of the magazine." I
winced as I was being probed.  A couple of volunteers snaked a stretcher
down the aisle and I was loaded onto it, on my right side, and strapped in,
then a second stretcher.

   "I can walk," I heard Cindy say.

   "You sure, baby?" Ericka asked.

   "Just hold me."

   "No," Stu said.  "Put 'er on the other stretcher.  Another unit'll be
here in a minute.  I don't want 'er slippin' an' fallin'."

   I could feel the pain coming in now as the adrenaline rush died.  They
loaded me into the back of the nearest ambulance and buttoned the door.  I
felt the surge as we started rolling.  The second paramedic started towards
me with shears in his hand.  "Let's see what you got, there, buddy!"

   "Don't cut my stinkin' belt," I said.

   "Oh, you got an attitude," he said.

   I felt tugging and snipping and then he said, "You got a chunk blown out
your ass cheek.  That's where most of the blood came from." More snipping.
"Just a furrow on your shoulder.  Lucky." More snipping.  "Entry and exit
wound on your calf.  Bleeding's almost stopped.  Lucky again."

   "Where's my Cindy?"

   He looked out the back windows.  "'Bout a half-mile behind us in the
other unit."

   I winced again.  "She gonna be okay?"

   "I'm not a doctor, ya unnerstand, but looks like YOU took the worst of
this one."

   The pain was really starting to get good.  He checked pulse and blood
pressure and a few other things and then made a radio call.  He came back
with a syringe.

   "This won't knock you out, but it'll ease things up a bit."

   It knocked me out.  At least pretty much.  I closed my eyes and opened
them in the bright lights of the regional trauma center.  I was lying on my
stomach.  I could feel tugging at various parts of my body, shoulder, calf,
ass, and I gathered that local anesthesia was working its magic.  A nurse
noted my eye movements.

   "He's back, doctor."

   The doctor was masked but I thought I saw a smile.  "Mister Richards,
you're doing just fine."

   I had only one thought.  "Cindy..."

   "Little redhead?  She's fine too.  Better'n you."

   "Where is she?"

   "On the other side of that curtain."

   "CINNNNDY!" I croaked as loud as I could.

   "You settle down, now, Mister Richards!"

   I settled down.  After I heard a sweet voice say, "I'm okay, baby!"

   Some undetermined amount of time later I was unceremoniously wheeled
over to the curtain and one of the nurses slid it back.  Cindy was sitting
on the edge of the table, one of those horrible hospital gowns on her,
except for her left shoulder, which was a mass of bandages.  A bulge under
the gown on the left side of her chest told a further story.  Her hair was
a tousled red mess.

   Our eyes connected.  "Oh, gosh, Dan, I was worried."

   "I was worried, sweetie," I said.  I reached my hand toward her and it
wouldn't reach.  The nurse pushed my gurney a little closer.  I clutched
her fingers.

   "We're still together, huh, babe?" she said.

   "Yes, we are.  Little ragged, though." I looked, and there was Helen and
Charlie.  And Deputy Stevens.

   "Dan," Helen said, "We're gonna take Cindy home with us tonight.  She's
done here.  They wanna keep you, at least overnight.  We'll bring her in
the morning if she's up to it."

   I nodded.  "Sweetness, go with 'em.  I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

   A tear coursed down her cheek.  She stood and came to me, trying to
figure out how to hold me with the bandage on my back.  She bent and gave
me a little kiss.  "I love you, Dan."

   "I love you, Cindy..."

   Helen left with Cindy.  I noticed Judge Charlie standing there with
Deputy Stevens.

   The deputy asked the doctor, "Can we talk with him now?"

   "Why don't you get him in his room?" the doctor said.

   We had a little parade through the hospital and I was somewhat gently
moved to a bed.  The floor nurse did her thing and left.

   "Dan," Charlie said, "Deputy Stevens wants to ask you some questions.  I
advise that you should always have an attorney present for this.  I'm more
than happy to do this for you, but if you want somebody else, I can call
any of several good people."

   "Judge Charlie, you ARE good people.  Just make sure they use a clean
rope to hang me, okay?"

   Charlie laughed.  "Either those are GOOD drugs, or he's back to normal,"
he told Stevens.  To me he said, "Son, if my boy even hinted at charges in
this incident, I'd be writing 'im out of my will!" Back to the deputy, "Go
ahead.  An' remember, you an' the sheriff BOTH came to the huntin' camp
last fall."

   "Yessir, Judge," Stevens said.  "You know what we gotta ask."

   He asked questions and I answered.

   "I'm convinced that the first guy was in your trailer, because he was
still layin' there when I got there.  he's the one that shot you?"

   "Uh-huh.  We were goin' at the same time.  I beat 'im.  Mine went into
his middle before he could get his barrel down on me.  He got close,
though."

   "I guess.  There's a hole in the floor right behind where you were at.
The shot went right over your shoulder.  Carved your butt an' a stray
pellet went through your calf."

   "Man," I said.  "Survived an ambush in the Gulf War without a scratch,
only to get shot in the ass by a drunk redneck.  Funny."

   "Another inch and it wouldn't've been," Stevens said.  "You got three
hits on 'im best I can tell without watchin' the autopsy.  He must've been
goin' down on when you fired the last one.  Went in right by 'is nose. 
Came out the back of 'is head.  You used good ammo.  Big mess all over that
end of the house." He sighed.  "But this other guy..."

   "That's the one who shot Cindy.  What, three, four rounds through the
side of the trailer?  First one hit 'er."

   "You had time to change guns?"

   "My AR was in the closet where I was layin'.  He was outside.  In the
dark.  I wasn't sure I could do any good with the pistol.  He coulda killed
us both."

   "Not any more," Stevens said.  "Three rounds in the chest.  I could've
covered the group with my hand.  Why'd you keep shootin'?"

   "You don't have to answer, son," Charlie admonished.

   "Thanks, Judge," I said.  I told Stevens, "He was still moving.  You saw
my WIFE?  Bleeding?  If you hadn't shown up, I was going out and BAYONET
the motherfucker ...  I'd like to put his head on a stake."

   Stevens had to turn his head.  The smirk was only slightly gone when he
turned back to me.  "You shot him five times..."

   "Three in the chest.  I saw those hit.  When I hit him the first time,
he squeezed one off from that shotgun..."

   "It had an empty in the chamber," Stevens said.

   "He went down with the first three, but he acted like he was trying to
get up.  He had a shotgun, and I had a hurt wife, and if he could've sat
up, he could've finished us off, so..."

   "Two more."

   "And he stopped moving." I sighed and rubbed my eyes with my good hand.

   "Two more hits," Stevens said.  "His legs were spread.  You must've been
stressin', because one of those hits was in the crotch.  While he was on
'is back on the ground.  No exit wound.  The other ...  That head on a
stake?  There's a convenient hole under his chin and it comes out the top
of his head.  By the way, those three in the chest?  You got three .223
holes in the side of your pickup's bed.  An' you need to get it washed."

   The nurse was back in the room with a syringe, messing with the IV bag.
"Are you about finished?" she asked Stevens.

   "Just a few more ...  Uh, Mister Richards, any questions?"

   "Yeah.  Who WERE those guys?"

   "That guy Larry Strucker?  His brother is the one laying in your
trailer. Cousin's in the front yard.  We had no idea he was even in the
state."

   "Just came from choir practice, I'd guess," I said.

   "Rap sheets got ever'thing from breaking and entering to drugs.  This'll
close 'em out, though."

   "Another question: Old guy, first one in the door, his wife's Ericka, a
nurse.  I can't remember his name."

   "Gary something-Polish.  Retired cop from Cleveland.  Showed me his
badge.  And .357."

   "That's him.  Wojahowicz or something like that.  Was at the concert
Saturday night.  Charlie," I said, could you have somebody call the plant
tomorrow and tell'em I'm not comin' in?"

   "If they haven't heard it on the news.  But, yes, I will have that
done."

   "Tell Cindy.  She'll have all the numbers."

   Charlie patted my good shoulder gently.  "Rest, son.  I'm proud of you!"

   I saw Deputy Stevens' eyes.  He smiled.  "Cindy's gonna be okay, buddy.
But I'm givin' that trailer park to somebody else."

   The nurse looked at me.  "Mister Richards, if you want, this'll make you
have a real good rest."

   "Gimme your best shot," I said, trying to smile.

   "Comedians!  I always get the comedians."

   And the world went away.

   The next morning the breakfast tray came in with Cindy and Helen and
Charlie.  Cindy delicately hugged me and gave me a little kiss.

   "Mornin', sweetie!  Now you really DID save my life!"

   "Wasn't fast enough, baby.  How's your stuff?"

   "Sore.  I got this sling.  An' my ribs hurt.  First time I ever got
shot."

   "Me too.  I don't recommend it."

   Got a little more of a smile from her.

   Helen said, "Dan, after careful thought, I have come to the conclusion
that YOU need to move out of my RV park.  Two shootings in four months..."
she smiled.  "Really, when we check you out, we want you to come stay at
Charlie's place.  Got a great guest room.  You an' Cindy are welcome to it
while you get better."

   "How's our trailer?" I asked.

   "I need to know who you have it insured with.  I'll call 'em for an
adjuster, but I'm thinkin' it's totaled.  You really messed it up, bleedin'
an all that.  An' the end where you blew that guy ...  I wouldn't wanna
live there.  I don't know if you can EVER get all that ...  uh ...  stuff
out of there."

   Charlie said, "I know some people I can get to get all your personal
stuff that's not damaged, especially the sensitive things like computers
and records and stuff.  We'll collect that, and have the thing sealed."

   "Okay," I said.

   "You're on the morning news, baby," Cindy said.  "Prob'ly be in the
paper."

   "I figured as much."

   Helen said, "Look, this is what I think: When you get better, why don't
you an' Cindy stay in my old house until you go to the new place.  I don't
live there any more, and I don't want to sell it just yet, so just stay
there.  We'll get ya'll's stuff moved there."

   "You sure?"

   Helen smiled.  "My daughter an' her husband just had their house blown
apart.  Of course I'm sure..."

   "Your other kids..." I said.

   "I'll explain.  They ain't come back here since last summer.  It won't
bother 'em."

   "That's a good deal," Cindy chirped.  "By the way, I called EVERYBODY!"

   "Who's 'everybody'?"

   Our family, you know, Tootie, Jerry, Tina 'n' Alan 'n' Susan, and Jerry
at the plant, and Mister Bill and Mizz Sara..."

   "What'd they say?" I asked.

   "You might get a visitor or two ...  How long are you going to be here?"
Cindy asked.

   "I hope I go home today," I said.  "The doctor wants to make sure that
the leg doesn't swell."

   Helen said, "We got the room ready for you when you get out.  An' I'll
have my old house cleaned up for ya'll."

   "Thanks, Helen" I said.

   The nurse came in, checked vital signs, including feeling the foot of
the damaged leg.  "If there's swelling in your calf, this pulse'll go away.
We don't want that to happen," she explained.

   While she was in the room, a guy in a suit stuck his head in the door.
"Mister Richards, I'm the hospital system's media coordinator.  Can I talk
with you?"

   "Sure" I said.  "What's up?"

   "Sir," he said, "You're a bit of an item right now.  I just got calls
from one of the local TV stations and they'd like to do an interview.  Our
policy is that YOU have to okay it."

   "Good policy," I said.  "When's this supposed to happen?"

   "Ten o'clock if you're up to it." He looked at the nurse.  "Can he be
moved to the conference room?"

   "As long as he keeps that leg elevated," she said.

   "We'd prefer that you do the interview in the conference room.  It's a
bit better accommodation for everybody concerned."

   I looked at Charlie.  He smiled.  "Dan, you know how to conduct
yourself, son.  Just remember, that TV news crew isn't about getting the
truth, it's about getting ratings.  YOU can say a dozen things.  THEY will
show what meets their agenda."

   "Oh, I know, but thanks for the advice, Charlie.  What're they gonna do?
Shoot me?  I'd rather say something than get that "He declined to comment"
statement."

   "Then I will tell them you will be available at ten o'clock," the suit
said.

   "That'll work."

   I saw Bill Carmody's head peeking in the door.

   "Hey, Mister Bill," Cindy squealed.

   "Hi, baby girl," the big guy said.  "I'd hug you but..."

   She took care of that, hugging him like he was her grandfather.  He
could've been.  He was carrying a potted plant and a card.  He sat the
plant on the table beside the bed and handed me the card.  "Sara picked out
the card and the plant.  You can keep the card.  She says she wants the
plant when you're finished with it.  Says it's symbolic."

   Cindy giggled.  "I tol' 'er to get a nice plant for her office."

   "I dunno," I laughed.  "I feel a strong attachment to this fern.  Tell
Sara to get herself a cactus.  More appropriate."

   "Ummmm!  I'm gonna tell 'er you said that," Bill laughed.  "How're you
doin'?"

   "Butt hurts," I said.  "Leg too.  But I'll be okay."

   "Cindy says your trailer's messed up."

   "Somebody shot it full of holes, Bill.  And Cindy.  And me.  But the
trailer's not gonna heal itself.  And what we did to the inside, I don't
think they're gonna get cleaned up."

   "Two guys," Bill said.

   "One in the trailer.  One outside.  Outside guy's the one who hit
Cindy."

   "Look," Bill said, "I have that apartment in town.  Got a spare room. 
And you can keep the lease if you need ...  I'm leaving at the beginning of
next week."

   "Oh, gosh, thanks, Bill!  But Judge Charlie's putting us up at his place
for a while until I recover, then Helen's gonna put us in her old house
since she's married to Charlie an' she doesn't use it any more."

   "Good," Bill said.  "Just want to make sure Cindy's taken care of.  You,
you're a guy.  You could do a cardboard box under the overpass."

   "Thanks, Bill.  That's one of the things I enjoy with you, your
unlimited compassion..." I opened the card.  It was signed by everybody at
the plant, and at the bottom, in Sara's neat and professional hand, was a
note: "We're really more concerned about Cindy!"

   I showed the card around, generating chuckles.

   The bedside phone rang.  Cindy answered.  "Dan Richards' room.  This is
Cindy!" Pause.  "Oh, hi, Tootie!" Pause.  "Yeah, he's awake.  Leaning on
one cheek!" Giggle.  "Here he is!" she passed me the phone.

   "Hi, Sis," I said.  "Is this a sympathy call, or are you gonna add to my
suffering?"

   It was always (well, not ALWAYS) good to hear my sister's voice.  "Why
can't it be BOTH, dumbass!" She giggled.  "Cindy told me where you got
shot. You just became my half-assed brother."

   "Niiiice," I said.

   "Seriously," she said.  "You're okay?"

   "I'm okay.  Really.  Was a BAAAD night, Sis.  I heard Cindy scream..."

   "Omigod," Tootie said, "Cindy told me her side of it.  Said you kept
shooting..."

   "They messed with my Cindy," I said.  "But we're okay.  Really!"

   "Ya'll need to come home as soon as you can sit that long," she said.

   "We will, Sis.  I love you!"

   "I love you too, big brother.  Lemme talk to Cindy!"

   I handed the phone back to Cindy.  "Hi, Sis!" she said.  Pause.  "Yeah,
we'll do that.  And I'll take good care of 'im." Pause.  "Love you too. 
Bye!" She hung the phone up.

   Bill looked at me, then Cindy.  He shook his head.  "Dan, son, you two
continue to amaze me.  Cindy, I gotta go.  Call me if you need anything!"

   "Tell Mizz Sara I'll water her plant," Cindy giggled.

   The nurse threaded her way back into the room, syringe in hand.  "Mister
Richards, you're up for another shot of Demerol if you need it."

   "Can I wait until after that news crew thing?  Don't want 'em to think
I'm drunk."

   "Your call," she said.

   Helen touched Charlie.  "Why don't we go get a cup of coffee in the
cafeteria an' let Cindy stay with Dan a while, Hon?"

   "Good idea, darlin'," Charlie said.  "We'll check on you in a bit."

   They left.  The nurse finished readjusting my IV.  "That's Judge Charlie
Peebles?  How's he related to you?"

   "My wife's foster mom's husband," I said.

   "He's eighty-something, ain't he?"

   "Yep!  Gets around pretty good, too, don't he?"

   "Yes, he sure does." She looked at me.  "If you need anything, just push
the button." She left.
   I looked at Cindy.  "Got all I'll ever need right here..."