Dreamtime

Dark, the middle of the night. Sometime after two, I thought. Why awake, and the exhaust noise was in my head. Was I dreaming it, or was it real? It was close, whatever the source. And then I heard it again.

The neighbor's driveway was close to our outside wall, maybe only 10 feet, and that's where the truck was. I was up and out of bed fast, you not even moving, oblivious. I was to the back office and could see the big white pickup rolling slowly down his drive, at an idle. It wasn't Neighbor, or a truck I'd seen before. Big crew cab, and I noted three heads in the back. And two in the front. All kinds of stuff piled high in the back of the pickup, lawn chairs, bikes, mowers, hoses lapping over the side.

Bam, it hit me, and I knew they were stealing from yards. Fast to the closet for the pistol. I reached up, knowing exactly what I wanted and where it was, and came down with the dinky little Walther .380. Strange, it's never stored there, not ever. Not what I wanted, and no time for that kind of small-caliber piddle. Another grab up onto the hidden shelf, and the Ruger .45 came down, that sticky rubber grip filling my hand perfectly, the weight lifting my anxiety. And then the magazines. Now to lock, load, slide and be ready.

But wait, no more engine noises, the vibrating burble of the big exhaust quiet. They'd stopped. The huge white outline was parked in my back yard, and I couldn't tell if the passengers were in or out. Had to be silent. Pressed myself against a wall, expecting a face to peer in through the window. Gotta get the pistol ready, but can't give it away with the noise of the magazine and slide. Can't move inside the house until I know where they are, if they're watching, or listening. Gotta keep my advantage in surprise. Gotta call 911, but can't get to the phone. Don't want to wake you, as dealing with you awake and unsure will be more work and more dangerous than you obliviously asleep. I don't want the burden of answering your questions, giving you guidance that you wouldn't understand immediately. You never wanted to listen when I talked about home security, more concerned with dead bugs on the porch than keeping the light on at night. So you'd be no help now.

And the kids upstairs. That's okay, for now. No way in up there, other than the locked windows, and no way to get to them other than the stairs right in front of me.

So much to do, in a tight and unsure environment. They can have the lawn chairs for all I care, and anything else out there, but it's shoot to kill if anyone steps into the house. Gotta find out where they are, and what they want. Five is a lot to deal with, but I've got 21 rounds racked and ready.