I jerked out of a sound sleep by something I couldn’t place, and sat silently a moment in my recliner. The thin blanket I used lay off to one side, and my shabby pillow askew. Taking a swig from the cup that was perpetually half-full of some kind of liquor, I shoved myself up and walked quietly to the door, bending slightly and peering into the orchard.

I lit another cigarette and peered into the gloom of my orchard. Well, it isn’t really my orchard, I reflected, squatting on the roof of my double-wide, but it might as well be. The owners had given up trying to produce fruit from the fire-blighted walnut trees, and without the money or the laborers, they couldn’t even tear the trees out, let alone replant the forty acres. So it was as good as mine; all the half-dead trees and over-grown weeds, the birds and squirrels that chattered incessantly, the lizards and rodents and the grass snakes that hunted them….

Movement to the east snapped me out of my reprieve, and I quickly snuffed my cigarette. A few moment’s watching confirmed that someone was in my orchard, making their way toward my home. I slithered down the backside of my trailer, the .22 clutched tightly in my hand, and moved west behind the intruder.

As I peeked out through the trees, I watched the moonlit form bend to pick something off the ground, and, to my dismay, toss whatever it was at the roof of my home. After a few second debate about which would be more satisfying, an unknown death from a distance or a slow and personal one, I made his way silently toward the person who was bending for another handful of nuts. Only when they straightened and pulled their arm back for another throw did I place the muzzle in the small of their back. It was then I noticed the thinness of the frame, the delicate curves of the arm muscles, the slightness of the neck…

My momentary pause saved her life. The girl turned her head and muttered something, but it wasn’t her words that made me remove his finger from the trigger. My cousin stood on the other end of my shotgun, and now that the blood had quit roaring in my ears, I could hear the quiet but vile curses she was flinging at me as she turned and planted the barrel in her own stomach. Ignoring it for now, I glanced around, and, not seeing what Liz had set out to find, lowered the gun and silenced her with a simple question.

“Is she dead?”

Liz stopped her tirade and looked lost a split second before letting out and very un-Liz-like, “Oh!” She dropped her arms and made for the edge of the orchard, with me close behind. Reaching the fourth row in from the road, I spotted the mess that was Percy, propped against a dead tree, and turned to wordlessly confront Liz. She, in turn, purposefully avoided my gaze and lifted Percy to her shoulder, tromping back in the direction of my trailer, careful even in her anger to not jar our cousin’s battered body. I followed closely behind, shotgun ready, tensed for the sound or sight of pursuers.

As we reached the trailer and Liz went to lay Percy on the bed, I realized that Liz wouldn’t have left Percy unguarded if she’d been concerned about being followed. Liz emerged from the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, and I concentrated on nothing more important than pouring myself a drink with hands that must belong to someone else, as they trembled and shook violently. I’d set the bottle on the counter and lit a second cigarette when Liz brought my attention away from the stranger’s hands that, though I was making every effort to quell it, refused to quit shaking.

“She’s been bleeding for about six hours. I don’t know exactly how bad it is, but…it’s bad. Can you…”

She trailed off as I drained the liquor and handed her the empty glass and the lit cigarette. She refilled the glass as I laid the gun on the recliner and lit another cigarette for myself.

“What have I told you about your stupid ‘welcome home’ parties, Liz? You’re going to actually kill one of us one of these times.”

I sighed as I stooped to open the door underneath the sink, retrieving my bag of various instruments for occasions like these. Liz’s fuckin’ ‘parties’ had left all of us with more than a few scars, and me with a ton of experience playing doctor.

Cigarette hanging from the corner of my mouth, I nodded to the gun and muttered, “Anything that comes within twenty feet of the door, shoot it through the head.”

Liz nodded, and I made my way to the bedroom, wondering if I should have one of the others meet me, or if Liz would be enough help. I grinned to myself and plopped the bag down next to Percy, who has dead to the world and bleeding profusely. No one would be of any use, if there was anything I could really do to save her. I drained the glass I’d snagged on my way back, snubbed my cigarette out on the carpet, and went to work on Percy with the smell of burning plastic in my nose.

Seven and a half hours later, I stood and stretched. After clipping the last bit of stitching from my needle, I surveyed my sister and decided I was satisfied enough. She’d live. Maybe.

I carefully moved my equipment into the bathroom, dumping most of it in the tub. After scrubbing myself clean enough, I made my way to the front of the trailer, finding Liz asleep with a half-burned cigarette in her mouth, and my gun on the floor, her hand dangling a few inches above it.

A well-placed smack on the back of her head brought her ‘round, and she fixed me with a bleary-eyed, angry stare. I smiled and pointed to the bathroom.

“You’ve got some work to do, Cuz. And mind that it’s all spotless when you’re done. I can’t abide dirty tools.”

Liz rose from the chair, grumbling, and made her way sullenly to the bathroom. “It’s your stupid mess, you dumb bitch!” I hollered after her, pulling a bottle of brandy from the cupboard and finding a glass. Settling into my recliner, I pulled my .22 across my lap, and, babying my drink, waited to see if Percy would actually wake.