The Guardian by Bill Eidson

left shoulder. Greg grabbed the shotgun barrel and tried to yank it away. He cried. “Run, Janey!”
    The man was too strong. Greg could see Ross running from the trees. “Shoot!” Greg cried. But even as he said it, he knew it was a bind, that Ross couldn’t fire with him so close to the gunman.
    “Daddy!” Janine screamed. The woman was pushing her into the car.
    Greg shoved the man hard, trying to knock him off balance so he could snatch the weapon away. But the man just went with the motion and was still there. The barrel of the gun began to move toward Greg’s face. His breath was rushing in and out and he was thinking too many things. He was thinking that all those years in the office sitting behind the desk had left him in no kind of shape to fight this man. He was thinking that everything he’d hoped and planned for Janine was coming down to a few pounds of muscle strength.
    “Get her, Ross!” Greg’s voice was strangled by his lack of wind.
    The gun was almost in his face, one huge barrel.
    Greg tried to knee the man in the balls.
    But the guy twisted and took the blow on his thigh. “Nice try,” he said, putting his foot behind Greg’s standing leg. He knocked him to the ground.
    Greg was on his way back up when the man shot him.
     
     

 
    Chapter 14
     
     
    The gunman went for Ross next.
    He spun fast, pumped the shotgun, and let loose.
    Ross jumped off to the left into a shallow ditch and rolled. The grass and weeds above him whispered, as if a scythe had swept through.
    He sat up and snapped off two rounds. He called his brother’s name, but there was no answer. Only the gunman’s silhouette was visible in front of the BMW.
    Greg was still on the ground.
    The man bent down, apparently going for the money, and Ross steadied his hand and squeezed the trigger.
    The man cursed. There was the ratcheting noise again and a flash of yellow flame. “Start the car, Nat!” the man yelled. “Start the frigging car!”
    The engine roared to life, and the headlights washed over the man and then settled on Ross, as she swung the car around in reverse. Ross hit the ground again as the shotgun blasted. Shredded leaves drifted into the light from the branch over his head.
    Ross fired again, forcing the man away from the case of money. The car’s tires spun in the dirt, and the man gave up on the money and dove into the open passenger window. Ross got to his feet and ran alongside the car, and he almost fired his last shot into the man’s back—but then he saw Janine.
    She was reaching over the backseat, screaming, “Uncle Ross, Uncle Ross!” as the man shoved his way in.
    Ross steadied his hand.
    Told himself this might be her only chance.
    The car hit a pothole and bounced. The gun sight covered what he could see of Janine’s face in the moonlight.
    Ross pulled back the gun, knowing how close he’d come to killing his niece, as the car disappeared through the trees.
    Seconds later, he heard another shotgun blast.
     
    The car took off around the corner just as he got there.
    It took him a few seconds to understand what had happened. Janine wasn’t there, on the road. Dead or alive. They still had her. It was Ross’s truck the man had shot. It was tilted to one side, the front tire blown.
    Behind him, the BMW’s horn wailed.
    Ross shouted with relief as he sprinted back. Part of him had already believed, if not accepted, that Greg was dead. Ross had seen how close the man had been, could imagine the damage the shotgun could inflict. As he ran down the dirt road, he saw that the BMW’s headlights were back on.
    But the car hadn’t moved, and the horn was still blaring.
    Greg was half into the driver’s seat, his hand on the horn. Blood covered his legs.
    Ross pulled him back gently, saying, “Oh, Jesus, Greg.” Tears blurred his vision. His brother’s torso was a bloody ruin. Much of his shirt had been blown away, and his lower ribs were exposed. When his head lolled back, he coughed blood and