by Lisa Jackson
Another automatic burst of pellets and Rachel automatically ducked, running to a spot under the open stairs, peering through the metal steps.
Bam, bam, bam! Someone clambered up the stairs at a dead run.
Rachel backed up quickly, nearly tripped and banged her head on a bit of falling railing.
“Crap,” she whispered under her breath as she heard, following the sharp series of shots, a flurry of footsteps, several people running, scrambling away, some laughing, others whispering. Her heart was pounding, her head throbbing, and though she told herself over and over again that there was nothing to worry about, she couldn’t calm down. She was certain her folks would discover that she and Lila had lied, each telling their parents they were staying over at the other girl’s home. Lila’s mother might cover for them, but Rachel’s parents, despite their upcoming divorce, would unite against their daughter’s disobedience and lies. And if they were caught, trespassing in a condemned building … no, she should never have come.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
A series of shots rang through the building.
“Ow! Jesus!” a male voice shouted angrily. “Shit! Not in the face! Shit! You’re a dead man, Hollander!” Nate Moretti. Furious as hell.
More shots. Louder. Or firecrackers? Kids were running. Frantic footsteps behind her. “Get out!” someone yelled.
“Reva? Where are you?” A girl … Geez, maybe Violet. “Reva! Mercedes!” The girl sounded frantic.
“Vi?” Rachel whispered. “Is that you?” She was holding up her gun and it shook in her hand.
Someone flew up the stairs, boots ringing.
More shots … with a flurry of flashes.
Everything about this was wrong!
“Rachel!” Violet again. Closer. Crack! “Oh! Shit! Aaaggghh! Frick! Damn it.”
“What?”
“I ran into something. God, it hurts! My leg. My shin. Oh, I think … I think I’m bleeding. Oooh.” Her voice was trembling, wet-sounding. “It’s so dark in here!”
Suddenly she was beside Rachel, hiding behind the metal stair case.
“I can’t see anything.” She was sniffling now, close enough to be heard over the constant pounding of footsteps and the sputtering shots and yelps of victims. “I should’ve worn my glasses.”
“You didn’t?” Rachel was squinting into the darkness between the rungs of the stairs. That didn’t make sense. Not only was Violet blind as a bat without corrective lenses, a lot of the kids wore safety glasses.
“No. Didn’t want them scratched.”
That was probably a lie. Violet was self-conscious about her glasses, but now wasn’t the time to call her on it.
Blam! Definitely not an air gun.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rachel said, and didn’t wait for a response. She wasn’t going to wait for Lila or risk getting hurt. Rounding the staircase, she started for the main door. If she had to she’d walk back to her house, alone in the dark. Another spray of pellets. Sparks flying, firecrackers sounding like real shots.
“I’m coming,” Violet said. “Oh, man, my leg—ow! Shit! Ow! Stop it!”
This was crazy. With her free hand, Rachel grabbed Violet’s arm. “Hurry,” she said, but all of a sudden they were under attack, guns going off, rounds fired, sparks flaming, strings of lit firecrackers booming and leaving smoke behind. “Move it!” she yelled to Violet as another burst of pellets screamed past, one pellet grazing her shoulder, another hitting her cheek and stinging. “Damn it.”
Another barrage.
She didn’t think twice, just shot back, moving toward the door.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
The firecrackers and gunshots echoed through the building.
“Aaaagh!” A male voice cried out. “What the hell? Oh, Jesus! I–I’ve been hit!”
Luke?
She froze. Something in his tone.
Violet screamed, a shrill, horrified sound.
Rachel turned to see her brother in the gloom. His face ashen, his eyes wide, blood staining the front of his shirt.
His knees gave out.
He fell to the floor and Violet’s screams tore through the building.
Rachel dropped the gun.