Page 6 of The Plunge

Chapter 3

Libby

The sound is excruciating, leaving my ears ringing and drowning the terrified screams that erupt around me.

It's the first time I’ve heard a gunshot in real life. And I only know it's a gunshot because the first shot is followed by a sharp pain in my shoulder. I'm pushed back by the impact, my body turning on instinct as a fiery ache takes hold of me. It's this little turn that possibly saves my life because a second later, another shot comes my way, passing so closely that I feel it graze the skin on my upper arm right next to where the first bullet hit.

This second bullet may miss me, but it finds a target nonetheless. My aunt doesn't shriek when she's hit; she doesn't flail her arms up or exclaim her pain in a shocked gasp as I did.

No. She just drops. A gruesome growl escapes her lips before she drops right next to me, and even in the dim light, I can tell that the blood she's spilling is coming from her head.

I know right then and there that my aunt is dead.

But before I have a moment to process this horrible realization, someone grabs me from the side, thankfully reaching for the arm that was not hit. My cry is suffocated by the brutality with which I am pulled aside and drowned by the screams that echo through the room as the crowd breaks out in panic. Another shot is fired, and then another, each one followed by a chorus of horrified shrieks and panic-filled commotion in varying corners of the room.

The pain in my shoulder is still very present, and I can feel my blood soaking the sleeveless cocktail dress as I'm dragged through the room by my uncle. I knew right away that it was his hand that closed around my upper arm, but I'm still surprised to find him running away with me like this, leaving my aunt—his wife for more than twenty years—behind without looking back once.

I try to yell for him, but my voice fails me, only producing groans in pain that are drowned out by another round of shots. I have no idea where they are coming from or how many shooters there are, but whoever is here to kill is aiming selectively and not just randomly shooting into the crowd. Only five or six shots have been fired since the lights went out, and most of them occurred at the same time right at the beginning. Or so I believe.

More shots are following now while my uncle drags me toward a hallway I hadn't noticed before. It's at the opposite side of where we entered when arriving at the event.

What is he doing? Where are we going? Why are people shooting at us?

I don't get to ask any of my questions, silenced by the hammering pain in my shoulder and the persistence of my uncle as he pulls me with him, weaving through a panicking crowd. There's so much movement around us, the frenzy turning into a danger. People are literally running on top of each other and falling because they tripped or pushed as someone else tried to get past them.

My chest tightens at the sight of it, almost overshadowing the piercing pain in my shoulder. I try to look up, tearing my gaze away from the terror surrounding us, and that's when I hear the voice over everything else.

"Over there! Get him!"

My uncle speeds up, yanking on my arm to force me closer. I almost trip because of the suddenness of his move but manage to catch myself just in time.

"Uncle Cly—"

"Stay close!" He cuts me off, intensifying his grip on my arm as we turn to the right, dashing through an open glass door.

I hear steps behind us but don't dare to look back. Instead, I focus on keeping up with my uncle, running right next to him when I finally realize where he's going.

There's an elevator back here that I didn't know about. It looks more like a cargo elevator, lacking the stylish décor and mirrors of the official elevators at the main entrance. The doors of the elevator are open, and I feel a moment of relief when we jump inside, and Uncle Clyde pushes a button at the panel to our right.

But my comfort is short lived when I turn around and see a man running toward us. A tall man wearing a waiter uniform and a black cloth mask across his face. He's moving fast and only a few feet away from the elevator, holding a gun in his right hand.

My uncle moves behind me, grabbing me once again, and... places me right in front of himself as if he was using me as a shield.

"Coward!" the attacker yells as he raises his gun, pointing right at me.

That voice. It sounds familiar...

I hold my breath, staring at the barrel while my entire body stiffens.

This is it.

This is how I'm going to die.

The doors close agonizingly slowly, seemingly moving in slow motion while everything else happens twice as fast. I don't try to evade the impending shot, but even if I had, I feel like my uncle wouldn't have let me move an inch.

He's hiding behind me.

He's actually using me as a shield.

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