Hank wasn't really watching the television. He just couldn't concentrate. It was those damned kids' fault. They had no business going up to Warden's Lodge, no-one did. It only ever led to trouble and pain, and usually death.
The shotgun was beside his chair. It was rarely far from him anyway, but today he had cradled it all the time since the outsiders had visited the station. He picked it up and cracked it open to check the cartridges yet again. They were still there.
Perhaps some porno would work for him. Titties and pussy certainly looked good on the big screen. It, and the Blu-ray player, had come out of a big rig which had got into trouble down the road and, somehow, caught on fire whilst the driver was being taken to the hospital. The films had all been ordered over the internet- if the stuffy ladies in the local library only knew what he was doing with their computers, they'd have a fit. Hank shuffled over to the heavily laden bookshelf and started perusing his ample selection.
Hot Asian Ass #17 looked good. He had all the other discs in the series- apart from #12, he'd never been able to get that for some reason- and they were all fine spank material. The new edition had been part of the last big order he'd received and been a favourite for the last few weeks. With a grin and the stirrings of a boner, he opened the case.
There was no disc in the case. That was odd, but not surprising. He sometimes left them in the machine, or put them back into other cases. He picked a few more cases from the shelf. If Hot Asian Ass #17 wasn't in the player, one of the other cases would have something worth watching.
The floorboards creaked as Hank walked across the room. They were familiar noises. Sometimes the shack- which some optimist had built as a guest house when the service station first went up- would all but talk to him, telling him which bits needed replacing or were about to fail. He glanced at his chair, the shotgun was still propped up against it.
There was no disc in the Blu-ray player, a little confusing but not something to worry about right now. Hank opened the top case from his selection. It was empty. He shuffled it to the bottom and opened the next case. Also empty. Hank let this one drop to the floor and opened the next. Also empty. As were all the others as he worked his way through them.
Then the shack talked to him. It told him there was someone sneaking around, but it couldn't tell him where they were. They might even be on the roof.
Hank turned slowly, and the sneak moved. Now he was certain they weren't on the roof, but by the nearest window. If he could get to the shotgun he would put both barrels through the glass and take them down. He stole a glance at his chair, then did a double take when he realised the gun wasn't there any more. How had they done that without him noticing? The door behind the chair, out on to the porch, was open. He felt sick to the stomach when he realised that, all these years, he had been sitting with his back to that door, just inviting any sneak with a garotte in.
There was a light snap, and then a fluttering whistle, followed by a crash and a pop beside him. He jumped away from the noise and looked around. Protruding from the flat-screen was a silver semi-circle. Cracks radiated away from the half disc, and smoke rose up from them. Hank read "Dirty Little", in a lurid pink, on the bit of the disc which was showing and scowled. That was one of his Blu-rays.
There was another snap from outside. Hank ducked before he heard the warbling of a disc in flight. Another semi-circle appeared in the flat-screen. He didn't bother reading the title of this one.
There were three doors out of the room. There was the open one onto the porch, one out of the back to the bedroom and another leading to the kitchen. If he could get to the kitchen, Hank could use the side door and have his escape covered by the garage on that side of the shack. Then it was only a short run to the back of the store, with the .45 he always kept just inside the door.
Another snap and warble, and another disc was embedded in his flat-screen Hank ran for the kitchen. He only fought with the door for a moment before getting through it. The thuds of impacting discs were coming more often, but they were still all coming through the porch door. He paused by the worktop and grabbed the biggest knife he had, and the heavy bone breaking meat cleaver he used when butchering deer. Armed, he went out through the side door.
There was enough moonlight to make out the shape of the garage and the path which ran around it. Old machinery had accumulated back here, and even further into the workings, over the years and it hunched by the path as threatening shapes. Knife and cleaver held out at the ready, Hank sneaked along the path. The trees behind the junk pile rustled in the wind and he turned toward the noise. Nothing else moved, so he went back to sneaking.
Nothing else stirred as Hank sneaked to the corner. It was only as he leant against the wall that he realised the sounds of impacting discs had ceased. He couldn't go back, though, so he had to make the run to the store. The cleaver was too heavy, he let it fall and grasped the corner with the freed hand.
Hank pushed off the corner and started the nearest thing he could to a sprint toward the store. All he could hear was his own feet slapping on the earth, all he could see was the door he was aiming for. He was halfway there when the door opened. He raised the knife and carried on charging toward the silhouette in the doorway. The figure raised a familiar shape to its shoulder. Now Hank knew where his shotgun had gone. He had one last chance to curse those damned kids before both barrels thundered.