Part 17- Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation

There was hardly anything left of it. It sat in ruin with soot so black it blended in with the night sky and smoke still rose from the rubble, merging with the wind. My house, destroyed. I stood there, looking at what had been my home for most of my life. I felt new pang of loss swept through me at the sight, but I didn't have any time to waste mourning over it. I needed to somehow get into the basement to see if the guns were all right. I just hoped that the fire hadn't reached them and completely ruined them.

I walked up the front lawn and the scorched grass was brittle beneath my feet. As I walked up to the front porch, I felt the full assault of the acrid stench of smoke hit me. It burned when I breathed in, but it wasn't enough to choke me. I still brought my shirt up around my mouth and nose to filter out the little bit of smoke that still lingered. Before leaving the hospital, I located my pajamas that I had been wearing when I was brought in by the ambulance and put them on. From there, leaving was a little bit trickier. I sort of felt like a criminal, sneaking my way out of the hospital as I tried avoiding Detective Wallis and the guarding police officers. In fact, I was a criminal, a murderer. Even if they didn't know it, it still didn't stop me from feeling that way and fleeing made me feel more lawless.

I cautiously climbed up the porch steps, testing the floor for any weak spots before using my full weight. It was tedious work, but barging in recklessly would be unwise. I wanted to move faster, needed to move faster, but in order to save myself and my family I had to work slowly. I made my way into the foyer and looked up to see stars. The second floor was almost completely gone and I heard it creak above me as the wind blew through. I started to sweat; my nerves were wound up so tight. Any minute the walls could collapse, crushing me or I could fall through the floor, breaking a leg or my back. I hesitated, one foot in front of me ready to move forward and the other edging back, eager to retreat back to safety.

I don't have a choice. I need to fix this.

I moved forward and made it to where the basement door used to be. I stood above the staircase, and I could see the fire department was able to put the fire out before it completely devoured the lower level. Unfortunately, the upper half of the staircase was charred and disintegrated. I couldn't see another way down other than trying to jump over the gap and onto the remaining lower stairs. They didn't seem to be burnt too badly and even if my weight happened to crush them, I would land on the concrete foundation below. Not a comforting thought, but what other option did I have? I braced myself.

As gracefully as I could, I leapt from the doorway and onto the fourth step leading up from the basement floor. I heard a crack as my weight shifted downward, but my reflexes were quick as I leapt again and felt my feet hit stable ground as the stairs fell in on themselves, leaving only the bottom step intact. Quickly, I looked under them and sorted through the soot and debris for the guns. I finally felt the nylon of the duffle bag and pulled it from beneath the rubble. It didn't feel as if it had been burned, but I couldn't tell in the darkness. I would need to find some light.

I looked back up the stairs. No way would I be getting out that way. I would have to climb out through one of the basement windows. They weren't very big, but I figured I would be small enough to fit through one. Before I left though, I wanted more clothing than the shorts and t-shirt I wore. I certainly couldn't face Billy's gang looking like I had just rolled out of bed. I could see it in my head: me, walking up to them with a bag of guns, ready for a slumber party.

Hey guys! I brought the entertainment, hope you brought the popcorn! I shook my head with dark amusement. At least some humor still lingered in me.

By memory and partial light that shone through the two blackened windows in the room, I reached out for the closet doors. Depending on the current season, my parents and I would store our clothes that weren't needed for that time of year. As it was now springtime, we had stored our winter clothes in the closet a few weeks back and I now searched for a pair of jeans, a shirt and a jacket. Finding what I needed, I quickly dressed. I grabbed a pair of boots too, deciding they'd be sturdier than a pair of tennis shoes. I made my way to the window, surprised the glass hadn't burst under the heat of the fire. I unlocked it and slid it open, pushing the bag out before me. I scurried against the basement wall and out onto the singed backyard, gasping for clean air. It felt so nice. With a surge of energy, I grabbed the bag and ran towards the detached garage at the edge of the yard.

Upon entering, I flipped the light switch on and set the bag on the ground, opening it up. The guns glistened in the light and I could tell they had been untouched by the fire. I took a deep breath and felt tears sting my eyes. It felt unusual, crying over guns, but I was just so happy that they were unharmed. They were almost like my pets as I sat there examining and stroking each one. Getting myself together, I used the little sink to wash myself off. I ran my fingers through hair and thought back to my parents in the hospital. I had visited them before I left, making sure they were okay. They had both been shot. My mother had been hit once in her right shoulder which shattered her collarbone. Other than that, she had just been roughed up by Billy's thugs. The emotional toll was worse than the physical damage, but she was okay for now. My father, however, had been shot three times.

The first two hit just below his left shoulder blade, puncturing his lung. The doctors managed to stop blood from accumulating by using a chest tube, suctioning it out and re-inflating his lung. Considering where the third bullet hit, the first two seemed like a scraped knee. The last one hit him in the middle of his back, brushing just past his spine and saving him from permanent paralysis. Instead, it entered his liver which resulted in major venous repair and a hepatotomy. I had been told not to expect him to make it out of surgery, but he had made it through. I saw him last because he still had not gained consciousness from the attack. I talked to him anyway, and I told him everything, apologizing through my tears. He lay there, so still and white like he actually was dead. Seeing him in that state added fuel to the already raging fire inside of me, and it was after that visit I had made my great escape.

Now, here I stood with guns scattered at my feet, disposed to my bidding. I loaded each one, placing the RZ-10s in the small of my back under the waistband of my jeans. I put the revolver in my coat pocket and the guardian in the side of my boot; it was a snug fit. I found the pocket knife in the bag as well and slipped it in my front jean pocket. I couldn't bring any spare bullets, but I brought two extra magazines for the RZ-10s.

Grabbing the extra key to my father's car, I got in and started the engine. As I waited for the garage door to go up, I prepared myself for what was about to happen. I was going to find Billy, his gang and kill them. I was going to do it, and I never felt so excited for anything in my entire life. I twitched involuntarily at the adrenaline that rushed through me. So many months of waiting and the time was finally here. I was ready, and I hoped they were, too.