Page 3 of Disarming Caine

Window rolling down.

The hairs on my neck stood up as trained instincts took over.

Step one: Observe.

Rhonda continued walking through the gallery room, not noticing I’d stopped.

The driver’s arm stretched out of the window.

Step two: Orient.

The driver wore a balaclava over their face. Common in winter in these parts, but not when driving.

The shape and size were male.

In his hand. A gun.

The car moved slowly. Gun pointed inside the gallery. Maybe at Rhonda, maybe not.

Step three: Decide.

The front room of the gallery was a large, open space. There was a sculpture stand ten feet beyond Rhonda. Too far.

She was still moving. No way to grab her and reverse course to get behind the dividing wall.

He aimed slightly upward. The floor was the safest bet.

Step four: React.

“Rhonda!” I yelled and propelled myself toward her.

She turned, eyes and mouth wide.

At the same moment I tackled her, the first crack sounded. It was dampened by the thick pane of glass. A whiz of air passed us. And a dull thud.

We crashed to the floor, me on top of her. I tried rolling us toward the stand.

I barely heard the next crack over her scream in my ear, accompanied by shattering glass. The weight of the front window collapsing in hit us like a wave of sound. But I kept her pinned and covered, wrapping arms around my head.

I looked up. A puff of dust floated in front of the wall where she’d been standing, five feet from the floor. I’d rolled us almost to the statue.

The gunshots continued. The second window blew in. The freezing air struck me.

Restart the cycle.

One: Observe.

I tipped my head, looking through my braced arm.

The gun was back in the car, window going up. The car picked up speed.

I launched off the floor and flew out the empty window frame, glass crunching underfoot. I ripped my phone out of my pocket and charged into the middle of the street, taking a video of the car that was already a block away. Zoomed in as much as I could.

A woman grabbed me, asking if I was alright, pulling me to the sidewalk. “Did you see what happened?” she yelled.

My attention snapped to her, and a gust of cold air traveled straight down my jacket, along my spine.

“Call 9-1-1!” I raced back inside, through the small crowd already forming.

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