Bullets blew sprays of wood and plaster out of the walls and pinged and clattered all around us. There was a pause. I stuck my pistol out the window and fired blind.

Hank shook his head. “Don’t waste your ammo,” he mouthed. Or maybe he was talkin’. I couldn’t hear. My ears were ringin’ with the noise of the gun in the small shed. He nodded toward the back door. I shook my head.

“You go,” I said. “I’ll cover you.” He started to argue but I said, “You need a head start, old man.”

Hank just looked at me. They started shootin’ again, and he hustled out the back door, runnin’ in a crouch toward the woods. I heard one of the guys yell and they started shootin’ after him.

That’s when I ran out the front door to the gas tanks. I yanked the hose free from the unlocked pump, flipped the lever and started spraying gas all around. I yanked off my shirt and sprayed it, too. Bullets zinged overhead and slapped into the metal pump but I kept sprayin’ for as long as I dared and then ran back inside.

I dug out my lighter and set fire to my gas-soaked t-shirt. I let it burn until the smoke stung my eyes, then tossed it out the door and into the stream of gas leading back to the pump.

I was three steps out the back door when the pump exploded.