Shallow Creek

He let his head rest against the cushion for a moment.  Things had got out of hand in a hurry.  Remembering who had caused this wreck, he carefully maneuvered his hand to his pocket and grabbed the screwdriver he’d borrowed from Kim’s mom’s toolbox.  Thankfully the damn thing hadn’t punctured his leg in the crash.  A loud pop punished his ears as he stabbed the steering wheel airbag.  He undid his seatbelt, letting it slide slowly across his torso while his ears rang.  His door opened easily enough, and Brendan rubbed the side of his head as he stumbled out of the truck.

Chapter 49

Two simultaneous noises dropped Brendan to the dirt: a bullet thudding into Michelle’s truck, and the crack of the gun that fired it.  He quickly scrambled across the dead grass to put the rear axle of the truck between him and Grant’s wrath.  Leaning against the big tire, Brendan checked his own pistol one more time.  Why hadn’t he grabbed one of the weapons lying around at the cabin?  A shotgun would be handy right now.

Another bullet ricocheted under the truck, making multiple impacts before whizzing out into the dirt past Brendan’s leg.  He didn’t react.  There was just as much chance of that kind of shot hitting him whether he moved or not.  This wasn’t his first shootout, but he sort of liked the idea of making it his last.  Getting shot at in the service of his country was one thing, but getting shot at by some dick meth dealer wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

A couple of shots close together slammed into the bed on the other side of the truck.  Brendan counted to three and then stood up carefully, hunching his back to keep the bed as protection.  Now bent at the waist, Brendan leaned to the back of the truck, put one hand on the large bumper for support, and stole a peek around the edge of the tailgate.

The red truck had flipped onto its side.  Grant, apparently none the worse for wear, must’ve been using the center console as a step, because the top of his torso was extended out through the now upwards-facing passenger side window.  Spotting Brendan, Grant squeezed off another round, barely missing Brendan’s retreating skull.

“You always sucked at shooting,” Brendan yelled as soon as he resumed sitting with his back to the truck wheel.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Another shot plowed into the truck somewhere, getting nothing more than a muffled thunk for its efforts.  However many bullets Grant had in that pistol, Brendan was sure the guy was close to empty now.  It was just a matter of time before the idiot wasted all of them.  He did have a bad temper after all.

“Shame you screwed this all up, bro,” Brendan called back.  “Michelle’s a real nice lady.”

“I told you to shut up!”

No bullets that time.  Brendan guessed he had to try harder then.

“Great in the sack, too.  Hard to find a chick her age who’ll do all those nasty things.”

Brendan only knew his brother was screaming at the top of his lungs because of the inhuman roar resonating after all the remaining bullets were expended into the side of Michelle’s truck.  The telltale click of the empty magazine needed no deciphering.

He popped up over the top of the truck bed, smoothly leveled his sights on his brother’s head, and—

Missed.

Grant’s head dipped suddenly into the truck, his arms flailing up in the air, right as Brendan’s pistol kicked up with the release of its payload.  Brendan never missed a target once, never mind twice.  Fueled by this frustration, Brendan banged the gun against Michelle’s truck, gouging the paint.  He paid no attention to this as he sprinted to Grant’s upturned pickup.  With a simple jump he pulled his body up onto the outside of the truck bed, crying out when his wounded arm felt like someone had just sawed it off with a butter knife.

Once the adrenaline overpowered the pain, Brendan crawled forward, now hearing the sounds of a struggle emanating from inside the passenger cabin below him.  The view that greeted him when he peered in through the shattered window got him back on his feet, pointing his pistol downward.

Special Agent Casey Spee, wrists bound in duct tape, legs still in the backseat, had both hands on Grant’s face, gouging his eyeballs.  Grant gripped her wrists with one hand, but his other arm was twisted under him, out of view.  With the way the two wrestled back and forth, Brendan had no shot.  He tracked his brother’s movements closely, but Spee was attempting to crawl out of the backseat to get on top of Grant.

At Brendan’s appearance, Spee looked up.  Grant’s body twisted suddenly.  A glint of metal darted across the dark space.  Before Brendan could pull the trigger, Grant, with blood leaking out of one eye, grinned up at him with Spee’s hair firmly in one hand and a knife in the other.