The half a dozen or so wooden boxes of dynamite sat atop the flame retardant grass. Chaz sat them a safe distance away from the Honcho before his horrid death. But the bullets whizzed overhead. The squad car could only provide so much protection. DuPont considered his options under the mounting heat and gunfire.
“I think we’re dead, folks,” he announced to the others.
“You son of a bitch!” Oren said.
“Chill!” called the priest. “C’mon Mo. We gotta do something here.”
Moses remained flattened to the ground next to Hutch. He briefly lifted his head. “Respectfully father, you can go fuck yourself,” he said.
Another flaming arrow whizzed from the sky and blew the priest’s cossack right off his head. “My cossack!” he screamed.
“It’s a hundred fucking degrees out here! Why are you even wearing that?” DuPont asked him.
“The arrows are coming from the second floor window!” Hutch cried out.
Arrows and shurikens were quickly hurled towards Hutch and Moses and the two climbed to their feet and rushed toward the crowded back end of the squad car. Everyone was trapped. “We at least got to try to get to the dynamite,” the priest said.
“Fuck that!” Moses yelled.
“Mo! What other option do we got?”
“Surrender!”
“Are you stupid? They’ll kill us no matter what and you know that!”
“We need to get to the boxes before they start shooting at them!” DuPont said. “If we’re all gonna die, let’s at least die together!”
“What’s the plan then?”
“There’s not much of one. When the tracers stop, I’ll unload the shotgun in their direction. You, father, direct your fire toward the second story window. The rest of you grab as many dynamite sashes as you can before things get too hot and then bolt it towards the other end of the house. We’ll give you fire cover the entire time. At least until we run out of bullets and shells. Goddamn, I wish I had some lemon frags!”
TO BE CONTINUED…