The overweight man took a step back and put his hands up in a calming, open-palmed gesture. “Alright dude, just calm down. Calm down. I’ll move along. I think this pump is dry anyway.”
Mr. Porsche exploded, “Empty? Dry? Are you kidding me? You goddamned bastard! You used all the gas. I need some gas. You hogged it all with your huge van just like you hog food with your huge fat ass! People like you don’t deserve to walk around hogging everything for yourself.” He took another step towards the overweight man and reached for his pistol.
The overweight man’s mouth went wide, gaping in surprise. His hands flew up into the universal sign of surrender. The empty bag of Cheeto’s fluttered downward in a lazy spiral. In a flash, Cooper braced his pistol onto the door frame of his pickup and shouted, “Freeze, don’t!” He trained his pistol onto the center of the man’s back. From his periphery, he saw Dranko on the opposite side of the pickup, his own weapon deployed into action.
Mr. Porsche kept moving without a flinch of hesitation. His own pistol was drawn and was rapidly being brought to bear on his intended victim. The other man’s jean’s suddenly turned dark near his groin, his bladder having let go in reaction to the shock of fear hitting his body.
Just as the man’s pistol came around, Cooper fired twice in rapid succession. Dranko must have as well because Mr. Porsche was simultaneously flung forward and then pushed to his left from the impact of multiple rounds. The overweight man was splattered in blood, an impromptu Rorschach of crimson covering the Oregon Duck’s yellow logo on his sweatshirt. Mr. Porsche’s shiny steel pistol clattered to the ground and he fell forward, grabbing the overweight man by the shoulders. The two men looked at one another in a shocked gaze. Then, Mr. Porsche slid to the ground into a deflated heap.
The man’s sweatshirt was quickly soaked in blood. He began trembling and shaking. Cooper yelled, “Cover me,” to Dranko and moved around the truck’s door, his weapon still pointed at the apparently dead man. The impact of the bullets had lifted him out of his leather penny loafers and Cooper inadvertently stepped on one as he advanced. He used his foot to pitch the would-be attacker’s body over. The overweight man bent over and vomited, spewing bits of bright orange Cheetos all over the ground.
The body let out one long raspy breath. Mr. Porsche’s eyes gazed blankly skyward. His chest and right side were a red ruin. Dranko’s shots had caught him just in front of the shoulder blade.
Cooper lowered his pistol and Dranko stepped out from behind the hood of the pickup. The overweight man collapsed into a haphazard seated position on the ground.
Cooper put a hand on his shoulder, “Breathe easy. Take a deep breath. You’re gonna be OK.”
As the tension drained away, Dranko leaned over, resting his hands on his knees and forced a laugh, “Man, can’t I catch a break?”
“Whad’ya mean?”
“Why couldn’t the punk have snapped before we had wasted an hour in line,” Dranko responded.
“You are an incurable pessimist with a capital P.”
“I stand accused, but it’s just the reality-based way to look at things.”
“Really? I see that we saved someone’s life. You see that we wasted an hour of our day.”
Dranko smiled back, “You knew before you married me that I was a half-empty kind of guy.”
In their banter, they barely noticed the squealing of tires as the other cars in line made a swift escape from the area. The overweight man sat immobilized, staring stupidly at them, moving his eyes from one to the other as they spoke.
“True, I did know that. But, you promised me you’d change,” Cooper emphasized the last word with falsetto.
Dranko laughed deeply, from his belly, out of breath, “OK, you win. This time.”
An older man with an uncombed raft of white hair came running out of the gas station’s mini-store. He wore a dark blue smock and stained khakis, “I called 9-1-1. All I get is biz-zee. Five times, I call. Nah-ting.” He spoke in a thick Russian accent.
“Don’t worry about it. The cops’ hands are full today. Go back and keep calling, eventually you’ll get through.” Without another word, the old man turned back sharply, almost clicking his heels in obedience, and then ran inside.
Looking down at his bloody sweatshirt and wiping the blood and vomit from his face, the overweight man finally spoke, “I just wanted some gas. I didn’t want anyone to die.”
Cooper kept his hand firmly planted on his shoulder. “What’s your name, son?”
“Curt.”
“Curt, this wasn’t your fault. This guy just lost it. Don’t twist your mind out of joint over it.”
Curt nodded his head, eyes downcast, “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” although he didn’t sound convinced. He raised his head to look at Cooper and Dranko, “Thank you by the way. You guys saved my ass, for sure.”
“No problem. Just do me one favor, will you?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Go get yourself some water from inside. Drink it down and don’t drive anywhere until you’ve settled down. Here’s my address if the cops show up and you need a witness to what happened.” He’d pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled it onto a paper towel.
Curt tipped his fingers from his forehead, “Got it. Thanks again. I know where you live. When things settle down, I’ll bring you something to show my appreciation.”
“Don’t worry about it. If the situation was reversed, you would have done the same.” He didn’t tell him what was so abundantly clear. It’s going to be a long while before things settle down.
The next gas station they drove to had a shorter line, and they were both able to top off their tanks without incident and get home forty minutes later.
As soon as Cooper stepped into his house, he smelled it. Things had become much worse since he’d left. He leapt up the stairs, taking three at a time. He spilled into the room to find Lisa asleep in the chair next to the bed and Jake perched at the foot of the bed peering intently at his mother. Cooper leaned the shotgun against the wall. Despite his loud entrance, Lisa remained asleep, snoring lightly. She must be dead on her feet with what she’s been doing the last few days.
Cooper stood next to his son and patted him on the head lightly. He raised his eyes to look at his wife, afraid of what he might see. The bed was soaked in her sweat. She seemed much smaller than before. In the large bed, she thrashed about in delirium, like a boat tossed around by a furious storm at sea. Occasionally, she would say a few words and then devolve into unintelligible mumbling. Each time, Jake would give a start, hopeful of some word from his mother. Cooper moved his hands to son’s shoulders and offered a firm grip as comfort. They watched her like this as the hours of the day passed by.
At some point, Lisa awoke and attempted to give Cooper a medical diagnosis. He didn’t listen. He already knew. Lisa wandered off to attend to others in the neighborhood. Hopefully, she can help some of them, Cooper thought bitterly.
Around mid-day, he force marched Jake downstairs to eat something. They ate their tuna fish sandwiches in silence. Neither tasted the food they ate. In between bites, they would look at one another squarely in the eye, vacant, with shocked looks on their faces. Jake looked at his father and gave a simple nod, as a tear ran down his face. Cooper could think of nothing else, but to offer a similar nod in return.
They left the dirty plates and half-eaten sandwiches on the table and numbly walked back upstairs to resume their watch. With each step, he knew he was learning what walking your last mile felt like. He walked slowly, zombie-like, barely feeling his feet touch the ground. His body felt heavy, each step an effort to make. Everything sounded muffled, as if his ears were full of cotton. His vision was slightly blurred with the sharp sting of pending tears.