Dead struck

Chapter Four

I leapt over the banister, landing on the floor in a way that sent a searing pain through my ankle, but I ignored it and ran into the living room. Once I got there, I realized that the gunshot had come from the living room, but Harlow's scream came from upstairs. She had screamed because she heard the gun. While I had been making my way upstairs, two guys had come in through the patio doors off the living room, and Ripley caught them. Her chain clattered, they got frightened, and from the bullet hole in the wall way, way above Ripley's head, I assumed they were terrible shots. Ripley stood in the middle of the living room, looking pissed off and confused. 

 "Whoa! Whoa!" I ran in front of Ripley, blocking her from hurting them and them from hurting her, and belatedly realized how dumb that was. 

 I didn't know if I could prevent Ripley from attacking anything, and she might lunge at me if she was scared. Two guys were here, and one of them held a gun, which was now pointed at me since I had stepped in front of it. I stood between a lion and a gunman, and both of them might kill me just for the hell of it. 

"What's going on?" Harlow yelled from the top of the stairs. 

"Stay upstairs!" I shouted. 

 "Put the gun down!" That was the gun-less young man, talking to his friend. He was the taller of the two, with sandy blonde hair and reassuring gray eyes. 

 "No way," the gunman said. 

The hand holding the shotgun quivered, and black hair kept falling into his eyes, so he couldn't even take aim properly. He gestured at Ripley with the gun. 

"Is that thing safe?" 

"She's a lion, and uh, yeah, she is," I said. 

I actually had no idea if she was, but I liked it better when I didn't have a gun pointed at me, so I lied. 

"Just put down the gun," his friend said, putting his hand on the barrel to gently push it down. He was the older of the two, and he seemed much calmer.  

 "It's a fricking lion!" The gunman completely lowered his weapon, but he was still freaked. Once I could clearly see his face, he looked incredibly familiar. 

I squinted, as if that would make me place him better. He was attractive, with dark eyes, and tattoos decorating both arms. He looked closer to my age, but I couldn't figure out where I knew him from. 

 "Well, it's her lion!" His blond friend shook his head and took the gun away, smiling apologetically at me. 

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to intrude. We didn't know anyone still lived here." 

"It's okay," I shrugged. "We're intruding, too. They have some bottled water in the kitchen." 

"Really? Oh my god." Without further invitation, the former gunman dashed across the room, jumping over the couch on his race to the kitchen. 

I glanced back at Ripley to make sure that she didn't decide he was food, and she watched him with her ears bent back. 

"Sorry about him," the other guy said, nodding at his friend, who shouted happy expletives in the kitchen. "I'm Blue." 

"What? You mean like your name is Blue?" I raised an eyebrow. "Like the color?" 

"My parents were hippies." 

 "I'm Remy." I decided that I didn't have much room to mock his name, and I gestured to the cat. 

"She's Ripley, and Harlow is upstairs." 

"Is it safe for me to come down?" Harlow asked, and I heard her walking down the steps. 

 I looked back at Blue.