Joan:

Aunt Carol had a few guns locked up in a safe under the bed. I saw Hank cringe a little when I pulled them out so I set him to making little spike traps by hammering six-inch nails through squares of plywood while I cleaned the guns. There were two hand-guns, a hunting rifle, and a pump action shot gun. The wooden chest in front of the bed was stocked with ammo for each one. We were more than equipped, so long as Hank was willing to use one. Being skittish around guns is not a bad thing, far more preferable to being too cocky. I still felt tense whenever I carried one. But in this situation, any philosophical qualms about gun use had no place. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. If people were trying to kill me with guns, I was well within my rights to defend myself with the same tool. Somehow this logical frame of mind did little to ease the nagging discomfort. I sighed.

“Well then,” I thought, clicking the safety back on one of the handguns, “better try and prevent things from escalating.” I stood from my cross-legged position on the floor and stretched. Hank was almost finished with the spikes. 

“I’m gonna grab the rest of the supplies from the car,” I said as I grabbed the keys from the kitchen table. Hank nodded without looking up, intent on his project. “I’ll explain the rest of the game plan, too.” I had to shout a bit to make sure he heard over the hammering. Stepping out the front door I realized how close the sun was to the horizon. “Damn,” I thought, “ at this rate we won’t finish until late tonight.” The car door unlocked with a click. Once propped open, the trunk revealed a treasure trove of trap-making materials. I’d insisted we stop on the way and stock up. There were a few shopping bags worth of copper wire, candles, electrical tape, road flares, heavy-duty batteries, twine, and pyramid spikes. On sudden inspiration, I’d also purchased some little noise alarms, the kind you clip on your bag to alert you to pickpockets. I grabbed all four plastic bags and hauled it all inside. Hank had finished hammering and was inspecting his work on the spikes. I plopped the bags on the counter and started sorting the equipment.

“So you’re going to bury these little devils in the gravel around the back door?” Hank asked, gesturing with a spike.

I stacked the copper wire next to the batteries and replied, “correction, we are burying those babies around the back door. If you don’t see where they’re placed you won’t know how to avoid them.”

Hank shrugged, “Ok, fine. What other nasty surprises you plan on makin’?” He stood and walked over to look at the stacks I’d made.

I pointed to the first grouping, “copper wire and batteries and provide an electrical current to most window sills,” I explained, “that’ll keep anyone from trying to enter that way.” Gesturing to the next pile, I went on, “the twine, noise makers, and road flares work together as a very hard to miss alarm via trip wire system.” Finally, I nodded towards the pyramid spikes with a grimace, “those vicious things are for puncturing tires.” Hank delicately picked one up and examined it.

He frowned, “are these things exactly legal?”

I shrugged, “technically you can order them off Amazon, though the use of them is rather frowned upon.” Hank stared incredulously. I scowled, “No I didn’t stupidly order them on Amazon. Good lord, have a little faith.”

Hank threw up his hands and replied, “Never thought you did, I’m more unnerved at the thought of any idiot with a credit card getting’ their hands on these.”

Oops, “Oh,” I returned sheepishly, “yeah it is a bit worrying,” I finished lamely.

Hank replaced the spike, “So why would you want to puncture the tires of whatever creeps are on their way?” He looked at me pointedly,

I looked away before answering, “Wouldn’t want to give whoever’s coming the advantage of a speedy getaway. Come on, let’s go bury some spikes before it gets to dark.” I turned with the bag of pyramid spikes and grabbed my flashlight from the counter just in case. Hank gathered his nail sand wood spikes into a spare plastic bag and followed.

“Don’t you want to chase these guys off?” he asked, holding open the back door.

“The first wave will likely be more of a scouting mission. They’ll want to find out how well equipped we are for the second wave, where the real fighting starts,” I explained. The gravel crunched beneath our feet as we spread out to scatter the spikes.

“Where did you learn so much about battle strategies?” questioned Hank.

I flicked my flashlight on and held it dramatically under my chin, “from playing dungeons and dragons.”

Hank burst out laughing, “that explains it!” His booming laughter echoed across the plains. It was so bizarre and jovial I couldn’t keep from laughing too. Soon we were both bent over with tears in our eyes from the fit of giggles. Every time we made eye contact we started laughing with renewed vigor all over again. The whole situation was just so ridiculous.