Flash Fiction Challenge – Shotgun Bastards

So,there’s another challenge, this time involving a random title. I got Shotgun Bastards, and not only did this make me very happy, I want to write a whole bunch of stories with “Bastards” at the end. A bit violent, if you didn’t guess.


Shotgun Bastards

The first shot cut Morris in half, his upper half flying backwards, while his lower half just fell over, like crutches kicked from a lame boy’s hands.

Scarlet swung the shotgun around and levelled it at Tony, who was just pulling out his .45. She shot him in the neck, and the spray of lead all but decapitated him, his head exploding like an overripe melon, his neck reduced to sinewy shreds. He was long dead before the rest of his body slumped to the floor.

Scarlet knew these were the main enforcers, and she was in no hurry, so she ejected the spent shells and loaded up a couple more. She was giving the more cowardly members of the group time to escape, as she had no desire to blast all of them. After all, most of them were flunkies, mere hired day players, who had no idea what was going on, or the shitstorm they’d been thrown into. She only wanted true believers, the ones who deliberately cast their lot with Goran.

She slid her full shotgun into the holster slung over her back, pulling out the sawed off model, better for close quarters fighting. She hoped the remaining men left behind were smart and fled, but she wasn’t about to count on it.

She kicked open the front door of the run down farmhouse, and she pivoted as soon as she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and blasted the man before he could shoot her. You’d think he would have been faster since he had to know she was coming through the door, but he wasn’t smart if he decided to stay and fight.

Scarlet heard a creak from the stairs and ducked into a side hall as bullets suddenly rained down, splintering wood and buzzing around the room like angry wasps. She swapped shotguns again, exchanging the sawed off for the double barrel, and pulled a small make up mirror out of her pocket. She crouched down and held the mirror out, angling it to give her a better view of the stairs. There was just one man there, with a semi-auto, which almost made her laugh. The way he was spraying bullets around, he’d be out in no time.

As if on cue, he clicked dry, and she gave him a second to start reloading before she charged out, running towards the stairs, letting the barrel of her gun lead the way. He’d almost reloaded before she stopped and fired, the shotgun making a noise like God’s cough, a sound you could feel in your bones. His insides spilled out like he was a human piñata, and she took the stairs two at a time, swapping guns along the way, almost slipping in his guts at the top of the stairs.

She was expecting a greeting party in the hallway, but it was small and empty. Whoever was left probably assumed it would be an easy place to die, and was hiding in one of the rooms. Most likely, the room with Cal in it. The hallway was not well lit, so she let her eyes adjust, and saw the open door nearest to her was a bathroom, so immediately ruled out. She remained quiet and still, and waited. She assumed creaking in the old house would give it away, in spite of the fact that her ears were ringing from the shotgun blasts, but it was actually a shift of meager light underneath a door.

She considered for a moment the guy using Cal as a human shield, and then decided Cal would have found a way to signal her. It wasn’t him. So she shot through the door, splintering it in the middle, and causing a wet thud on the other side.

She kicked open the ruin of the door, and saw it was an austere bedroom, with a mattress on the floor, where the body almost hit (but didn’t). There was also a chair by the window, where a bloody Cal was duct taped to the chair’s back and legs. “You took your time, didn’t ya?” he said, spitting blood on the bare floor.

Scarlet put her shotgun back in the holster, and pulled a knife, which she used to slice away the tape. “Weren’t you supposed to send them to the warehouse?”

“I spit it out too soon. They figured it was a trap.”

“Stupid.” She crouched down, and was cutting away the tape on his legs when there was a creak in the hall. Cal grabbed a shotgun with his free hand, and shot whoever was trying to come in.

“I never was the brains of this operation,” he admitted, putting the gun back in its holster.

She shook her head. Only she would have a twin brother who seemed to lack everything she had. Except looks. At least he was attractive enough to distract the right people. “Do you at least know where Goran is hiding?”

“They referenced the shore a couple of times.”

“The shore ..? Holy shit, that beach house in Peterson’s name, I bet.”

Cal nodded, as she stood up and stepped back. He ripped off the rest of the tape, and stood up shaking his arms, like they were half asleep. “That’s what I was thinkin’.” He wiped his bloody mouth on the back of his wrist, and asked, “Should we pay dear old dad a visit?”

He grabbed one of her shotguns. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Goran had ignored them all their lives. Now it was time to see if he could ignore a shotgun barrel in his face.

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