text: [Themes: modern, thriller]
  
  "No!" you shout, hoping that both actors can hear you. "You two twits have been jerking me around all night. We're ending this here!"
  
  You pull away from Charlei and turn towards her husband, who appears as a silhouette in the rain beside the glow of the Ford's lights. As if to confirm the source of the shot you heard a moment ago, he does seem to be pointing a handgun of some kind in your direction — and the sight does give you a moment's pause.
  
  "Al, no, are you insane?" Charlei implores. "He'll kill us both!"
  
  "Why?" you say, looking back towards her. "What have I done to either of you?"
  
  But in truth, it is becoming increasingly difficult to carry on a conversation in these conditions. Not only is the wind itself loud, manifested here in the sound of tree branches clacking against each other and snapping apart, but it seems to be building up strength. It is literally breathtaking, and you assume these "companions" you have accrued tonight must be experiencing the same phenomenon.
  
  Of course, seeing Gordy pointing his gun at you dampens your bravery a bit, even if following his wife deeper into the storm isn't the least bit tempting.
  
  "That's it! Come a little closer!" Gordy is trying to say, but you can tell he is having difficulty maintaining his balance against the wind. His words are garbled by the time they reach your ears; you put them together based on the context of the situation.
  
  And then you get an unexpected boost from Bob himself: a big branch that must have been hanging over the road comes down in the wind, grazing Gordy but apparently knocking the gun out of his hands.
  
  "Shit!" you hear him yell clearly enough. It's your signal to run.
  
  But where?
  
  > run at Gordy. Now's your chance to take him down.
  You perceive Gordy to be a menace only so long as he has possession of that gun. Earlier, when you were all gathered in front of the Coopers' A-frame, you had assumed he was armed even if he had never revealed the actual piece. Now you know the gun is on the ground, so if you act swiftly you'll have the advantage.
  
  Therefore you rush toward him, shouting as you do in some sort of improvised war cry, although the wind drowns out most of it. Gordy seems befuddled, as if it is taking him longer than expected to find the gun. He looks like a helpless imp without it, his back nearly turned to you.
  
  Your bodies collide in the rain, and then ricochet off the open door of the truck. Gordy falls face-first into the rain-soaked gravel, you collapse backward into the crew cab. The truck is vibrating against your back; the key is still in the ignition and the engine is running, as if an invitation to climb in and drive away. But that would allow these two murderous lunatics to run free.
  
  Gordy is slowly scrambling to his feet again, and you realize his gun is still unaccounted for. It will be important to keep him off balance before he finds it again, so after putting your foot on his shoulder you send him backwards against a small rock sitting beside the road. Then you look for the gun yourself.
  
  There it is, sitting in a pool of water, a little rinky-dink snub-nosed pistol. All this mayhem, caused by a popgun! You see it first, and Gordy sees that you see it. Both of you make a lunge, and you are the one who wins that race.
  
  So now the tables are turned: you have the gun pointed at Gordy, and Gordy must be calculating whether it's worth coming at you. It's a wonder he can see anything with his glasses all dripping with water, but he doesn't seem distracted by it.
  
  "You got me, pig!" he says, extending his arms outward, as if in capitulation. The two of you are close enough that the wind apparently doesn't matter at the moment.
  
  "I don't know who you really are or what you're doing here, but this ends now!" you say, the pistol seeming to bolster your sense of dominance.
  
  "Then end it, then!" he shouts back, rising to his feet and stepping closer to you. "Better than you have tried!"
  
  The boldness of his advance is unsettling. He might actually force you to pull the trigger! You had assumed the mere fact it was in your possession would inspire him to be more compliant.
  
  "I'm warning you!" Saying those words, in this situation, makes you feel like an action move cliché. But you're not sure what else to say; this is your first showdown with a murderer.
  
  "If you were capable of killing me, Al, you wouldn't give me a warning. Not when I'm three feet away."
  
  He is being defiant, but cautious. His assessment of you is a theory that could still be disproved at any moment.
  
  And so you decide to disprove it. You point the pistol at his chest, pull the trigger....
  
  > Next page.
  Gordy rolls back his head in laughter when nothing happens.
  
  "I should've known that gun was no good!" he says. "I found it on one of your neighbors. My own got misplaced somewhere. Whoops."
  
  The snub-nose is a mere paperweight in your hands. Whether it was in the water too long, or is simply out of bullets, its lethality is now a thing of the past. So too is your feeling of control.
  
  "Don't worry, Al. There are other ways we can finish this."
  
  He lunges at you, and now it is you who is shoved into the side of the F150. Your back takes the full brunt of the impact; with no other ways to retaliate, you strike him in the head with the otherwise useless gun in your right hand. His glasses fly off in the rain, broken in two parts.
  
  "Son of a bitch!" he shouts, reeling away. "Son of a bitch!"
  
  His hand is pressed against his left temple, in the spot where you struck him. Blood oozes out from between his fingers.
  
  "We can keep this up all night long, if that's what you want!" you say, the pistol still in your hand.
  
  "No, nuh-uh. I've toyed with you long enough."
  
  It's a bold statement, but Gordy is still bent over, holding the side of his head. He finds the remains of his glasses, realizes they are useless now, but stuffs them into a pocket anyway.
  
  "Then end it, then!" you shout, parroting his own words back at him. "Bigger than you have tried!"
  
  Everything about this seems absurd. Here you are, each of you apparently fighting for your lives, although you haven't the slightest clue what the provocation was — what brought him to your door in the first place. It's like this lunatic couldn't think of a better way to pass a Saturday night, and by pure chance you've been swept up in his rage.
  
  Despite his bravado, though, Gordy seems a bit undone by your blow, like he's going to need an extra moment to recover. Maybe this is it, maybe this is over. The energy spent, the moment passed. You expect his next ploy to be something along the lines of kiss-and-make-up.
  
  You could use a breather yourself, so while Gordy is moving toward the tailgate of your truck, you shut the door and lean against it, catching your breath and feeling the sweat from your forehead mixing with the rain as it streams down your face.
  
  The blow comes out of nowhere.
  
  It strikes you on the chin, and you can feel a piece of bone careening into your throat — a chipped piece of tooth. The rock that struck you falls to the ground at your feet.
  
  The next rock hits you square in the chest.
  
  Charlei emerges from the shadows of the forest, a potato-sized rock in her hand. She doesn't wait for you to respond or plead with her; she just lifts her arm up and back, then pitches the stone straight at you. It glances off the tips of your fingers, which are held up before you in self-defense, and strikes your cheekbone. Gordy comes at you from the side, a long and sturdy stick in his hands. He swings it as hard as he can at your stomach.
  
  You double over, then collapse to the ground, your head coming to rest against the side of the Ford. Gordy steps in front of you before turning to his wife.
  
  "What took you so long?" he says. He doesn't sound pleased with her. "I was dying over here. This effer broke my glasses!"
  
  "I thought you had control of the situation!" she says, as if hurt that he is upset with her.
  
  "We can discuss it later."
  
  "Oh, don't be such a baby, Gord-O! I didn't go anywhere. When I saw this pig was getting the better of you, I came to your rescue!"
  
  "I said, we can discuss it later!"
  
  "Al, are you listening to this? I think you hurt Gordy's pride."
  
  "It took you, like, half an hour to show yourself, Charlei! I was doing all the work here, and where were you?"
  
  "Yeah, right, you were doing all the work. Al was kicking your butt, that's what was happening. Good thing your wife came along to save your sorry ass!"
  
  "We're supposed to be a team. I don't know what's so hard to understand about that."
  
  "So what. You got a bruise. I thought the gun was loaded. You know I don't like to see that."
  
  "It misfired. The gun."
  
  "Really? Where is it?"
  
  "There. He still has it."
  
  "Al, honey, do you mind if I take this?" Charlei then pries the pistol out of your hands. A moment later: "Well, I guess this thing is just a piece of junk, then."
  
  "So, you see? You need to pay more attention."
  
  "Just use a better gun next time! I'm not your mother."
  
  "It would be nice to know I could count on you, Charlei."
  
  "Oh my god. Look at you. You're acting like I was off screwing around."
  
  "I don't know what the hell you were doing. That's what I'm saying."
  
  "You're right. We will discuss this later." She kicks your foot gently. "So what about ol' Al here?"
  
  "What about him?"
  
  "Are you just going to let him go on suffering like this?"
  
  "I'm getting around to it. I'm just looking for something to do it with."
  
  "How 'bout that rock over there? That looks pretty nasty."
  
  "Hmm, that might work. You want to hang out here and watch?"
  
  "Of course not."
  
  "Then you might want to avert your eyes or something."
  
  "I'll be inside the truck seeing if I can find a better music station."
  
  "All right, I shan't be long."
  
  You feel the truck shake a bit as Charlei opens the passenger door and climbs inside. Gordy waits until she is done before hoisting the heavy rock she pointed out.
  
  "All right, Al," he says. "We both wanted this over. Are you ready?"
  
  Before you can answer, he brings the rock down as hard as he can muster.