Battle at the Barn

A small spark caught the sulfur end of a wooden match, glowing a hot light and then shrinking into a teardrop yellow flame; the only light in the dark barn. Two dirty fingers and a scarred thumb transferred the match flame to a hand rolled cigarette with strands of brown tobacco sticking out the end of the white packaging. With a single puff the cigarette caught fire; pressed between the thin, dry lips of a chiseled man with gaunt cheeks and a prickly five o’ clock shadow spread over his face. The smoke exhaled from the oral cave and through yellow stained teeth, drifting upwards and hung in the cloudy, opaque, steel blue eyes of Mortimer Oswald. The wrinkles in his forehead cut across from temple to temple in four different lines, with the middle crease branching out a second smaller crease to make five in total. Mortimer’s pensive-locked expression dismissed him, for most, as a stern, imposing demeanor.

Mortimer’s cold eyes looked up at the match, which was transferred by the dirty fingers to the other mouth in the barn, Noah Leftfoot. His fore, middle, and thumb finger on his left hand held the teardrop flame against his own cigarette; catching fire in one puff, he waved the match up and down, dissipating the fire into a small line of smoke that floated up for a second and then evaporated altogether.

Noah was squatting and resting his elbows on his dark blue polyester pants, which made a scratching sound each time he rubbed against them. Noah kept his left hand in his bomber jacket pocket while he interchanged his right hand between holding the cigarette, bringing it to his lips, and stuffing it in his right jacket pocket. He looked down at Mortimer, who was sitting down with his right leg propped up and his left leg extended on the hay floor of the barn. Mortimer stared straight ahead and passively puffed his cigarette, drooping from his bottom lip. When he puffed he would tighten his mouth, which would straighten the cigarette between his lips and then limp back to hang out from his lips. His serious countenance kept Noah from saying anything at all. Noah looked up and saw a small hole broken through the roof of the barn. He saw the night sky, which was only a softer blackness than the barn they were in. Noah kept looking at the night when he heard Mortimer’s gravelly voice, “I hope they come.” Noah looked back down at Mortimer, who continued to look straight ahead; the cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “I hope they come and kill me like this, like the cowards they are. A dying man sitting on the floor. Can’t run from their bullets.” Mortimer had no cadence to his voice; even still, Noah knew it was a dare.

Mortimer leaned forward gently, clenching his face in slight pain from his broken left leg as he stuck his right hand behind his back. He pulled a .357 Magnum snub-nosed revolver that was tucked in his belt and opened the six round chamber. He spun the wheel and saw four bullets were still left. Mortimer turned the wheel to make sure the next shot would count, and he rested the gun on his lap, still holding the grip tightly. Noah pulled a long draw from his cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke. “W-w-w-we can try to hide,” Noah whispered; he had a bad stutter. “We can put some hay over ourselves. There’s some b-b-b-b… some beams above us we might be able to sit on.”

Mortimer looked down slightly. “Won’t matter,” he shook his head pessimistically, frowning as he spoke. “They want to put six shots through me, whether I come out hands up or guns blazing.” He looked back at his the gun on his right thigh.

“Hell, Mortimer, I want to try at least,” Noah pleaded. “I don’t w-w-w-want to just give up.”

“We’re not giving up,” Mortimer turned to his left and finally looked up at Noah. “We’ll kill as many of them as we can, but face it. You’re dying tonight.” Mortimer preserved no sense of sentimentality and looked to the right towards the barn doors, which had a small sliver of cool darkness in the crack of the doors. Noah timidly placed the cigarette between his lips and puffed three times anxiously.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Mortimer waited thoughtlessly as looked straight ahead in the darkness where the other side of the barn was supposed to be, occasionally looking at his gun. Noah scratched his blonde beard and fidgeted with himself frequently, rustling his noisy pants with each movement. He kept making small sounds and shuffling in place, inhaling and exhaling smoke with force. “Shut up for a second, would you?” Mortimer snapped. “Stop making so many sounds and stay still.” Noah froze, suddenly growing restless from the inability to move from Mortimer’s command, which made Noah increasingly worried about his impending death.

A soft barking echoed from outside followed by a second set of barks. Mortimer turned towards the sound, coming from beyond the barn doors, and then looked back at Noah, whose eyes were as wide as golf balls. Mortimer held up his gun beside himself, pointed upwards, and listened to the sounds. The barking grew louder, the sharp clinking of dog tags on collars, footsteps coming closer, and men’s voices shouting. Mortimer pulled back the hammer on his .357 Magnum and aimed it at the doors. Noah moved slightly behind Mortimer, knowing he was the only shelter he had from a wave of bullets. The voices grew louder, closer, clearer…

The dogs barked in place and shouted at the doors. A man’s voice calmed them down. Mortimer kept his snub-nosed barrel pointed at the doors. The barn doors budged slightly. Mortimer and Noah had locked it. Footsteps traveled around the exterior of the barn. There was silence. They waited.

“Mortimer Oswald,” a gruff, southern voice called out from behind the locked doors. “My name is sheriff Henry Williams. You are under arrest for the murder of mayor Bronson Walton. We have this barn surrounded with armed men. Surrender yourself.” Mortimer stayed silent. He kept his gun pointed directly at the doors. He heard talking from outside, unable to pick up on all the words, “Check… in there… don’t… too close…” Mortimer heard the grass crunch outside as footsteps walked right beside the wall he leaned on. They circled around the barn. They heard boots climbing on the roof. Noah looked up and watched the broken hole in the roof. The footsteps echoed above and neared the opening. A man with a brimmed hat peered down into the barn. A shot suddenly fired! The man collapsed and hung over the hole with his arms hanging down; his brimmed hat dropped inside the barn and fell in front of Noah. Noah looked at Mortimer, who had fired the shot and was aiming at the hole in the roof.

“Get back! Off! Off!” Sheriff Henry ordered. Boots clambered off the roof and away from the barn, pacing back to create a distance between themselves and the killer inside. “Mortimer!” Henry shouted. “I cannot guarantee your safety at this point. Unless you come out right now with your hands up. Do you understand me?” There was silence. “If you do not speak to me, I will acknowledge your silence as a refusal to surrender, is that clear, Mortimer? If you do not surrender this second, we will be forced to take action – and I cannot guarantee your safety.” Mortimer stayed silent.

Noah leaned down and whispered harshly. “Mortimer,” Mortimer didn’t look back at him, he kept his gaze fixed on the barn doors. “Mortimer,” Noah tried a second time. “Let me go.”

Mortimer whipped his head around. “What?”

“Mortimer, I did-did-did… I helped you, I wasn’t the one who killed the mayor. They don’t w-w-w-want me.” Mortimer dug daggers with his eyes at Noah for insulting him. “Please, let me give myself up.”

“You backstabbing son of a bitch,” Mortimer cursed him. “I brought you this far, I kept you alive while we ran, and you spit in my face to turn yourself in? Did we not kill the mayor for his crimes? Did we not fight for justice? And now you’re choosing to throw it away out of fear? You spineless coward! You’re worse than they are.”

Noah bit his bottom lip and held back tears. He slowly stood up and let his cigarette fall from his mouth. He twisted his heel over it and looked down at Mortimer. “Let m-m-m-me go. I don’t want to die.”

Mortimer stared at the helpless eyes of Noah. He saw how weak he was, and thought to himself Noah wouldn’t have survived either way; Mortimer had only prolonged the inevitable. Mortimer slammed his fist on the ground and huffed. He took a long draw of his cigarette. “Henry!”

Sheriff Henry hushed his men. “Yes, Mortimer, I’m listening.”

“There’s someone here who would like to surrender to you,” Mortimer glared at Noah.

“There is another person in there with you?” Henry clarified.

“Just one. Noah Leftfoot.” Noah approached the wooden doors and unhooked the latch. He heard the sound of a dozen guns cock and point towards the door.

“Don’t move, don’t move!” Henry shouted at Noah. “I need you to do as I say, do you understand? – please respond to my instruction so I know you are listening.”

“Okay…” Noah whimpered.

“Are you Noah Leftfoot?”

“Y-y-y-yes.”

“Okay, Noah. Noah, have you already unlocked the door?”

“Yes.”

“Noah, when I tell you to, I want you to slowly open your left door, okay, son? I need you to respond so I know you acknowledge what I’m saying.”

“Okay.”

“When you open that door keep your hands above your head clearly and visibly.”

“Okay.”

“And walk slowly towards me. I need you to respond so I know you’re listening.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause. Noah began panting nervously. He wanted to escape his impending death, but the words of Mortimer haunted him, telling him he would die tonight. “Noah. Open the door slowly and walk towards me with your hands up.” Noah slowly pushed the left barn door open with his left hand and held up his right hand. He carefully walked forward as he stepped out of the barn and saw a mass of armed men pointing their rifles at him. He saw two men with large lanterns on either side of the army. Sheriff Henry stood with his hands on his hips with a ten gallon hat cupped around his large head. He had a white goatee and a badge pinned to his big torso. Henry held out his hands calmly. “Noah Leftfoot, are you armed?”

“N-n-n-n—”

“Answer me, son, I don’t want you hurt,’ Henry warned.

“N-n-n-n-n-no. I don’t have a g-g-g-g—” Noah pushed through.

“Answer him!” one of the armed men shouted.

Noah jumped from his voice. He wiped sweat off his neck. The guns suddenly stiffened and the men pressed their fingers on the triggers. Noah looked up in fear. “I d-d-d-don’t have a g-g-g-g—” He shook his head aggressively, trying to articulate through his stutter. He scratched his chest and swallowed hard. The man that shouted watched Noah scratch his chest and looked down sight suddenly. He pulled his trigger – bang! Noah flung back into the dirt and smacked against the ground.

“Goddammit, Frank!” Henry yelled at the man. Henry motioned for two men to go towards Noah. They slid his body across the ground and checked his pulse on his wrist. One of the men put their ear to his nose. He looked up at Henry and shook his head.

The other man frisked Noah’s body and check through his pockets. He pulled out a rolled up cigarette and a matchbox. “He was unarmed.”

Henry rubbed his brow in frustration and sighed. “Mortimer, can you hear me?”

“You killed him, Henry!” Mortimer called out from inside the barn.

Henry paused. “Yes… yes, Noah is dead.”

“And you want me to surrender myself just as he did?” Henry hesitated to speak, trying to find the words. “How about a duel, sheriff?” Mortimer suddenly proposed.

Henry furrowed his brow. “A duel?”

“A duel. I have three bullets left in my gun and I know there are more than three of you out there, so I have no chance to win. But perhaps you’re willing to put your life on the line just as I am. I will die tonight, make no mistake about it. You and I know that I will be killed – but you, however, don’t have that guarantee. I challenge you to prove yourself to your men and duel me.”

Henry put his hands on his hips. “Mortimer. I am going to count to five. If you do not surrender on the fifth count, we will be forced to take action to draw you out of the barn, do you understand me? I need you to respond so I know you acknowledge me.”

“You brainless, weak, meaningless, godforsaken coward!!” Mortimer growled. “You’re all pathetic, disgraceful cowards! Just like Bronson Walton you buckled under pressure and refuse to prove your worth like men!”

“One,” Henry shouted.

“What I did was justice! For our people!”

“Two.”

“And you’re blind to corruption of politics and money!”

“Three.”

“You care more about security and shelter than you do about dignitiy—”

“Four.”

“—and honor! When you kill me, you’ll only start a war instead of end it! I am your negotiation! I am the truth the people need! If you kill me, you will incite the city into a fiery riot against the deception you control us with! The people will speak! Mortimer Oswald dies tonight, and you die tomorrow!”

“Five!” Henry pointed to the men with lantern and motioned them towards the barn. The men stepped forward and threw the lanterns at the barn. An inferno engulfed the barn with excessive heat and bright yellow flames, shining into the barn.

Mortimer sat still, unable to move from his broken left leg. His face turned red and shook with uncontrollable rage. “Cowards!! Cowards!!” A beam caught fire splintered above him. The charred wood began to sink downward, snapping in half. The beam hung overhead Mortimer. He tried lifting himself to the side, shouting in agony from the pain. The fire burned off the end and sent the beam hurling down. It shot through Mortimer’s body like a spike, as blood gushed out of his mouth. The men burst through the barn and pointed their rifles, followed by sheriff Henry Williams who laid eyes on the impaled assassin.