Tuskers. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Barbara Weiss was getting tired of waiting.  She knew the pigs wanted to attack.  In the late afternoon, one of them walked right up to the window and looked her in the eye.  It wasn’t an animal who stared at her, but another thinking being.  A mean one.

She recognized the look.  She’d seen in the eyes of the psychopaths she’d been lucky enough to catch and put away.  Worse she’d seen in the eyes of the smarter psychopaths she hadn’t been able to catch and put away.

There was a breakdown in authority in this county.  She recognized the signs.  Once, when a wildfire had nearly consumed the west side of the neighboring town of Redmond, the sheriff of that county had called in a panic.  He was completely ineffectual, and she drove the thirty miles in ten minutes and took over.

But meanwhile, the criminals had been free to do their damndest, while the officials tried to control the panic.  Never should have got that far, but it happened.

No one was in charge here. There had been that tone in the 9-1-1 operators’ voice, the one that said she was scared and didn’t know what to do and there was no one who could tell her.

To hell with it, Barbara thought.  I’m retired.

Besides, there was no chance that they’d let some strange woman take over.  It had been bad enough in Crook County, where she’d had decades of experience to back her up.

She had thirty-six bullets in her box, and the fifteen in her clip. There was another clip in the glove box of the car and she decided to go get it.

She opened the door carefully, but there wasn’t a pig to be seen.  She walked quickly down the walk.  She’d learned from experience to move steadily, with economy of movement, and she’d get the job done faster and more efficiently than if she hurried.  She got to the car, opened the passenger door, dropped the glove box and reached in for the clip.  She was keeping an eye and ear out for the pigs, so when one came around the corner and stopped dead in its tracks, she watched it carefully.

It raised its snout and squealed.

She put the clip in her pocket and turned to walk back the house.  She sensed a single javelina wouldn’t attack.

But fifteen would.  They came around the house at a full run.  She stopped and turned toward them.  Training took over.  Moving target, friend or foe.  Well, this was easy.  All foes.

She dropped one, then another, then a third.  Several of the others tripped and tumbled over their dead mates.  Barbara killed the lead pig each time, and it seemed to sink into their consciousness because suddenly, none of them were in a hurry to be first.

Then the intelligent javelina, the Mean One, came around the corner, staying well back. It grunted commands and the pigs surged forward again.

Barbara had been slowly retreating to the house the whole time.  She was halfway there.  Again she stopped and squared up on the pigs.  She fired steadily, one by one, and it was a slaughter.

Then she missed, and in the second it took to fire again, the next animal was five feet closer.  The others followed.  She missed again, and now they were ten feet closer.  She tried to keep the panic down, to fire steadily, but her nerves overrode her brain, and she missed two more times, even at close range. 

Then she was clicking on an empty chamber.  She turned and ran for the open door, pulling the extra clip out of her pocket and sliding it home.  She felt a sharp pain in her right leg, and staggered.

Fuck it, she thought.  If I’m going to get killed by pigs, it won’t be by running from them. 

She stopped, and several of the pigs actually went by her and had to turn around.

Suddenly it was as if she could see and hear everything.  Her hand was steady, and it seemed like her hand moved in a blur.  Blam, blam, blam.  The rest of the javelinas went down.

Without a second thought, she turned to where she’d last noticed the Mean One, but it was already turning and running.  She wasted the last five bullets of her clip trying to hit it, but it was gone.

She turned and limped into the house and slammed the door.  Her legs began shaking so badly, she sat down on the small rug at the entrance.  She felt dizzy. She looked down at her leg.  It didn’t hurt, but her entire pants leg was soaked.  She was going to bleed out.

She pulled out her belt and circled her upper thigh and cinched as tight as she could.  Holding onto the belt, keeping the pressure, she made it to the bathroom.  There was a jar of superglue there, and scissors.

She cut away the trousers and groaned at the gash she saw on the fatty part of the back of her shin.  She squeezed the cut together, nearly poured the glue over it, and held on. 

Minutes passed, and she wasn’t sure if she lost consciousness or not, but somehow she managed to keep the cut closed.  When she finally let go, her glue covered fingers pulled some of the skin away, but the cut stayed glued shut.

Then she lay over on the bathroom matt and passed out.

Pain woke her.  She’d let loose of the tourniquet while she slept, but it didn’t matter.  She hadn’t lost any more blood.  She’d survive if the injury didn’t get infected.  She had enough antibiotics to keep that from happening.  She needed to drink plenty of fluids for a while, but she hadn’t lost so much blood that she was incapacitated.

She washed down some pills.

She took off the rest of her pants, washed up as best she could, and wrapped some bandages around the wound.

She limped her way to bed.  Before she fell asleep, it occurred to her that in her attempt to get a clip of fifteen bullets, she had expended thirty bullets, for a net loss of fifteen.

She laughed.  It was worth it. 

It had been the most terrifying, the most exhilarating, the most fun experience she’d had in Arizona.  Even more terrifying than her Internet dates.

And she’d shown the pigs what’s what.

She figured they’d think twice before testing her again.