Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 11 - The Siege

The sun went down. The moon rose, full and bright. Sil turned off the porch lights, allowing our eyes to adjust to the natural glow. I paced nervously about, still sipping my root beer and whiskey, diluted now with additional rounds of ice cubes to prevent my getting hammered. My trio of guardian killers all sat calmly.

Just past ten o'clock the convoy arrived, led by the sheriff's patrol car, lights flashing. Simon's driveway was long and the multiple cars parked along it, the Saint's followers stepping out and lining up at the edge of the property and fanning out into the woods.

There were dozens of them. In my head, I'd expected them to be more sinister. Black robes maybe. Or garbed in some kind of intimidating dystopian battle armor with spikes or bestial furs. But there were dressed like ordinary folks. Because they were ordinary folks. Not warriors or supernatural monsters. One guy was dressed in a suit with a bowtie and looked like he'd just been teaching a philosophy class. Now he marched on us with a baseball bat. An elderly woman next to him held a carving knife and a knitting needle.

There was no sign of the Saint.

"Holy shit," I hissed. "What do we do?"

Clancy stripped off his shirt. "I'll handle the ones in the woods." He leaped over the railing and sprinted to the trees.

"Ok. Sil?" I looked around. She'd disappeared. "Where'd she go?"

McGavin shrugged. "Probably heading straight for the Saint."

"Great. I'm glad our battle plan was so well-rehearsed. What do we do?"

"You stay on the porch." He removed his suit jacket and draped it across his chair. He now wore two holsters. He pulled both pistols. "Any time now."

The fanatics charged.

"There it is." He tossed aside his dark visor, gave me a wink with clear eyes, and started down the steps.

"Are you kidding me?" I shouted. "How are we not safer inside with you shooting through the windows?"

"It doesn't work like that kid. I can't hide from death. It isn't patient enough for me to play a hide-and-seek gun battle. I have to go right at them."

The man in the bowtie shouted to him, "One last chance to sur..."

His voice cut off when McGavin shot him in the face.

Like a fearless, old west gunfighter, he strode across the yard to meet them. His pistols flared, each shot a burst of orange light in the darkness. Just like in the diner, his aim proved flawless and he cut them down in droves, each bullet taking a life without fail.

From the woods came a howl and more screams. Werewolf Clancy was doing his part. Hope crept into me that we may actually emerge victoriously.

Most of the fanatics weren't fighters or even athletic. Many were older or out of shape. He cut down the fast ones first, reloaded both pistols, and concentrated then on the slower ones. I'd have almost felt pity, but the Saint's followers were never deterred. They marched straight at the house, weapons at the ready, uncaring about impending death, almost mindless in their servitude. Those that managed to get past him and rush towards me were shot in the back with no extra effort.

Then it was done.

McGavin had killed them all to the last. The screams from the woods had ceased as well.

I hopped off the porch and ran to him. "I don't believe it."

He sighed and slid both pistols into his holsters. "Fools," he swore at the strewn bodies. "If Sil and Clancy can get to the Saint we may have a chance, but my part in this is over." He looked at me, his eyes going grey. "I can't kill the Saint, so death is removing its sight."