"Before Dawn"

Chapter 11: The Shockwave

It's a quarter-past midnight and Dawn is sure her father is good and drunk. She should know. She poured him many refills of whiskey. She hears him downstairs stumbling into furniture and mumbling indecipherably. It's a matter-of-time before he goes to sit in the rocking chair out on the porch. She waits in agony for that moment, when she can go out and take advantage of his inebriated state and find out what they—what he—had been hiding form her. Finally, the bumping-into-furniture stops, and she no longer hears his voice. He's outside. Anxious, she heads downstairs to get the truth from him.

Dawn makes it to the covered porch. Like clock-work she sees her father in the dim porch-light, leaned against the rocking chair's back rest, lightly rocking himself. The shadows reveal his solemn stare as his lost gaze canvasses the night. She walks over to him and pulls up the matching rocking chair next to him and notices his shotgun settled across his lap. This makes her nervous, makes her change her mind about planting her ass in the matching rocking chair. Although her father is a heavy drinker, he has never had any firearms or any weapons of that matter in his possession when he's taking the edge off.

"Heh, swee-heart," Bishop slurs, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

"Heh, Dad," Dawn said. She feels as though she has to ask for permission to join him

Don't be stupid.

She sits down. "What's up with the shotty?" she asks, doing her best to disguise the nervousness in her voice.

"This ain't a 'shotty'," Bishop said, still staring outward. "This a Mossberg Five-Ninety Shockwave. Don't ever di-re-pect this baby by calling it anything oth- than 'Mossberg' or 'Shockwave' or a combination o' both."

Her dad always said that when anyone refers to his baby as a mere shotgun—or shotty. He turns his floating eyes to her, smiles, and winks. This puts Dawn at ease, and even more so when she notices that the shotgun isn't even loaded. The sidesaddle mount is empty of shells, too.

"Looks li- we got another storm rolling in," Bishop said.

Dawn notices the wind has indeed picked up. "Looks like it."

"A nasssty one, too."

"That why you have the Shockwave out here?"

"Huh?"

Dawn chin-nods at the shotgun. "That," she said. "You about to kill a thunderstorm? If so, you might want to load it after-all."

Bishop laughs, and takes a hit of his whiskey. "Kill a storm. You so funny. I ain't 'fraid o' no storm." He turns his gaze back to the darkness.

A moment of silence passes. The wind rustles along the porch, kicking up scatterings of dust and debris.

"So...why are you out here with the Shockwave?" Dawn asks. She's super-curious now. "You must be afraid of something. So what is it?"

"Honessly, I di- realize I had it wit-me," Bishop said, caressing his prized Shockwave like it was his pet.

He's dodging me! Dawn believes. "Are we in trouble?"

"We're not in trouble. I'm jus' staying preee-pared."

"Prepared for what?"

Bishop stops rocking. "Something comin' aw-right. And I ain't talking 'bout this stom."

Dawn is fighting to keep her patience in check. She has to be delicate or else he dad will just shut down like he always does when he's drunk and being ask questions about her mother—his long dead wife. She lets it ride for a second before picking the conversation back up. "Didn't you say this place was warded? You know...like, we're totally safe out here?"