We arrived back at the motel about half an hour later. As we reached the entrance, my father held out his hand.
"Give me the gun." I passed it over, and he slid it into his belt with the kind of ease that only comes from years of handling one. I turned toward the stairs, but before I could take a step, he added quietly:
"And before you go inside… knock on the door, okay?" I blinked. What?
He didn't explain. He just gave me that look — the one that meant trust me — so I nodded and headed up.
Halfway to the room, I froze. The sounds reached me first.
A muffled laugh.
A breathless gasp.
A soft, rhythmic thump against the wall.
Ava. Matthew.
Heat slammed into my face. My whole body locked with embarrassment.
I spun around so fast I almost slipped and hurried back down the stairs.
When Dad saw my expression, he didn't even try to hide it, he burst out laughing. "Too loud, huh, Max?" Groaning, I covered my face and nodded. And suddenly everything made sense, Matthew flirting earlier, how he agreed to Dad's plan to take me outside…
I understood way too much, way too fast. "Well," Dad chuckled, wiping his eyes, "it's normal. Husband and wife need their… moments."
"I wish you'd warned me," I muttered.
He rested a warm hand on my shoulder. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's human nature. But someday, when you're older and ready… be careful. If you're not ready for a child, use protection. And—"
"Stop," I blurted, waving my hands as if that could erase the words. "I don't need a reproduction lecture."
He laughed harder at how red my face was. "Well, eventually you will. And since schools are gone, if you ever have questions… you can ask me." I nodded just to end the conversation.
Trying to escape the awkwardness, I asked, "Dad… why didn't you ever marry again? After Mom died?" His smile vanished instantly. A heavy shadow crossed his face, the kind made of memories that still hurt to touch.
"Well, son," he said quietly, "I gave your mother my heart. And when she died… it never came back. I didn't have anything left to give someone else."
He tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, pulled tight by pain that had never left him.
Guilt tightened in my chest. I shouldn't have asked. To give him space, I wandered toward the edge of the motel grounds, and that's when I saw movement.
Three figures emerging from the trees. At first I thought they were undead by the way they swayed… but then sunlight flashed across metal.
An AK-47.
A shotgun.
A handgun shaking in the hands of someone barely eighteen.
Fear punched through me. I ran. "Dad... three people with guns are coming. What do we do?" His eyes sharpened instantly. The gentle father vanished. Only the survivor remained.
"Calm down," he said, voice low and steady. "Go upstairs. Warn Matthew and Ava. Hide. Watch. No one fires unless I give the signal. Understand?" I nodded and sprinted upstairs. Thankfully, the world behind the door was silent this time.
I knocked. Ava opened it, hair messy, cheeks flushed. Matthew sat on the sofa pretending nothing had happened. No time to think about that.
"There are three armed men coming," I whispered. "Dad said hide, watch, and wait for his signal."
Their embarrassment vanished, replaced by sharp, alert tension. We crouched by the window.
Suddenly the motel's thin, cracked walls felt like paper.
Down below, Dad pressed himself behind the shattered doorway, patient, silent, coiled like a spring. The three men reached the motel.
The smoker — older, rough, cruel, with dead eyes that said he'd crossed every line long ago.
The middle one — one-eyed, silent, radiating danger.
The youngest — barely a man, shaking with every step.
They stopped at the base of the stairs.
Then the smoker yelled:
"ROHAN! Get out here before I beat your Indian ass!" His voice tore through the motel, sharp and ugly.
Rohan appeared only when one of them moved to storm the stairs. His legs trembled. His face was drained of life.
"Finally," the smoker sneered. "Didn't wanna look up and see your ugly face. Get down here." Rohan obeyed, moving like someone pulled by invisible chains.
"How many times do we gotta shout?" the man snapped.
Rohan swallowed hard.
"P-please… I'll give you food. But don't ask for anything else."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" the smoker barked, flicking his cigarette at him. "We're not asking today. We're taking. Everything. All your food… and your sister."
Rohan froze.
His breath hitched.
Hopelessness washed over him.
"You promised…" he whispered. "You told me if I gave you what you wanted, you'd leave us alone… Please… just leave us alone." His voice wasn't just afraid — it was broken. Like this wasn't the first time. Or the second. The men laughed — loud and cruel. Then the smoker turned to the youngest.
"Jack. You've never killed anyone, right?"
Jack's chin trembled. His hands shook around the gun. He didn't answer, but his silence screamed fear.
"Well," the smoker said, amused and vicious, "now's your time. Kill this Indian shit."
Jack's eyes widened with horror. He shook his head, breath coming too fast. He wasn't a killer. Just a scared kid behind the wrong people.
"Motherfucker, you can't even do that?" the smoker roared. He ripped the gun from Jack's hands. "Just pull the trigger! Like this—" He aimed at Rohan.
Everything slowed.
Rohan's eyes squeezed shut.
Ava covered her mouth beside me.
Matthew tensed, finger tightening on his trigger.
And then.
BANG!
The smoker's head exploded. He fell like a puppet with its strings cut.
The man with the shotgun spun toward the noise.
BANG!
Matthew's shot hit his chest.
He staggered.
BANG!
Dad finished him with a clean shot to the skull.
The last one — Jack — didn't run.
His legs buckled. He dropped to his knees, shaking violently, tears streaming, snot dripping, a dark stain spreading across his pants.
"P-please… don't shoot me…" he begged, voice cracked wide open.
My father stepped from cover — calm, steady, cold enough to freeze the air.
"Hands up," he said. "Slowly."
Jack lifted them, trembling so hard they nearly dropped.
Dad's gaze shifted — from Jack… to Rohan, who looked seconds from collapsing… then back to the terrified boy.
"Now," he said quietly, his voice like a blade,
"someone tell me what the hell is going on here."