The Night Parade(111)

Tim shouted for Gany, then pulled a pistol from the rear of his pants. He handed it to David. It was Cooper’s Glock. “Use this, then.”

Gany appeared in the doorway. Ellie clung to her hip and peered into the room. She looked frightened.

Tim handed Gany the shotgun. “Take Eleanor to the back bedroom. Barricade the door. Anyone forces their way in there, you use this.”

“Yeah, okay,” Gany said, breathless.

“Dad,” Ellie said. Her gaze fell on the pistol in David’s hand.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” David told her.

“Come on,” Tim said, and shoved them all out into the hallway.

They split up, Gany and Ellie heading down the darkened corridor toward the rear of the house, Tim and David hurrying toward the front. Tim swung open the front door and a cold night wind accosted them. They went out onto the porch.

David couldn’t see the approaching vehicle’s headlights yet through the trees, but he could hear the growl of its engine. It was moving very quickly toward them.

“Go to the far end of the porch,” Tim instructed. He pointed to a pitch-black corner. “I’ll stand front and center. I’ve got floodlights on the roof,” Tim said. “When the vehicle pulls up, motion sensors will turn the lights on. They’ll be lit up like a football field and they won’t be able to see us. But just in case, you go over there. I’ll soak up their attention. They won’t see you with your gun pointed at them in the dark.”

David looked at the gun in his hand.

“How good of a shot are you?” Tim asked.

“Fuck if I know.”

Astoundingly, Tim laughed.

Headlights appeared through the trees.

David ran to his corner, tucked himself down in the shadows. The gun felt like it suddenly weighed fifty pounds; he needed both hands to lift it up and rest his wrists along the porch railing for support.

Tim shoved a number of slugs into the shotgun, charged it, then pointed it toward the approaching vehicle as he took up position at the top of the porch steps.

He hugged my daughter on those steps, David had time to think.

The headlights broke clear of the trees, the large SUV’s engine snarling like a wild animal. At the same instant, the floodlights on the roof burst on, so bright David winced and turned away, though not before he saw the white, mud-stippled SUV come burning across the lawn in a cloud of bluish exhaust.

The vehicle came to a sudden stop, its tires gouging trenches in the earth. Giant insects flitted by in the twin glow of the SUV’s headlamps.

The gun shook in David’s hand.

For several seconds, nothing happened. But then Tim leveled the shotgun at the vehicle and shouted for the driver to identify himself. This was greeted by more silence. “In the event that you’re illiterate or maybe you just happened to miss all my f*cking signs,” Tim called out into the night, “you’re f*cking trespassing. You’ve got five seconds to back outta here before I blow out your tires.”

No response from the driver. The glare from the floodlights on the roof of the farmhouse made it impossible to see inside the SUV’s windows. There could be a small army in there, David thought.

Tim descended a single step. He raised the shotgun to eye level, still pointing it at the vehicle. From his position on the porch, David released a shuddery breath. Sweat stung his eyes. The gun was slippery with perspiration and suddenly difficult to hold.

The rear door of the SUV opened, and a man in a camouflaged jumpsuit stepped out. He was a big man, broad across the chest. He held a rifle but kept it pointed at the ground.

“No one has to die here tonight,” the man announced. He was pale-skinned and with a few days’ growth of dark beard wreathing his jawline. The hair on top of his head was cut high and tight, in a military fashion.

“Who the hell are you?” Tim said.

“Doesn’t matter.” The man’s voice was calm, the expression on his face almost friendly. “Put your gun down.”

“Like hell,” Tim said.

“Do it.” It was a woman’s voice, right at their back. David turned and saw Gany standing in the doorway, the shotgun pointing at Tim’s back. “Put the gun down, Tim.” She looked in David’s direction. “You, too, David.”

“Ah, Gany.” Tim sounded like a disappointed parent. “What the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”

Gany’s face was firm, expressionless. “I’m not mixed up,” she said. There was an edge to her tone, an apprehension. “Now, put that gun down, Tim. I’m not joking.”

“Better listen to her,” said the man in the jumpsuit as he closed the distance between them. A second man stepped out of the driver’s side of the SUV. He sported a frizzy salt-and-pepper beard that hung down to his collarbone, and he wore a red bandanna on his head. He had a pistol in a holster at his hip.

In slow motion, Tim set the shotgun down on the porch. Then he raised both hands.

Gany swiveled her weapon in David’s direction.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s inside,” said Gany. “She’s fine. Now, put the gun down.”

“Ellie!” he shouted. When the girl didn’t respond, he called her name again.

Faintly, from within the belly of the house: “Daddy . . .”