Previously: Rat calls Sparrow in a panic because a hunter has broken into his home.
The Birds
installment 7
Rat's back door was ajar when Sparrow arrived, the frame damaged from where someone had kicked it in with the bolt done. She toed it open wide enough to step through, both hands on her gun, and scanned foyer. "Hello?" she called into the empty house, knowing Rat wouldn't answer, but hoping to draw the hunters out. She slunk along one wall to the living room, heard the ruckus below her, and when she rounded the corner, saw the basement door busted off its top hinge. "Destructive sons of bitches aren't you?" she muttered, holding the door to the side so she could get down the stairs.
She heard the toppling of a heavy piece of furniture, followed by the shattering of a lamp, and eased down a few more steps, far enough that she could look around the railing and see most of the space. An armoire was lying on its back, and a dresser had a leg snapped off and cavities where drawers should have been. Sparrow lifted onto one foot, craning her body just a little more to see just a little further.
There he was, a big, ugly, bald son of a bitch, grasping the underside of a couch, about to flip it. Sparrow took the rest of the stairs two at a time. She got off one shot before he even turned around, hitting him in the back just below his ribs. The second shot was a through and through his temple. He crumpled to his knees, than collapsed forward, blood pooling around his head, and soaking into the carpet.
"Alright, Rat," she started to holster her gun, "You can come out now. He's dead." She searched the room for the one-eyed furry face, but didn't see him. "Rat? Come on, man. You okay? Gimme something so I can – "
Meaty fingers grabbed the wrist of her gun hand and twisted it behind her back, so Sparrow pulled the trigger. The hold on her immediately released. The hunter fell onto his butt with a howl, clutching at his bleeding foot. "Didn't your mama tell you not to mess with a girl carrying a gun?"
Bang. Right between the eyes. Bits of brain and skull spattered onto the upholstery of the couch the first brute had tried to tumble.
"Rat," this time Sparrow held her gun ready, "if there's more than those two, you better give me a sign. And if there's more than three, I'm gonna beat you when this is through because I only brought one extra clip."
A spectacled face poked out a hole in the insulation.
Sparrow put her hands on her hips. "Now, if you could do that, why the hell didn't you just leave the house?"
The ferret weaseled the rest of the way out of the wall, got up on its hide legs, and squeaked, because that was the most it could do.
"You know," Sparrow squatted so as to be closer to eye-level with him, "If it wouldn't kill you, I'd smack you upside the head right now."
Upstairs, someone was pounding on the front door. Then something crashed.
"Shit!" Sparrow swore.