An odd whirring startled the birds from their feeder and Elwood Jones' blood pressure soared, sending his heart into overdrive.
He slammed the Franklin Tribune down and sent his coffee cup spinning over the edge of the table. Goddamn drones - he'd had enough.
His hands trembled the birdshot into his rifle as he stumbled out the backdoor.
The tiny drone circled the chimney, whirred over top the bird feeder again, mocking, watching; then bobbed up to the tops of the maples, its blades propelling it confidently around like it owned the place.
He fired--snapped a tree limb, hit the shed, and then took out the security light. Anger stole his abilities. Rage gave him false courage.
The drone skillfully skirted the onslaught and hovered just out of sight behind a spruce.
Elwood Jones scoured the tree line and wondered if the other homes in the cul-de-sac knew someone was playing with drones. They had to hear his .22 spouting off. He didn't like to bother people. But this was war.
He finally heard the weird whirring and sent a final spray of shot at the demon spy--the trespassing intruder that had no right taking away his peace.
Green grass slammed him in the face, and Mr. Jones wondered what had seared his chest open. Thought someone would surely see he'd fought the good fight.
As the sirens screamed forth, Jones' neighbor brought the Parrot 666 back across the hedges and deftly guided it inside his own backdoor.
He smiled. One down, and twelve to go.
9 April 2014