Page 14 of Chasing the Fall

Her head pops up immediately and I push it back down. “Stay fucking down!”

I hear a ping, and then a solid thunk, as bullets hit the freezer and the planter.

“What was that?” Her voice is muffled against the floor.

“Someone’s shooting at us.”

Without waiting to hear her response, I lever myself up into a crouch behind the planter and pull my gun from the small of my back. I take a cautious peek around the planter, searching for the shooter. With my back to him, it was impossible to tell where the shots were fired from. Now, the woods are still, none of the foliage moving to give his position away.

“Fuck,” I mutter, retreating.

I’m going to have to do something to draw fire, unless I want to sit here all day. My gaze scans the area around me and lands on a bucket a few feet away. Shifting, I tap it with my boot and send it rolling across the porch.

A bullet pings reflexively off its plastic surface, but I’m not watching the bucket. I’m watching the tree line. The brief flash of sunlight on metal sings a silent hallelujah.

“Gotcha.”

Taking careful aim at the same spot, I fire. Unlike the shooter’s gun, mine is not suppressed. The shot booms through the clearing, sending a flock of birds fleeing from a nearby tree and eliciting a squeak from Tally.

The treeline erupts with a flurry of movement, and more shots beat against the porch and our makeshift cover. I fire again. And again.

And then there’s nothing.

I wait, every muscle tense with adrenaline and my heart pounding, as the woods settle and grow still and silent once more.

Thinking back to each shot, I try to count. If he had a revolver, he would have around six shots. If he was shooting something like a 9MM, though, he could have upwards of fifteen rounds. There’s no way to know.

“Is he gone?” Tally’s whisper is loud against the floor of the porch.

“Shhh.”

I don’t know how long we sit behind the concrete planter, hardly daring to breathe. What seems like hours but is, in reality, likely only five minutes later, I finally deem it safe to rise. “Arm okay?”

Tally nods, but I lift her arm and pull her toward me for an inspection, anyway. Blood is pumping sluggishly through a small rip in her sleeve, and I tear a strip of fabric from my sweatshirt, using it to cinch her upper arm tightly.

“All right, we’re running,” I tell her, pulling her into a standing position. I grasp her shoulders, making eye contact and making sure she understands. “As soon as you hit that clearing, you book it for the trees.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be in front of you. We’ll move faster if I don’t have to turn around and check that you’re behind me.”

She nods, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. When she opens her eyes, resolve firms her features. “Got it.”

“Good girl. On my count. One—”

I count us off the porch and launch myself forward, senses split in awareness of Tally behind me, her breath coming in quick pants, and the tree line before us. There was a chance I was running us straight into the sights of a killer, but my gut told me he was gone. If he wasn’t…well, he would have to shoot me first to get to Tally, and the woods would provide better cover.

We make it to the woods with no shots fired, and my shoulders slump in relief. I don’t relax into it, though. Taking Tally’s hand in mine, I begin to tug her swiftly through the woods, just off the trail to let the brush provide us better cover.

It still feels as though eyes are on us, though, watching our every step. Playing with us. I don’t breathe easy until we’re back at the truck. Opening the passenger side door, I hand Tally up and into the seat. She’s trembling, her freckles standing out against the pallor of her skin in stark relief.

“Hey.” I squeeze her thigh, my hand covering just about the entirety of it. “You’re okay.”

She turns huge eyes on me. “Please, just get us out of here.”

I hesitate for a second, my gaze searching hers, and then give a brief nod. Shutting her door, I move around the truck to the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go.”

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