He still loved his job. He didn’t want to do anything else. He liked talking to people and he liked helping his neighbors. Most folks in the area respected his badge. There’d always been a few who didn’t, and in the past he could knock respect into their heads, but that was frowned upon these days.
Besides, he didn’t have the strength he used to. Didn’t have a lot of what he used to. His joints hurt most of the day, and his back had given him grief for the last ten years. His doctor bitched at him to eat better and get more exercise, but Ben didn’t see the point in eating boring food and visiting a gym for what he had left of this life. One of the perks of being a human being was eating delicious food. And if it was delicious, that meant his doctor was against it. Ben would rather enjoy his meals than try to please his doctor. His wife was an incredible cook. He patted his bigger-than-it-should-be belly. A badge of honor.
He turned off the two-lane highway onto the narrow road that eventually led to the Hill home. A person lurched out of the darkness and into his headlights, waving their hands for him to stop.
“Franklin Delano Roosevelt!” Ben swore. His car skidded as he braked hard.
A moment later he recognized Jim Hotchkiss. The neighbor who’d called in the prowler.
Ben lowered his window. “You waiting for me, Jim?”
“Yep. Took you long enough.” Jim was wearing his usual overalls and a heavy canvas coat. The thin man had lost most of his teeth a few decades back and rarely wore his dentures.
Ben put on a patient face. “Came as fast as I could. What’d you see?”
“Two men poking around Hill’s three outbuildings. With the fires of the last few weeks, I thought I’d let you confront them first instead of me just scaring them off.”
“See any weapons?” Ben asked.
“Too far off. Too dark. And there might have been more than two people, but I saw two for certain.”
“Head back home, okay?”
Jim looked out at the highway. “You got some backup coming?”
“They know I’m here. I’ll radio if I think it’s something I can’t handle.”
The skepticism on Jim’s face stung Ben’s ego. He waved off the man and rolled up his window. The chill from the night air had frosted the dried grass along the road, and his headlights gave it a silver cast. In just the short moment he’d had his window down, the interior of his car had completely cooled. He cranked up the heat and cautiously drove on, turning on his brights and watching both sides of the road for anyone else who decided to leap out of the darkness.
“Jim’s older than I am,” he mumbled. “Jerk doesn’t think I can handle myself.”
The ruts in the dirt road made his vehicle bounce and jerk, and he heard packed dirt scrape his undercarriage. One of these days, everyone in the department will have four-wheel drives. Right now, the department could afford only two.
He turned off the road into the Hills’ driveway. Someone had nailed two hubcaps to a pine, marking the driveway. Tacky, but effective, even in the dark.
Keeping his heat blasting, he lowered his window and listened as he drove. Ahead the Hill home was dark. Beyond it Ben could see the outline of a wide, low outbuilding and two small sheds beyond it. Ben stopped the car next to the house, but in a position where he could see all three buildings. He turned off the engine, but kept his lights on and listened again.
Quiet.
Too quiet?
Any moonlight was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Ben’s headlights were the sole source of illumination, and he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
They could have driven away in the other direction and not been seen by Jim.
Ben grabbed his big flashlight from his console and stepped out of the car. This wasn’t a job for the tiny LED flashlight on his belt. The big one felt good in his hand. Secure and powerful. It was a good friend. It’d been used to bust car windows, pound on doors, and even knock a guy in the temple. A dozen years ago a meth-head had rushed him, and since Ben had the flashlight in hand, he’d used it. The druggie had sunk to the dirt as if his bones had dissolved. Ben transferred the flashlight to his left hand, rested his other on the weapon at his hip, and walked toward the house.
“Hello? Anyone out here? Eagle’s Nest Police Department.”
He checked the security of the front door and shone his light on all the windows as he circled the home. Everything was intact. Heading to the largest shed, he shone his light as far left and right as he could. The powerful beam was penetrating, but all he saw were fences and bushes. He reached the barn, hollered his identity again, and then slid the giant door open, surprised it wasn’t locked. His flashlight revealed several empty stalls, and the strong scent of hay and livestock reached his nose. He strolled in, senses fully engaged, watching for prowlers.
A faint whoosh sounded outdoors. Ben spun around and darted back to the front of the shed, peering quickly around the corner before stepping out into the open. A faint flickering light reflected off the back of the house.
One of the other sheds has been set on fire.
“Eagle’s Nest Police Department!” he shouted.
The noise of a dirt bike engine reached his ears. Its sound grew fainter, heading away. Ben took that as a sign the firebug was taking off and stepped out of the low barn to assess the fire. One of the small sheds had just started to burn, and Ben smelled gasoline. He called dispatch for backup and fire support. He spotted a watering trough close to the small burning shed and went to disconnect the hose to play firefighter, suspecting he could have the fire out before backup arrived.
Something whirred by his face, and its wind brushed his cheek. Then he heard the shot.
He dropped to the ground and turned off his flashlight.
He shot at me!
Images of the dead deputies from the other night’s fire flashed in his memory. Thank the heavens above he missed. His wife’s face popped into his head, and he nearly wept with relief that he’d told her he loved her before leaving.
You never know when you won’t return.
He called dispatch again, adding that there was an active shooter on the property. He recognized Denise’s voice but didn’t bother to flirt. Her efficiency calmed him.
“You okay, Ben?” she asked after relaying his information.
“Just need a clean pair of pants.”
“Stay low.” They ended the call.
He rolled closer to the watering trough and started to crawl around to the other side to put some metal between him and the shooter and get out of the light from the fire. His breath came in short pants, and his knees ached from the cold of the ground. Far off, the dirt bike engine started up again. He hadn’t noticed it’d stopped before the shot.
Did someone that far away take a shot at me?
Are they gone now?
He didn’t feel like sticking his head up to find out. He cursed, glad his wife wasn’t in earshot, as he realized his trusty flashlight had been a beacon to guide the shot. He was crawling into the pitch blackness on the other side of the trough when his hand touched something warm and solid.
He jerked back his hand and strained to see in the black. The dark was too dense.
It’s alive.