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One police officer returned fire, then a cluster of others, and then every single one of them was shooting. The Copperheads jumped to the ground and took cover behind their bikes as the firefight began, shotguns and pistols adding their own noise to the fray. The sound of gunfire was constant, like popcorn in a microwave. Men and women on both sides were hit and fell to the ground.
But I had eyes only for Jayce. At first, I didn’t think the shot had hit him. He stood motionless, then tried to reach behind him to grab his pistol. That simple motion caused him to fall to his knees, and then he collapsed onto his side.
“Jayce!” I shrieked.
Dad grabbed my arm, but I shook him off and sprinted across the open pavement, gunshots flashing all around me and bullets hissing through the air. The danger was easy to ignore because in that moment my mind held a single focus: get to Jayce. My own safety didn’t matter.
Somehow I reached him without getting shot, and I fell to my knees and touched his cheek. He blinked rapidly, eyes locking onto mine. Then he winced.
“Peaches,” he said in a surprised voice. “I think I’ve been shot.”
Blood was spreading along his shoulder, staining his grey shirt and the biker jacket over top. I wasn’t a medical expert, but the wound looked like it was in a non-life-threatening area. It seemed like moving him out of the open—and gettingmyselfout of the open in the process—was the best idea.
I grabbed his arm, and then my dad was there alongside me. “Drag him,” he said.
Jayce cried out as my dad took his other arm and pulled. Together, we dragged him across the pavement and back to the station wagon. Halfway there, a bullet ricocheted off the pavement by Jayce’s leg, sending up a small cloud of dust. I prayed the entire rest of the way to cover.
“What is wrong with you!” Momma demanded when we were behind the car. “Why would you do that!”
“Is he going to be okay?” I demanded of my dad. He pulled Jayce’s shirt down, revealing his shoulder and upper chest. The beautiful lines of muscle were now marred by a red smear just above his armpit.
“I’m fine…” Jayce protested. “It—ahh, fuck.”
Dad was probing around the wound. He rolled Jayce onto his side and looked at his back, where there was another red smear of blood. “Bullet went all the way through. That’s good.”
“Told you I’m fine,” Jayce said, pushing to his feet.
“Stay there!” I barked at him.
“I feel okay. Kind of stings a little bit. You doing okay, Peaches?”
“Oh yeah,” I said acidly as gunshots rang out. “I’m justsuper.”
I looked around. Mindy was leading the sheriff and judge into her diner. Neither of them needed any encouragement. Several Copperheads lay on the ground, but most of them were fleeing the killing zone on foot. Several ran over into the ditch along the side of the road, while others ran straight for the diner. Mindy got inside just in time to lock the doors to keep them out.
“Shooters in the building on the left!” one of the cops behind us shouted. “Put some fire on that bar!”
I realized they were talking about Flop. I jumped up and waved my arms. “Don’t! They’re on our side!”
Dad grabbed me and yanked me back down, then pulled his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “The bar is friendly, I repeat, the bar is friendly.” He lowered the radio and cursed. “Copperheads moving around the sides. We’re not going to have much cover here soon.”
“Can we get in the station wagon and drive away?” Momma asked.
“Not after Charlotte’s ex smashed into it,” Dad muttered, giving me a look.
“Hey, that’s not my fault!”
Jayce touched his shoulder and winced. “It kind of is.”
“You’re not helping.”
Dad cursed again. “We need to get to safety. While there’s a lull in the shooting.”
The shootinghaddimmed a little bit, but it was only because the Copperheads were making for the woods and taking cover behind the nearby buildings. Once they had new positions it would get ugly again. The middle of the road was mostly deserted, except for dead bodies and abandoned motorcycles. Jayce’s bike still stood where he’d left it, smack in the middle of all the chaos.
“Think we should make a run for it?” Jayce asked my dad.
“Uh huh. Split up, so we’re tougher to hit.” Dad glanced at him. “Can you move?”
