Tiger-human Short Stories: Collection 1 Book

10-67

The small city of Damascus, Virginia, usually was quiet. The town was protected by a forty-seven-year-old brown-haired man with blue-gray eyes who happened to be the town sheriff. He lived within the city with his wife, a forty-five-year-old platinum blonde-haired woman with hazel eyes, and their son, a thirteen-year-old blonde-haired boy with brown eyes. The man's name was Steven Windrowson, and his son, Caleb Windrowson, looked up to his father. Caleb insisted on becoming a police officer like his dad when he got old enough to join the police academy. Steven's wife, Gloria Windrowson, worked hard to care for their son and the house when Steven was working.

This scorching summer day would stick in the minds of the father and son for the rest of their lives. The early morning light was barely grazing the upper leaves of the ancient oak tree right outside their dark red-paneled house. Most neighbors had locked their doors and armed their security alarms to go to work.

A few blocks from the home of the Windrowson family, where Gloria was focused on making food for her husband and son, a thirty-year-old man with black hair and gray eyes had just broken into a home. The alarm blared as the man's accomplices began to survey the house. The man went to the alarm and popped open the security panel. He managed to get into where the wiring sat and quickly cut the wires. The alarms stopped blaring as he looked at his accomplices. One was a teenager Steven Windrowson had caught breaking into a concession stand. The other was an older man of approximately fifty who knew everyone in the town.

"Get as much as you can. If the cops show, don't let them near the house." The man spoke.

"What if Sheriff Windrowson shows up, Harold? He only lives a few blocks away." The teenager nervously responded to the man in charge.

"If he shows, we go down fighting, Junior. Dad didn't raise us to be idiots, right Drew?" Harold asked as he turned to look at his other accomplice.

"Right." Drew, the oldest of the three, spoke.

The brothers quickly set out to gather valuables from the house. Meanwhile, dispatch had received notice of the break-in and had sent two officers to investigate the disturbance. They sent Officer George Ford, a seasoned officer who had worked beside Sheriff Windrowson for years, and Officer Cindy Paget, an officer fresh from the police academy, for her first shift.

Sheriff Steven Windrowson had just awakened from the long night working and entered his kitchen. The smell of eggs and bacon greeted him. Caleb was sitting at the table reading a book about a western sheriff, and Steven couldn't resist messing with his son's hair. He had barely sat down with his cup of coffee when the phone rang. As soon as he answered it, his demeanor changed. Gloria and Caleb had noticed it and knew it was the police department calling on Steven to go to work.

Meanwhile, Harold and his brothers had begun firing at the two officers who had arrived to investigate their break-in. Harold couldn't see the young officer behind the car but knew she was there. Two officers had stepped out of the vehicle, and Drew had managed to shoot the older officer's left side close to his shoulder. As Harold reloaded his gun, the young officer fired from behind the car at the house, and Harold ducked as the window he was beside shattered. He peaked from over the windowsill and opened fire on the young officer.

After a few moments, he heard sirens and saw Sheriff Windrowson's squad car quickly approaching. He moved over to where Junior was busy shooting at the squad car and grabbed his shoulder. Junior flinched in fear as he was seized and looked up at his brother.

"Where's the Sheriff's house, Junior? How many people live there?" Harold snapped.

"908 Appalachian Trail Drive, just a few blocks from here. It's just the Sheriff, his wife, and his son, Caleb. He goes to the same school as I do." Junior stammered.