You're going down!

         I look around for potential weapons, and am disappointed. There is a display of crackers in front of me, the beef jerky on the counter behind me, everywhere soft things. There is nothing to truly defend oneself.
       I look around now for the danger, the source of my uneasy, deep terrible feelings. The gut twisting fear started just before I walked in the door of the gas station. It was a nice place, bright, filled with normal people, but the feeling could not be ignored.
       Beeps was tucked close to me, "I'm cold."  she said. I held her closer, thankful she was small, and I could shove her away if something bad happened. The Icee machine was sheltered  safe alcove in case of crazed gunman should enter the store. She could hide there while mommy turned the Lance's snack display into a shield, or perhaps a projectile.
     "Danger!" my gut whispered. I wanted to tell it to shut up.
      Some people call my psychic, I like to see myself as a transformer for a universal radio. Many of the times, I try to walk around with my switch turned to 'off'. There are times where that switch simply is ignored and the message comes through anyway. There are animals with messages- "Tell her to put sand so I can scratch my back!" a sway backed mare told me once. I din't tell her owner, and she said it again "Tell her or there will be trouble!" she said, slamming her foot down on my toe. I screamed, "FINE- I'll tell her!"
      This time I was getting a message- but it was vague. It was a simple warning, a dull ache in the middle of my chest. "Bad things are about to happen." 

    I searched the faces in the store. There was a bored fat woman with her arms crossed, her face friendly. There was a tall skinny man, flirting with the cashier. There was a quiet, slight man with thick, too big glasses. I could take him I thought.
    There was a new man coming through the door, pushing past the beer vendor with his dolly full of twelve packs. His face was angry, he was in a hurry. I watched him. He knocked into a woman, and he paused for a fraction, his face lightened. "I'm sorry." he said, and I turned my attention to other potential attackers. Gunmen don't apologize.
    We ordered our cheap gas station quality lunch and carried it outside. Beeps wanted a picnic, I wanted to go. The car was miserably small, so I decided that the picnic tables outside would be safe.
       On my way out, I locked eyes with the bigger men. If you made them look at you, you became a human, not just a face in the crowd. If you were human, they'd be more likely to help you in a hostage crisis. I ignored the lady with a kid. She'd be no use, she'd be shielding her child. I would shield my child, while removing bolted down picnic table, and beating the perpetrators with it.
    'DANGER!' the feeling in my gut said as I unwrapped my square patty that was supposed to be 'fish'. I bit down, but it tasted wrong, like fear. Beeps sang to herself, "fancy fries are fancyyyyyyy", while arranging those fancy fries.
   The side door opened. The creepy guy from before came out too. He sat one table down. He looked nervous, looking down at his tray. I looked at him, and then to my car. If I could just slip over there, and get a rasp, I'd feel better. A nice, wood handled, sharp metal paddle. Nobody would want to mess with a mom with farrier tools parked next to her fish sandwich.
    I slid the wilted lettuce and sun deprived tomato off my sandwich and dropped it on the wax paper. 'DANGER' my gut said.
    "Let's go." I said to Beeps. "We need to get out of here."
     In the car, I resisted the urge to reach across and lock the door on the passengers side. I drove quickly, hoping that when I left the station, that perhaps my feeling would be left behind too. It did not.

     I pulled into the barn, my last appointment of the day. It was normally quiet, with no one but the owner holding her single horse, but today the owner would not be there- she was out of town, and the horse was so good, I could do him by myself.
      Instead of being deserted, the barn was a hub of activity. Tall, sleek horses were being fussed over by a team of pretty teenage girls. They had all their pink brushes laid out in the sun, drying. They had their saddles on racks, the stirrups tied up, the deep brown leather slick with new oil. Surrounded by so many familiar smells and smiling faces, I felt better. There was no danger here.
    I've been doing this horse for years. I often told him if every horse was as good as him, a lot more people would be farriers. I went to get him, 'he's easy to find, the only horse that isn't a giant!' one of the girls laughed. I walked to his field and caught him without a problem. As we were leading to the barn, he stopped. He looked at me with the 'are you sure'? expression. I stopped, waiting for him, but he would not come. Many horses are annoyed with people, who are always pulling them, yanking halters shouting 'walk!'. I tend to stop, to let them think about whatever it is they need to think about, and after a few seconds, they walk, but he would not. I pulled gently- he took a few steps, and then he'd stop.
    After several pauses, we made it out of the gate and to the barn. I tied him to the only available spot- an eye bolt attached to a formidable barn door. I trimmed his feet, made it back to the fronts to reset his rubber shoes. "You need to hurry up and wear these things out!" I told him- July would be a year that he's worn these same shoes. I assembled my tools, and began to put the shoe on.
     This horse has several 'quirks', one is he likes to get to the end of his lead, until his halter is pulling tight against his head, and then he leans on the rope.He's not pulling away- he's literally resting his head on the taught rope. The other thing is when you're putting on the first shoe, he has to slam his foot down at least twice. It's just a con game he plays. Nail one nail, slam the foot. Pick up the foot, nail one nail, slam the foot. Once he 'shows' me who's boss, he stands quietly for the rest of the time. Despite his quirks, he's a wonderful horse to work on.
   After nail number two, and foot slam number two, he relaxed. I was about to snip the sharp nail sticking out his foot when something happened. I don't know what it was, because the world went black. Something huge was after me, my brain said. It was like a monster in the dark, some great unseen danger and all I knew to do was run. The monster hit me on the shoulder. My face hit the ground, I tried to get up but something was on me. I couldn't get up. There was a great, grinding sound, and the horse pulled and I was free. I don't remember standing, but I remember wondering why the giant barn door was attached to the horse, and why was it in the driveway.
    The old black gelding looked at me, 'what the hell is this mess?' he said, looking at the door, and then to me. I ran to him, removing the clip off his halter, and freeing him of the door. He was annoyed at the door, but otherwise fine.
 
      From the scattered nails and the scrapes in the dirt I could see the path of the door. It had landed on my legs, and a nail went into my leg, but blessedly pulled out. It was drug over my back, and then came to rest about ten feet from the barn in the middle of the driveway. A fat, shirtless man walked up, annoyed. He looked at the door, to me, and then to the place the door should have been. He pulled the lead rope free, handed it to me and drug it away.
     I walked back to my little area of scattered nails and flung tools. I had no place to tie the horse now, so I tucked his lead in my back pocket. I thought about finishing, my leg hurt where the nail had penetrated, my face hurt from where I'd hit the ground, but I could finish, except I had no place to tie. I looked around to the other door with the eye bolt sticking out of it and then sighed. Maybe I'd just wait for the owner to get back into town.
   I pulled the partially completed shoe. My back hurt and I was bleeding, and my face was covered in dirt. That didn't hurt near as bad as the criticisms I heard coming from the man. He leaned back in a lawn chair, watching me. He began to tell the other girl sitting with him, "I'll tell you what she did wrong. . ." and he began.

   Secretly I smiled, the karma bus would come for him soon enough, and it will be his turn to go down.