Jon loaded his rifle and grabbed his pistol and machete and walked calmly to the front door. Just got the fucking gin, he thought. I couldn't even enjoy a single sip. I'll deal with this.
When he exited the house, he saw raiders all over the place. He fired his rifle, and down went one raider. He fired his rifle again. Down went another. He took down another two raiders this way before the small magazine on his bolt-action needed reloading. He dropped the rifle momentarily and pulled out his pistol. He fired two shots and took out two raiders, then swung around to get another that thought he was sneaky.
Jon pivoted back to the front and saw three raiders coming at him. He dropped the first two and nearly dropped the third, but just barely missed. The man charged forward and stabbed him in the stomach with a large knife.
"Fuck," Jon gasped, and fell to the ground. He removed the knife from his gut and kept firing, but he knew he was probably screwed. He tried to load his rifle with weak and clumsy hands, but couldn't.
Soon, he felt hands grab his ankles.
"Hell, no, you aren't taking me prisoner," He mumbled. "Fuck no." Then he looked up and saw that it was Hay and Angel dragging him back.
"You should really watch your language," Angel remarked as they closed the door behind them.
"Right," he said, scolding himself for forgetting the kid. "Sorry about that."
Sorry I let those bastards get me. Almost doesn't count.
He drank his gin in peace after the raiders were defeated.