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It speeds down the road like it doesn’t see us, but then it veers our way.
Victor’s eyes widen when the car bursts onto the curb, and he turns and pushes me farther onto the sidewalk.
“Run!” he yells, jumping back to avoid the car.
Wasting time I instinctively know I don’t have, I stare wide-eyed as brakes screech and the car comes to a halt. I’m frozen in place.
Victor grabs my arm and halls me down the sidewalk while the doors to the car open and slam.
“Emily, fucking go!” Victor yells, dragging me.
I look back over my shoulder at two men sprinting our way, black ski masks covering their faces, and I turn and run as fast and as hard as I can with Victor at my back, urging me to go faster. His gun is drawn as well. I can feel it hitting my back, but we don’t stop until we reach a laundromat, and Victor throws open the door before rushing us inside.
People turn our way, but no one says anything as we crouch behind a row of machines, the gun hidden at my back. He moves it to the inside of his knee and glances around like he’s concerned someone saw.
“Who are they?” I ask, frantically peeking over the machines.
The question isn’t necessary. Victor looks beyond confused and clearly has no idea.
People are starting to realize something is wrong, and someone yells the word “gun.” Screams ring out, and people run, some getting out of the building and several diving and shielding themselves out of Victor’s view.
“God dammit,” he says, leaning against a washing machine and gritting his teeth. “I don’t know who they are, but we’re about to get our asses reamed for this.” He pulls out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” I ask, my voice shaking. Victor looks confused, but far from worried. That’s somewhat comforting.
“Getting permission to kill these assholes.”
He taps on the screen, and another screech fills the air. Victor looks up from his phone, and I peek over the washing machine. My eyes widen to saucers, and I gasp when I see what the woman is screaming at.
Glass flies when the guys in the black ski masks start shooting machine guns, and Victor drops his phone. The woman who screamed has a shard of glass sticking from her neck and holds it as she lies on the floor writhing.
Victor grabs my shirt to yank me down. I flatten my back against the machine.
“How many?” he asks, cocking his gun.
“Two,” I yell over the noise of more gunfire. My heart beats out of control, and my ears ring. I search all around me for a weapon but don’t see anything useful.
“It’s me they want,” Victor says in a calm voice I can’t fathom. He has his gun pointed toward the ceiling. “I can’t outshoot those guns. We’ll wait for them to reload, then I’ll fire back, and if I don’t hit them, I’ll lead them away from here. Stay here and hide. I’ll come back for you.”
I want to argue because I’m terrified of the idea of him leaving me, but I nod, my shoulders tense and hands shaking.
I wouldn’t have had long to protest anyway. Victor slides to the end of the machines, and when the gunfire stops, he leans over and shoots a few rounds. I lift my head just over the two machines and don’t see either of them.
Victor jumps up, his gun aimed toward one side of the building they must be shielding themselves with, and he fires while stepping out of the laundromat.
A rapid succession of gunfire ensues, and I drop down, covering a hand over my mouth, my eyes burning.
They’re not shooting inside here anymore. The bullets are aimed away from the building, toward where Victor left.
He doesn’t stand a chance.
I crawl over to the edge of the washers and hide beneath a counter, pulling a chair in as much as it’ll go in a feeble attempt to shield me. To the left of me is a woman curled up in a corner crying uncontrollably. I can spot two dead bodies from where I’m at.
The gunfire stops, and my heart squeezes. I don’t like what that means.
A man’s voice sounds, and I turn my head toward it. I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s talking on the phone to the police, his frantic voice telling them what’s happening.
The police.
