Page 58 of Senseless
One managed to duck under a small section of overhang. The other guy slapped a hand over the bleeding wounds on his chest and fired back at me with an insurmountable rage in his eyes.
I turned and ran, no longer caring about balance and stealth. His shots were going wide but I was still open and exposed.
"Bitch on the roof!" I heard someone bellow. "Found our sniper!"
I ran for my window, ready to sail through it like an Olympic tumbler. It was only ten steps away, then five, then—
My leg swung out behind me, all my momentum crashing down. I landed hard on my chest and hands, the wind knocked out of me as I realized too late that I’d slipped on a loose shingle.
I couldn't afford to stay still, I had to fucking move even though I could barely breathe.
Pop-pop-pop-pop!
Shots kept whizzing over and all around me. My chest ached so badly when I tried to push up, so my fear and adrenaline-stricken body settled on rolling down the roof.
That was a bad fucking idea.
Holding on to my gun, I started scrambling for a hold with my left hand. My body rolled to the very edge and no amount of kicking and scraping stopped my momentum. I was temporarily in freefall, heading toward the ground, when I somehow managed to grab hold of a gutter.
Now the breaths came, ragged and painful as I dangled by one arm, my boots less than six feet away from solid ground. My relief was short-lived as I heard a gun cock. I swung my free arm wildly in front me, firing off shots at the first sign of motion I saw.
Thankfully it was a trafficker, now dead on the ground.
I released the gutter, collapsing onto the ground, where I fell with an aching left arm. Pulling my arm against my body with a hiss, I rubbed my shoulder that was screaming in pain. It wasn't dislocated, but those connective tissues sure weren't happy.
I only noticed then how quiet it was, and strained to listen. Seconds stretched on without any gunshots. Did that mean it was over?
A nearby door slammed open and I scrambled to my feet, ducking behind a patio chair for cover. I heard the sounds of a struggle, of feet kicking desperately for purchase along the ground. And the most haunting, harrowing cries and screams of protest I'd ever heard in my life.
One of the traffickers had emerged from the front door and headed toward his truck. Behind him, he dragged a wailing, pleading, terrified Jen along the ground.
Her wrists were bound with rope, blood already running down her tattooed arms from how hard she pulled and tried to get away.
I ran out into the open without a thought, only her tortured screams filling my head as I raised my gun and emptied the rest of my magazine into the man's chest. He fell with barely a sound, only a choked gurgle of blood as life left him swiftly and his hold on Jen's rope went slack.
I went toward her next, unsure if I was running or walking. My body felt too slow, like I was in some kind of daze. It didn't matter.
I never made it to her.
A shot rang out and pain exploded up my leg. Suddenly I was on the ground, my eyes level with Jen's terrified, wide-eyed stare a few feet away. She wasn't looking at me, but past me.
I looked over my shoulder just in time to see the man walking up with his gun pointed at my head.
Eighteen
SHADOW
Ashower of splinters rained down on me as I ducked behind the bar to reload. I brushed broken glass out of my hair, barely giving a thought to how the tiny shards cut up my hands.
“Jen!” I barked at the scared-witless bartender, who was curled up in a ball and trembling as she clung to Doc sitting next to me on the floor. He was trying to soothe her as best he could, rubbing her back and making shushing sounds in her ear.
“Jen, get into the kitchen with Heidi.” Another round of shots sent splinters and glass falling over us, and Jen let out a pained whimper.
“Sweetheart, do as Ivan says.” Doc tried to loosen his hold, but she just clung to him tighter. “Heidi’s back there, you two stay together.”
“I don’t want to go.” Jen’s lips quivered as she stared at Doc with wide, unseeing eyes, a look I recognized in myself. “I don’t want to go, please don’t let them take me.”
When the firing ceased, I rose up and fired a series of shots just over the bartop. The fuckers were staying outside, using the walls and front door for cover. The window panes had been shot out, and one of them had smashed a head-sized hole in the front door with an axe. I was able to get two head shots through it, but the smarter guys were staying out of my line of sight. If they kept this up, the winner of this fight would be whoever had more ammo stocked.
