Most likely, everything will be OK and I’ll catch Daniel up on everything in the morning. He could not help in this situation anyway. Knowing what I know now, he’ll likely only be restless, wanting to fix it when there is nothing for him to fix.
Chapter Sixteen
Daniel
The privacy fence I installed does muffle the noise of the dogs, but nothing muffles the noise of a big-ass truck in the middle of the night.
From my second-floor bedroom window, I see hunting lights in the road that runs along Molly’s place. They are the kind of lights installed on the top of a vehicle, and the bright lights are aimed at Molly’s yard. A pack of dogs on the ground is going apeshit. A few of the dogs are ones that usually stay with Molly in the house at night.
And then I realize I don’t see her truck in the carport.
I do not like the look of this.
Throwing on a tee-shirt with my pajama pants, I grab my rifle without even thinking and I’m out the door. I hop the shorter fences adjacent to my property until I’m in Molly’s yard, barreling toward the lights.
It’s then that I hear a shot ring out.
I freeze in my tracks.
They’re shooting at the dogs.
My frozen moment only lasts a second. The next second, I’m running toward the sound of the shots.
“Hey!” I shout, my throat on fire with fear and anger and adrenaline, knowing this might be the dumbest moment of my life. But I’ll be damned if I stand by and let some assholes shoot at an animal for sport. Let alone someone’s dog. Let alone my Molly’s dogs.
I eat up the distance between me and the blinding white lights. When I’m closer, I can see their silhouettes, two dudes, standing in the truck bed, laughing and shooting their guns. Probably drunk as fuck.
When I figure I’m close enough that they can hear me cock my rifle, I do. Luckily, some of the dogs have been spooked by the first sound of gunfire and have run off to hide.
Sure enough, the dudes in the truck bed turn toward me when they hear my rifle cock. They both spew out a long string of curses at me.
“Boy, you better not be pointing that thing at us,” the one with the beer gut says.
“Son,” I shout angrily, “you better get on out of here now. I already called the sheriff. A whole mess of patrol vehicles are headed over here right now!”
“Bullshit,” the other one says. “Now go on an’ git, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Try me, mother fucker!” I hurl back at them.
He does it. He actually fires a shot at me and misses. Dogs are barking and running everywhere.
I shoot back blindly, trying not to aim at the people but at the truck. I hit the back window and it shatters.
Now they’re super pissed off, drunk rednecks.
I decide to make myself a moving target by being useful and rounding up as many dogs as I can.
“Dolly,” I say. “Come on, let’s put the kids to bed.”
I wave my arms in the direction of the house, but she’s not moving from her spot. She’s barking her fool head off and so are plenty of the other dogs.
Turns out, the dipshits in the truck manage to fire off a lucky shot. Gunfire echoes off the line of pine trees and the next thing I feel is a warm trickle on my belly followed by the worst stomach cramp of my life. I double over and hit the ground before I can gain control of my footing.
I hear the voices in the truck clamoring and shouting in shock and disbelief that they’ve actually murdered someone and it takes a second to register that they’re talking about me. I am face down, the smell of black clay and grass filling my lungs. The truck drives away.
They aren’t even going to see if I’m OK. They shot a man and they aren’t even going to take me to the hospital.
Someone or something is rolling me over onto my back. Did I fall on a hill?