Page 230 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Allen,” she heard Jenny say, “please put the—”

“Shut the fuck up. Where’s my wife?”

Cara heard the patter of fast footsteps heading her way, and the second gunshot split through the air. The body of one of the volunteers landed so close to Cara’s spot that she heard the woman take her last breath.

Oh, my God.

“Let’s not do that again,” Allen—Melinda’s husband—said, his tone cold and bored. “Lock the place down. I’m not leaving until I get my fucking wife.”

Cara took a breath, and then another. Her slight touch of PTSD from Lea’s murder made things like gunfire into a huge monster she didn’t want to battle. She certainly couldn’t afford to battle it right then.

She didn’t realize it but she had squeezed her hands so tightly, her fingernails cut into her palms. It was only the slight movement of her baby that brought Cara but of her daze, back into the present, and reminded her what she had in her hand.

A cell phone.

One that worked.

And there was still a whole floor of people that needed to stay where they were and go into lockdown mode. It was likely that because of the cut phone and power lines, the staff in the upper floors were not aware of what was happening downstairs. A proper alert couldn’t be sent over the speakers to lockdown and hide-in due to a dangerous situation.

Thankfully, given the time of day, the bottom floor was mostly empty. A lot of the staff and women would be in the kitchen on the second floor, readying for meal time. A lot of the woman might even still be in the housing wing, readying to head to the kitchen.

Cara hit the stairs running, though she tried to keep her steps as quiet as possible. Already, she had her phone turned on and was dialing nine-one-one.

“Nine-one-one emergency services, what’s your emergency?”

Cara rattled off the address to the shelter. “Active shooter, at least one dead.”

“You’re sure it’s active, ma’am?” the woman asked.

Another gunshot rang out from down below as Cara headed for the housing wing first. “Very fucking sure, thanks.”

“Okay, please remain calm and on the phone.”

Cara pulled the lock-in bar from above the housing wing’s entrance doors and set it up as firmly as she could against the bottom, hearing some of the women come out of their rooms. The dispatcher continued to ask Cara questions, and she rattled off as much information as she could while she placed the metal bar in under the doors, opened it wide so that it used the cement walls as support. Now, the door couldn’t be opened from the other side.

“Ma’am, do you know—”

Cara ignored the dispatcher, and turned to the women coming out of their rooms, and the few staff there, too. “There’s an active shooter on the main floor. Door one to the housing wing is closed, secure, and locked-in. I’m going to exit out door two and head toward the kitchen. Someone needs to put the lock in bar behind me. Do not open those doors. Do not open them until you hear police declaring a non-active situation. Get in your rooms, close the doors, lock them up, and get under your beds, in your closets, or your bathrooms if you have one in your unit. Turn the lights off. Be extra quiet. Police have been notified, so let’s not get on a dozen cell phones and block up the emergency lines. Okay?”

She could plainly see the questions the waiting people wanted to ask, and their fear. She was grateful that they simply nodded, and she continued on, heading for the exit door.

“I take it the shelter has codes in place for this sort of thing,” the dispatcher said. “That’s good, very reassuring.”

“Just because we have them, doesn’t mean we want to use them.”

“Good point. The police are on their way.”

Cara’s phone vibrated, an incoming call on the other line, but she focused on making sure the housing wing did as she asked, and locked in the exit door that led to the stairs. Instead of going down the stairs to the bottom floor, she went down the U-shaped hallway that would lead her into the offices and kitchen area.

Once again, her phone vibrated with a call on the other line.

Cara checked it, seeing Gian’s number.

“You’re still on the line, ma’am, aren’t you?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes, but—”

Another burst of gunfire rang out behind the doors that lead to the offices wing where Cara had first come from. The noise and shock alone sent her spinning back into the wall again.