They watched from the hay-loft as the clouds of dust spit out a small white sports car. Watched in amazement as the white car – ball skidded down the hill. . . The disaster, a tornado with four wheels, music blaring, sped towards them. Questioned why? Then, they heard music associated with the Fourth of July’s firework's Grande finale. What did it mean? They waited and watched. Like most Mid-westerners, they willed and prayed the impending disaster away. They were grounded, transfixed by the chain of events – unbelievable acrobatics performed by the midget car. Would a clown exit the car at the end of the show? Entertaining until the outhouse exploded and caught the porch on fire.
A scream erupted from Samantha as she bolted for the barn’s door. Patterson clutched and held her close to him. Tried to smother her pathetic repeated cries of ‘No’... Every muscle in his body trembled as Patterson contained Samantha in the barn. They watched as the shooter slowed down. Fear seized both of them at the thought he might stop and set fire to everything else. He just slowed down and watched the fire. Then, he fired more shots at Patterson’s truck. Finally, the car drove out of sight and left in its wake the blaring sound of the theme from the Long Ranger.
“I thought the Lone Ranger had been a good guy.” Samantha spoke bitterly to the air. Her beautiful porch destroyed. "Pops said I would be safe here, but look. . .”
Guardedly the exited the barn the smell of gasoline burned their noses. Looking for the area of the most damage, the winner was Patterson’s truck. Bullet holes decorated Patterson’s police truck most of them located near the gas tank.
“Thank goodness our shooter was a lousy shot. He tried to hit my gas tank; from the smell he may have punctured it. And, of course, I had just filled the truck.”