Out of Breath

Chapter 3

Butter hands me a riffle. I swear, the Bumpuses have more guns than a military armory. Its slick metal feels good in my hand and makes me feel powerful.

"Why do you have so many guns?" I inquire, leveling the gun to my eye. I am a top Marine rifleman.

"Can you keep a secret?" Butter asks, looking around as if he has a tremendous covert to tell me about. Above, dark clouds roll in and overcast the sky. I bet it will rain soon.

"Sure," I reply. A sting pierces my neck. I free a hand and slap at a mosquito as the riffle dangles from my other hand.

"Dad grows marijuana. We have all these guns to protect our stash." He says as he puffs his chest out, trying to look like a drug lord. Suddenly his mannerism shifts as he looks around in paranoia as if the FEDs have his dump bugged.

I can believe they grow weed, but he could be pulling my arm with a bull crap tale. It's hard to know with the Bumpuses.

Stewie, his younger brother, slams his fist into Butter's arm. "He does not. You are such a liar."

Butter drops his gun on the ground. Most likely, it is loaded. I tighten in anticipation of its firing. "Say that to my face, Buttwad," he says, getting in Stewie's face. For most of the Bumpuses, I can't keep track of who is older or younger, but Butter is in my grade, at least I know that. They all seem about the same size as me.

The last time I saw Mama Bumpus, she seemed extra-large. It won't surprise me if she is cooking up number twelve. Maybe for her sake, she will get a girl.

Stewie and Butter roll around the ground, punching each other's face. I don't understand their relationship. Within seconds, the fight ends, and they have their arms wrapped around each other like best friends. I don't know who won.

As the two brothers make-up, the screen door bangs against their shack, and Scooby heads straight to the rifle and picks it up. I presume Scooby is in second grade. He is the second youngest brother. "I'm going. I'm going." He says, running toward the back swamp with Butter's gun. Does he really think he is going shooting with us? This is scary. I won't go if he's coming. No way! He can hardly handle the weapon that is almost as big as him. Scooby swings the gun around and drops it. My muscles tighten as I prepare for the gun going off. I bet Ma wouldn't let me play here if she knew what it was really like.

"You can't have a gun," Butter screams and charges after Scooby. His voice sounds like a ravage drill Sargent.

Stewie, who is somewhere around Raven's age, joins Butter and they tackle Scooby to the ground. All three roll around with the gun. This can't be good. I sense something terrible is going to happen. I dive behind their scrapyard of broken cars. I don't want to be in the open if the gun goes off. The protection of the vehicles is my miracle because, as soon as I drop...

BOOM!

Metal shrieks when a bullet whizzes by and impacts into a broken door directly in front of me.

In a panic, I sprawl onto the ground and scream, "I've been shot. I've been shot."

Bang. The screen door flies open as Nutter runs toward us. Nutter is the oldest of the brothers, sixteen. He is scarier than the Skitlers. He is mean.

He looks around, assessing the battle zone. "What are you guys doing fighting over a gun?" He yells.

Bang. Out of the house waddles Mama Bumpus. She has a look of stupid on her face. She usually does. "Don't you be shooting next to the house," she screams through her horse voice. That woman only knows one volume; loud.

Scooby has the gun pointed straight at Nutter. "What are you thinking?" Nutter whelps. "Who gave the baby the gun?"

"It's Butter's gun," Stewie rats. Nutter tries to wrestle the gun from Scooby when it goes off again!