The cellar contained shelves, with tinned food, a bowl for washing, an oil lamp and a mirror. It was a project he’d started for the worst. Hide underground with food.
He dropped the bag on the dirt floor and looked in the mirror. “We didn’t finish it, did we? Didn’t want to die like a rabbit, did we? Explosions are much more fun. Go out with a bang.” He looked from side to side and started laughing.
“Quiet!” his reflection interrupted. “We don’t want to miss it.”
Connor agreed and wiped spittle from his short white beard.
Boom! From the car. Make them run into the house and then …
Two more explosions. Boom! First from the kitchen. That unused cupboard, spitting knives and broken crockery in a wide arc. Boom! Living room next.
Connor had to cover his ears for that one. He uncovered to hear the shouting, the confusion. The screams.
“Bedroom, then garage.” He counted them on his fingers.
Boom! And then boom!
“Wait for it.” There they were. Second and third explosions from the garage. Always handy to have a spare can of petrol. Or two.
“Let’s go see what the score is.” Back up the stairs, pulling the gun from his pocket. He pushed open the door and crouched along the passage. Dust hung thick in the air. He crunched broken glass as he went. The bitter tang of blood filled his nostrils.
“You were in the right place at the right time,” he told what was left of the first body as he entered the living room. “I guess I’ll be seeing the rest of you later.”
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