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He marches over to my door and pulls it open. “Get inside,” he says. “Right now.”
He drags me out, shoving me past the two dead bodies into the farmhouse. “Don’t move,” he says. “I can still get you hitched with gunshots to your knees, so sit your ass down and stay there.”
He walks back out, slamming the door shut. I hear him grunting as he shifts the dead bodies somewhere. I risk getting to my feet, crossing to the window and looking out. In the distance, I can see dust rising. Marco’s getting closer.
That’s when I spot my father. He’s taken the perfect sniper’s position behind the car. As soon as Marco gets close enough, he’s going to shoot him. I need to warn him, but how?
I look around me for something I can use. There’s nothing.
I head to the back of the house. There’s a screen door and then a yard filled with junk. I clamber up the twisted old tractor parts, clambering up onto the roof, trying to keep out of my father’s eyeline. I try waving a warning at the car, but it keeps coming in a perfectly straight line.
I think about yelling, but he can’t hear me. There’s nothing I can do to save his life.
No. That’s not true. Bad odds are better than zero odds. There has to be something. I can’t give up.
I lean down and peel off a piece of shingle from the roof. I’m only going to get one chance at this so I need to get it right.
I wait, the piece of shingle in my hand. The car’s getting closer. My father braces himself, shifting position, getting ready to fire.
I toss the shingle down at him. It misses by a good three feet, but he notices it, glancing up at me and cursing. “I told you to stay put,” he yells up at me, turning the gun my way. “Just like your mother, why can’t you do as you’re fucking told?”
“Fuck you,” I scream down at him, wrenching another piece of shingle and throwing it at him.
He fires up at me. I duck back and the slope of the roof saves me. The bullet whizzes harmlessly by but I lose my balance and roll back off the roof, landing heavily in the yard, winding myself in the process.
I lay gasping for air, trying to get to my feet, my mouth opening and closing as my lungs fight to get working again. I hear gunshots. Several of them. Then silence.
I manage to get upright in time to see my father appear from around the corner. He raises his gun at me. “You should obey your father,” he says.
He goes to pull the trigger, but as he does so, a gout of blood erupts from his mouth. He coughs and more blood sprays out. “Got me in the lung,” he says, collapsing to his knees. “But I whacked him, Anna. I never got to be happy. Why should you?”
He grins up at me, his face turning white as he rolls onto his back. “I killed the bastard. I win.” His eyes glaze over as there’s a groan somewhere deep inside him.
I wonder if I’ll ever cry over his death. Right now, I don’t feel grief. All I feel is fear that he was telling me the truth.
I remember what he said. He killed Marco. I run around the side of the house. Marco’s laid on his back by his car. I try to scoop him into my arms, but he’s too heavy. His eyes are closed. “Don’t you die,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare. You be stubborn, you hear me? Don’t even think about dying.”
“Hadn’t planned on it,” he grunts back at me, blinking his eyes open, and then fixing his gaze on me. “Not until I know you’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” I tell him, kissing his forehead. “You just hang on in there.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Don’t talk. I’ll call for help.”
“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” he says, his voice growing weaker. “You deserve better than me.”
“Shut up about that. Where does it hurt?”
I look down at the blood soaking through his shirt. How many times has he been shot trying to help me?
“Is your father dead?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
