Tamberlin's Account by Jaime Munt

circle and left the snow around it dirty—gray and brown.
    A vehicle had idled there.
    I heard an engine turn over somewhere behind a neighbor's house within sight.
    They're coming.
    Dec 15 2:44pm                                                                  
    I locked Mr. Ages in the bathroom and used my claw hammer to take the boards off the bathroom window, which I found shattered on the other side.
    Mr. Ages was instantly upset—I was going out that window.
    I couldn't see him from the ground—where I landed hard—but I know what a dog looks like that wants out or wants something more than life itself. He was hysterical—barking and yipping, howling madly. Screaming.
    I picked myself up. I heard a car door close.
    Then I heard a second.
    I was going deaf again—both loud and silent humming in my head—maybe buzzing—something felt not heard. But I could feel my pulse in every fiber of muscle, in every nerve. My flesh got cold, not just because it was cold—I didn't wear a coat; all my things but my tools were in the bathtub.
    A one armed woman, a busy body was in the backyard—it was moving too slow to worry about right then.
    I peeked around the corner and then moved into the path my eyes just scanned with satisfaction. No one was there.
    I saw movement out of the corner of my eye—a man just came into the backyard. If it was two of them, I was fucked because they would be able to see in the snow that someone had escaped from the window.
    Mr. Ages noticed the man too. I never heard him bark like that.
    I thought about a game I played when I was kid—Ten Steps Around the House.
    All ye, All ye outs in free!
    "Hi bitch," he said to the busy body. I heard him hock a loogie. “Don’t be shy. You're not too rotten for me."
    "And you're dead motherfucker,” I promised, no louder than a breath.
    I heard someone at the front door, but only my soul took the time to feel relief. They were trying to break in. They wouldn't have to try hard.
    They were in by the time I reached the front door.
    I didn't think too much about the rest.
    I rushed in behind him. He would expect the other guy—since he expected me to be in here. Me, with the dog barking, behind a locked door.
    I stuck the screwdriver into his throat with my right hand and let go, because I knew he'd turn on me, no matter how surprised he was or how bad it hurt. Adrenaline considered, I wonder if it hurt at all.
    It wouldn't have a chance to.
    He had a handgun and I grabbed that wrist—the hammer finished him.
    I retrieved my screwdriver and blood shot out across the floor at my feet. Then I noticed blood on my hands. I was hurt from crawling through the broken window. My arms were shredded.
    Adrenaline considered, I didn't feel much at all.
    "Hey, I think there's a Stinker in here!" the other man hollered.
    He was walking around the side of the house—following my blood.
    I drove the screwdriver into the dead man's ear before he came back and had only a breath or two before the second man reached me.
    The tip of the rifle moved through the broken front door. I turned the hammer's claw into his mid forearm and plunged the screwdriver deep into his eye.
    When he dropped, I kept my hold on the screwdriver and he slipped off it and down the four steps outside. I went down with him because the claw of the hammer was stuck in his arm.
    I heard running on the frost and snow—there was a shrill cry when a woman flung herself on me.
    She was skinny and seemed impossibly light, even so, the fight was pretty matched until she bit me— I screamed.
    I went berserk.
    The next thing I knew I was out in the backyard. I stepped over the one-armed busy body. I knew I'd killed it because I could smell the odor of death on the tools I carried.
    I went to their car and through their things. They didn't have much ammo, but it was better than nothing.
    I took the rifle and handgun. I checked their bodies for