A Fight (part 1)

When the proposal to stash a few of the pistols, and one rifle, at the gatehouse had originally been brought up, Grant had been opposed to the idea. The wall wasn’t finished, and while the gatehouse did have a door internally, it didn’t have an internal lock, just a simple latch. As he and Alice grabbed a weapon, Grant the rifle and Alice one of the pistols, he was suddenly glad that he had listened to Old Man Travis, one of the neighbors who’d insisted that you never knew where you’d be when trouble tried to start. Grant was also determined to make sure that they installed one of the locks on the door, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass it would be to get duplicate keys made.

As the air horn sounded in the prearranged signal to alert everyone, Grant was racing up the stairs. Alice peeled off at the stairwell landing, turning around to look back down the stairwell so that they could watch to make sure no one snuck up on whoever was on top of the gatehouse. As Grant reached the top, the rifle slung in his arms so that he wasn’t bashing it against anything nor pointing it the guard on watch, he tried to slow enough that it wasn’t appearing as if he was out of breath. The fact that he had raced up the stairs made that a little difficult, but he wanted to present himself as if he was calm and collected, rather than feeling rushed. He certainly didn’t want to look worried, especially since he was.

Standing next to Brittany, Grant took a moment to look her over. His Imprinted took there in most of her police uniform. While she didn’t wear the shirt anymore, she did wear the ballistic vest, and her utility pants. With her pistol still holstered, she looked like a modern day amazon, and he was thrilled to see it. Not just for the eye candy she was presenting, but the fact that she had her pistol in it’s holster meant that, at least for now, there wasn’t likely to be much in the way of immediate, right that second, danger of a firefight starting. He was also extremely happy to see that it was Brittany up here, with her expert rating with pistols. If a firefight did break out, between her expertise and his experience with a rifle, he was sure that they would account for themselves well.

When he looked out towards the road, the very thing that he had expected, and somewhat dreaded, was coming to pass. There was a group of about ten men, most between the ages of twenty and thirty, with three women hanging somewhere in the back. The big outlier, however, was one man who was towards the middle. He stood out not just because he was approaching fifty, but because Grant already knew who this man was. It was Jim Benson, Sarah’s husband…or was it former husband now? The way that Claiming and Imprinting worked, it was clear that whatever relationship that had been in the past was superseded by the new relationship. It was something that, if he had been in Jim’s shoes, he would have been just as angry about. Seeing as he was on the other side of it, he could only sympathize with the older man. But, while sympathetic, Grant knew he would fight to keep Sarah, and he also knew that Jim would fight to get her back.

As soon as Grant appeared, a small growl went through the assembled people heading down the street, and the hairs on Grant’s arms raised. Not at the attempt to intimidate him, or at least, not directly because of it. As he looked at them, one carrying what looked like am AR-15, and another with a sawed off shotgun, Grant knew that at least one person was going to die today. He wasn’t sure how many more than one, and he wasn’t sure who it would be, but he knew that it was going to be a fight.

“If it gets ugly, or someone tries something stupid, shoot the one with the rifle first, Brittany. I’ll go for the one with the shotgun, and we’ll see after that. It looks like most of them have knives, or bats. Though Jim there, the older guy in the middle? He’s got a machete in his hand, but you can see a pistol jutting from his right pocket. You’d think he’d know better than to put a pistol in his pocket with a wife as smart as Sarah.”

Brittany didn’t say anything, but nodded as she kept her eyes on the approaching group. From behind him, Grant could hear the muffled code words being passed up the stairwell to Alice, who then softly called for the new arrivals to come up. The booted footfalls of Katie and Hannah Warner. They weren’t as proficient with their pistols as Brittany was, but the arrival of two more trained police officers, used to having to idea of having to fire their weapons, and who were qualified, eased the tension in Grant significantly.

“That’s fair enough! What do you want?” Grant called, when they were about half a block from the gatehouse. It was a convenient spot, since it would keep the shotgun from being an effective weapon, without doing much to hinder the pistols. That meant that, if it did come to a fight, the approaching group was at a disadvantage. It wasn’t fair, but as his dad had once told him, “Fair Fights are for Suckers.” A sentiment that several of the neighborhood men seemed to agree with as rifle barrels poked out here and there through the heavy steel shuttered that had been installed on all the windows in their neighborhood’s group. It had been expensive, and was the main reason that more of the defensive preparations around Grant’s house weren’t complete. Given the fact that everyone had some level of defense, however, was something he didn’t begrudge anyone. Not when it meant that on days like today where blood was in the air.

“Don’t be stupid, Grant. You know why we’re here. You showed up at my house, with about ten women all to yourself. You stole my wife, you stole my house, and you stole my life! I want it back you little shit! And since you took everything from me, I’m gonna take everything from you!” Jim shouted back, a drop of spit flying from his mouth. At the savage growl that came from the group, half agreement with how ridiculous it was that one man should have so many women when they clearly didn’t, and half in lust at the thought of taking those women from him, any hope that this would end peacefully disappeared.

“Okay, and?” Grant said back. Not because it was some level of intelligent reply, but because he knew it would be unexpected. He had no intention of playing by whatever rules that Jim thought he had covered. He had no desire to let Jim call the shots. “You didn’t answer my question either. What do you want?”