The Road to Reckoning

Mister Baker set up a plank of pine against the back fence. This was maybe thirty yards from Henry Stands, who stood, feet apart, playing the pistol back and forth in his hands. I would admit that the gun looked weak in his fists.

‘You clear out now, Chet. No telling what this thing will do.’

Mister Baker dodged back and came beside me. I watched Henry Stands take a breath, which also appeared to move something unpleasant in his chest, which he spat out. He puffed his chest again and I failed to notice mister Baker cover his ears, and a blink later I was deaf.

The gun-smoke was pure white. A waft of copper and hot iron and a puff of sawdust from the plank. I thought of the five shots into my father. Two from Heywood. I had not heard their noise.

Once down from the frame the trigger stayed until the shooter put it back. This allowed for rapid fire and Henry Stands picked up on this a breath later and blasted twice more successively.

He was now in a cloud and I wondered how he could see or even think as my hands were clapped to my ears and I was dizzy.

He shifted his footing and, as there is only one tidy way to empty any firearm, he cracked it twice more into the suffering wood.

Five shots like the ticking of a watch. He stepped out of his cloud.

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