1. "Fine, stay here then. I'll leave the shotgun here and go alone. I'll have the 9mm in my pocket, hidden, in case something goes wrong."
David looks at you, but shrugs. "Fine," he says, "I'll stay by the car and cover you."
"You do that," you say, and put the shotgun back inside the car. Nicole looks up at you, worry showing in her dark eyes.
"Just stay in the car, honey sweetie sherriffiffififif dark lolita overlord, kin to the old ones kid," you say. She nods. "It'll be alright."
You turn to the house, making sure the 9mm is still in your leg pocket.
"Careful," David says from behind you.
You walk up onto the porch. The rocking chair is broken. There is a coffee can on the railing. It looks to be empty. There is a brown paper grocery bag with a single loaf of bread sitting in it.
The front door has a screen door over it. You pull it open and ring the doorbell.
Almost immediately you hear someone get up and start walking toward you from inside. You take a step back, and try to put a nice expression on your face. You hear the door unlocking.
The door swings open inwards. A middle aged man wearing plain clothing opens the door. Behind him you can see a slightly younger looking woman peering at you from the living room. A fire is going in the fireplace.
"Can I help you?" he asks in a clear voice.
You do a double take. No guns? No faceless? You half expect a child to run by, chasing a dog. Did the apocalypse somehow miss this house?
"Uh... yeah. We were just driving by, and noticed the smoke coming from the chimney, so..."
"Ah. I understand," says the man. He reaches out a hand. "Name's George. George Gibson." His hand and arm are large, and muscled, like the rest of him.
A bit nonplussed, you shake his hand and introduce yourself. "Nice to meet you," you say.
George turns toward the woman. "Honey, come on up here. There's a nice young man at the door."
The woman walks forward, timid. George makes room for her and she holds out a hand. You shake it and her grip is incredibly light. "How do you do," she says demurely. "My name is Anna." Her long dirty blonde hair frames a pretty face. She looks pretty good for her age. A small crucifix hangs around her neck, pressing against the fabric of her pale blue sundress.
You smile. "The pleasure is all mine."
George looks past you, out at the car. "Thought I heard something," he says. "But it's best to mind your own business these days, eh? Anyway, you and your friends are welcome to come in. Annabelle can cook something up for ya, can't you?" he says, smiling at her. His eyes are clear and without guile.
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1. Sure. Go on in, see what's cooking.
2. Well, a married couple in a country house. Whatever. No use to you. Time to go.
3. It'ss gotta be a trap. Kill them. Kill them both.
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Topic: The End (Read 57513 times)