The Last Stand

Brett looked up at the tattered wooden ceiling and wiped sweat from his eye with the back of his hand. Inside his chest, his heart pumped out of control, and it took him a few moments to regulate his breathing. The adrenaline surge was potent, and it dismayed him to see his hands shaking. He grimaced and made a fist to quell the mounting fear.

He chanced a quick glance toward the window; saw only sunshine blazing off the bright green leaves outside. Didn’t see his pursuers.

Too long, too long! He ducked down below the window, chastising himself for making an easy target for a sniper.

He listened. Heard only the breeze tickling the leaves and his own thundering heartbeat in his ears.

A quick glance around the room showed only Mike and Wes. He opened his lips, but only coughed. He buried his face into his grime-covered shirt to silence his treacherous mouth. When he was sure the coughing fit was indeed over, he dared once more to speak, “Wes? Are you with me?”

Across the room, Wes lay on his back. Brett couldn’t tell if his eyes were open, but his chest moved.

“Wes?”

No response, just a miserable moan.

Brett tried the other figure, “Mike?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You good?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Where are Danny and Cody?”

Mike, who was taller than the others, often found it difficult to hide, and he was contorted under a window of his own. He let his head sag to his chin, suddenly unable to meet Brett’s eyes, “I dunno. I don’t think they made it.”

Not the answer Brett wanted to hear. He chewed on his lip in frustration.

Mike reached one foot out to poke Wes, “Hey, you okay, bud?”

Without sitting up, Wes answered, “I’ve never run so much in my life. I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I’m through running.”

“Okay,” Brett said, “keep it down. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

Mike looked around and commented, “This rickety old shack is a terrible place for a last stand.”

Brett set his jaw, “It’ll do.”

“I’d rather try to make a break for the park. We’d have a better chance at the bandstand. Maybe even lose them in the woods.”

Brett shook his head, “Naw, they’re too good. They’d catch us for sure. And besides…”

He nodded toward the prone Wes, who grumbled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mike made a face, but Brett said, “That’s okay, that’s okay. We’ve got the high ground here. We can hold them off as long as we need to. How much ammo do we have?”

Mike rubbed a hand through his hair — how shaggy it had gotten over the summer. Again, he couldn’t meet Brett’s eyes, “Not much. I think I dropped almost everything I was carrying back by the brook.”

“Wes?”

“I dunno. Three or four, tops.”

“That’s not going to get us far,” Brett sighed.

“But you still have the ammo bag, don’t you, Brett?”

“No, I… I lost it somewhere.”

Wes finally sat up, “You what?”

Mike put a finger to his lips, “Shhh, man. They’ll hear us.”

“They know where we are. Don’t need to be quiet.”

Brett shrugged, “I don’t know, man. We were running, and I was so sure we were gonna get it on Kennesaw Street, or get ambushed under the stone bridge. I must have…”

Mike prompted, “Must have what, Brett?”

“I must have dropped it somewhere between the golf course and the high school.”

Wes closed his eyes and raised his head to the ceiling.

Mike frowned, “The high school would have been a much better place to hide.”

Brett shook off that idea, “Never happen. It’s locked up for the summer. We’d be setting off all kinds of alarms. That is something we do not want to deal with.”

Inevitability was becoming quite clear to Brett. He checked his pockets, but they were empty. Defeat was a harsh mistress.

From outside and below, “Hey, Brett! You up there?”

“Why don’tcha come up and check?!”

“No thanks. I’d rather see what happens from down here.”

“You got everyone with you?”

“They’re all here. Am I to expect your non surrender?

“You’re not going to take it from us! We will fight you to the end!”

“You’re surrounded, Brett! I give the word and it’s all over for you guys. Be reasonable!”

“Go to hell!”

A sigh, perhaps some quiet conversations with the others, Brett couldn’t tell. Then, “I want you to know that it didn’t have to be this way.”

“You always knew! There was never going to be another way! Never!”

“You’re stubborn, Brett.”

“That makes me heroic!”

“Naw. It makes you a loser.”

Brett made a COME HERE gesture with his fingers and whispered to his comrades, “Give me all the ammo you've got.”

“What?”

“I will draw their fire and you two hightail it to the park, maybe make it to the bandstand.”

“No, Brett! That’s stupid!”

Wes agreed, “There has to be another way, man.”

Brett put both hands over his eyes, “No. I owe you guys everything. Besides, It was me who dropped the ammo bag. It’s gotta be me.”

“No!”

“Get going!”

That snapped Mike and Wes into action, scrambling into position at the back window. They looked back, briefly, at Brett, before scuttling through to their freedom.

“I love you guys,” Brett said, then stood at the window to face the attackers, his spread arms laden with heavy artillery.

From below, “Don’t be stupid, Brett.”

But Brett wasn’t listening. The time for words had passed. He wasn’t going to go out without taking some of them with him. If there was just one thing he wanted in his epitaph, it was this: “NO GIRLS ALLOWED IN THE TREEHOUSE!”

He hurled every water balloon in his possession at the girls in the yard, but his little sister was ready with the hose, and doused him from head to toe before any of the balloons touched grass.