The Twelve Stones by Rj Johnson

firefight.
    Glancing around, Alex noticed a large and outdated television satellite dish sitting on the south side of the roof. He looked around for the helicopter. After its last pass, the pilot had swung around east to let the sniper get a better bead on Alex. Not wanting to give him the chance, Alex ran to the other side of the roof , where the satellite dish precariously stood.
    Alex crouched next to the parabolic receivers. Whoever the company had been, the workmen that had installed it had done an exceptionally poor job. All that held it to the side of the building were several rolls’ worth of duct tape . Alex doubted it could last through the next decent windstorm that came through the valley.
    The steady beat of the helicopter’s blades against the chilly night air began to increase as it began to bear down on Alex and the Sheriff S tation.
    Using his body as leverage, Alex leaned against the retaining edge of the sheriff station and began to kick the satellite receiver off the remains of its rusting metal bolts. Screeching in protest, the dish fell onto the roof. Alex picked up the heavy dish and began to swing it around his body like a world class Olympian about to throw the hammer. The pilot, seeing what he was doing, flared the helicopter to slow the approach to Alex and his improvised weapon. Fortunately, that gave Alex the perfect opportunity he needed, as it exposed the rear rotor blades.
    Alex , rotating around , spun his body faster and timed the release perfectly, throwing the impromptu hammer into the smaller rotor tail blades of the helicopter. The screech of metal on metal , and the shower of sparks and smoke , were his reward. Drawing out his two pistols, he fired at the helicopter pilot and sniper in the cabin of the aircraft. The sniper , caught by Alex’s first two shots, jerked back into the cab of the helicopter , his finger still on the trigger of his automatic weapon. As he landed in the cab, his finger depressed the trigger, shooting up the interior of the cockpit.
    The pilot valiantly tried to auto-rotate the helicopter safely to the ground, but with the smoke pouring out of the cabin and the smashed control panel, it was futile. Alex stood up and watched as the pilot lost his battle with gravity and the helicopter crashed into one of the Suburbans the men had brought with them. The helicopter’s fuel caught , exploding violently as two men (who had the bad luck of standing too close) were sent flying through the air. All in all, t he explosion felt rather satisfying , and Alex took a moment to smile as he watched the helicopter burn.
    Suddenly, there was a scream and several more shots downstairs. Deputy Rogers was still down there trying to provide covering fire for Alex.
    Alex turned and ran towards the hatch down to the station , reloading his two pistols and cocking both hammers back as he did so. Closing his eyes and concentrat ing, he muttered to himself, “Nothing’s gonna hurt you, nothing can hurt you…”
    H e dived into the hole , rolling his body on the floor to absorb the shock. Using the energy from the dive , Alex rolled up from his back, searching for a target for his pistols. No one was left inside. The place was eerily empty and quiet, flickering shadows lit by the fire raging outside, played against the white walls of the police station inside. Alex flattened his back against the wall, and listened.
    Shouts came from the back room where the faint flicker of a TV flashed lightly. Alex cocked his ears, approaching the room silently, his gun at the ready for any target.
    Peeking around the corner, Alex saw two of them . His eyes narrowed as he recognized the large bald man who had been with the man who had killed his father.
    The bald man was engrossed in sifting through some paperwork on the desk. The other man, leaner and smaller , was completely dressed in flannel and wearing a cowboy hat.
    Cowboy Hat stood in front of the TV, smacking it repeatedly . Geoffrey looked