He went into the hall to put on some shoes as the floor was cold and stopped suddenly, listening; he thought he’d heard a vehicle. Yes, there was definitely a vehicle in the road, coming from the west. He went into the lounge and peered through a gap in the curtains; a Toyota pickup came into view, moving slowly. There were three men in it; two in the cab and one standing in the load area riding shotgun – literally. He could see the gun in his right hand while he held onto a roof bar with his left, and didn’t like the look of them at all.
He heard them shout something and then the truck suddenly revved and lurched forward, moving out of his line of sight. In a few seconds there was a squeal of brakes and tyres as it came to a sudden stop and then a shotgun blast, followed immediately by a woman’s scream. He ran out to the hall and picked up a shotgun, checking it was loaded, then grabbed a handful of cartridges, put them in his pocket and went out the front door.
The woman had been unsuccessful so far in finding a suitable place to move to. Nothing she’d seen had matched the criteria on her list of things she wanted or needed in a place, so over the last two days she had widened her search area and today was looking at houses along South Cliff. She emerged from a house on the north side of the road and stepped out onto the pavement. Immediately, she heard a shout and an engine revving and spun to her right, seeing a truck bearing down on her. She turned and ran the other way as fast as she could. Just as she was about to turn off the road into a large garden the truck stopped sharply behind her. There was a loud blast followed immediately by agonising pain down her right leg. She staggered, wavered and limped away as fast as she was able. It was supposed to have been a warning shot, but the idiot hadn’t counted on the spread of shot and several pellets had struck her leg.
The truck came closer and stopped; she heard the doors open and close and looked back to see two men approaching. There was no way to outrun them so she turned and stood facing them, a large claw hammer in her right hand, held down by her side. The men stopped two yards from her.
‘Drop the hammer, bitch,’ said the older guy with the beer-belly. She just stood there defiantly, glaring at them.
‘If you don’t drop the hammer, my cousin up there will blow your foot off.’ She didn’t have much choice, so dropped the hammer.
‘That’s better! How are we supposed to have some fun when you’ve got a dirty great hammer in your hand?’ His brother next to him laughed. She knew exactly what sort of fun they had in mind, and was damned if she’d let it happen; she’d rather die first.
She groaned and leaned forward, reaching her right hand behind and under her jacket to the small of her back. Her hand came to rest on the long wooden handle of a small hammer in her back pocket, which she always carried with her. Beer-belly took a step towards her, reaching out. She stood up straight and raised her left hand, distracting him. His eyes moved to her left hand and with lightning speed she whipped out the hammer with her right and swung it at his head, delivering a staggering blow. It was only a lightweight 4oz ball-pein hammer, and many people might have laughed at it as an effective weapon, but the effect was like being shot in the head with a .50 calibre bullet. It punched a big hole right through his skull and he dropped like a stone; dead before he hit the ground.
‘You bitch!’ screamed his brother, and lunged at her. She spun around and tried to run away but her injured leg hampered her. Before she had gone four paces he was on her, punching her to the ground and kicking her. She curled into a ball to protect herself. At that moment there was another blast from a shotgun, and the cousin in the back of the pickup tumbled over the cab, bounced off the bonnet and landed on the ground in front of it, a huge bloody hole between his shoulder-blades.
The man came out of his door and peered cautiously over next-door’s hedge to see what was happening. The truck was stopped fifty yards or so down the road. A short distance ahead of the truck was the woman he’d seen on the beach a month or so before; she was holding her right leg and he could see blood on her fingers. The two men from the cab were walking towards her, while the third stood in the back of the truck pointing the shotgun at her.
He didn’t want the woman to see him and give him away inadvertently, so when she looked down he moved quickly into the middle of the road to put the truck between them and advanced quietly down the road towards the scene. The guy in the back of the truck was too intent on what was happening in front to pay any attention to his rear. He reached the back of the truck and halted, raising the shotgun to his shoulder, undecided what to do and with his heart pounding. Shit, shit, shit! He could see what was happening through the Toyota’s rear and front screens.
When the man lunged for the woman he saw her lash out with a hammer and the guy fall to the ground. He heard the other man scream “You bitch!” and saw him launch into her with his fists and feet, and the woman falling to the ground. He aimed between the shoulder-blades of the guy in the back of the truck and pulled the trigger. He felt the kick of the stock against his shoulder and saw the man tumble over the cab. He stepped a few paces to the right and forward, to see the other guy looking down at his cousin, confused, and then turn to look at him. He saw the guy’s hand move to his pocket and pulled the trigger to fire the second barrel. The shot hit him in the centre of his chest and he flew back over the woman lying on the ground, landing just beyond her.
He broke open the shotgun and the two spent cartridges ejected with a puff of smoke. He pulled two more from his pocket, inserted them into the breach and closed the weapon, then moved cautiously forward. The woman sat up, looking at him; she had tears in her eyes and the pain was evident in her face. He checked all three guys; they were dead as dodos.
Adrenaline was coursing through him and he was shaking. He was just a normal guy; he’d never even fired a gun before – apart from at the alarm-box the other week – let alone shoot someone. And yet he felt no remorse for the men; as far as he was concerned they were scum and deserved what they got.
The woman gave him a weak smile and then her face clouded over with anger and she turned away slightly. ‘Bastards! Fucking low-life scumbags! I mean… Jesus!’ She shook her head, wincing in pain, and then looked at him again. ‘I’d have been in deep shit if you hadn’t turned up! I can’t even bear thinking about it… Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I’m so sorry, and I’m just so glad I got here in time.’
He knew exactly what they’d had in mind and felt disgusted. He was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say and just stood there looking at her. She looked to be in her late thirties; she had short brown hair and a nice face, with a wide mouth and laughter lines around her eyes.
In an effort to take her mind off what had just happened and get her thinking of something else, he coughed and said ‘Um… D’you like coffee? Only, I was just about to make some when I was interrupted. I’ve got Kenyan, Columbian or some nice strong Javan.’
She gave another weak smile and kind of snorted. ‘I haven’t had a good coffee in months; I’d love some.’
He swung the shotgun by its strap onto his shoulder, reached down and helped her to her feet; she was around 5’6” with a curvy figure. She staggered a bit and then got her balance. As they passed the body of the guy she’d hit with the hammer, she said ‘Scum!’ and kicked it with her good leg, then looked at him and nodded. With his left arm around her waist and her right arm around his shoulder they walked up the road.