Page 3 of Rah
Not to mention, on top of all of that, I was about eight weeks pregnant.
When the customer was taking too long to respond, Idiscreetly drew in a heavy breath and looked up, staring down the barrel of a nine-millimeter.
I gasped but remained still. Though there was a teller window between us, the gunman had stuck his slim arm through the circular opening, pointing the gun at middle of my forehead.
Too scared to move, my eyes darted from left to right. A few of the bankers were still working on transactions, oblivious to what was happening. A few of the customers had noticed, however. It felt like minutes, but it was only seconds before screams began to fill the air of the small bank on 35th and King Drive.
“Nobody move!” The voice was coming from near the front entrance. My eyes darted in that direction. Carl, the security guard, was being held in a headlock by a tall, heavy-set guy. Like the guy in front of me, his head was covered with a hood. Every time he moved frantically, wildly waving a gun at the crowd with his other arm, I could vaguely see his eyes.
My own darted towards the baritone voice behind the beady discolored eyes of the guy pointing death right at me.
The guy at the door barked, “Hit the mothafuckin’ floor!”
And everyone did. Like robots, approximately fifteen men, women, and children hit the floor in the lobby, as well as the tellers next to me.
The guy pointing the gun at me started shouting orders at me, “Gimme everything!”
I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Now, bitch!”
When I saw his finger become much more intimate with that trigger, I moved like a cheetah. I didn’t think twice. I wasn’t about to lose my life trying to save somebodyelse’s money. This motherfucker could have had whatever he wanted.
“Everything! The other drawers too.” He fussed orders at me, but he didn’t have to tell me twice. I went from drawer to drawer, opening them and grabbing cash.
By this time, his partner had forced the security guard, Carl, to enter the necessary code to let him into the back with the tellers. Carl was sixty-three years young; too old to fight off a 6’4” oversized, aggressive man holding a Glock.
Everything moved so fast, but I did whatever they told me to. All of the customers were able to run out of the bank since both of the robbers were in the back with us.
Three minutes went by slowly like three years. Yet, by that time, the gunmen were running out of the security door and back into the lobby, with a garbage bag full of cash.
As I watched them sprint toward the exit, relief left my body with such force that I leaned against the counter and held my head in my hands.
I forced myself to shake off the shock, but my fingers trembled as I slammed my palm against the alarm button mounted beside my window.
Just as I felt relief, a gunshot pierced the air.
We all screamed, and I hit the floor just as two more shots rang out.
Then I could hear the burglars barging out of the bank.
My heart was in my throat.
Suddenly, more gunshots rang out, but they sounded like they were outside. Still, me and the other tellers took cover while screaming and praying.
Then… nothing.
An eerie, suffocating silence filled the room, thekind that made your skin crawl.
Then I heard someone coming back into the bank. There were hurried footsteps. And then a deep, familiar voice called my name.
It was Priest.
“Priest!” I shrieked as I let out a relieved breath.
Though we knew that the gunmen were gone, we all cautiously stood to our feet to make sure.
We ran from behind the counter but froze when we saw Priest kneeling beside Carl. Moans of a dying man pierced through the silence. The only noise heard in the bank was that of Carl, gurgling moans and gasping for air as blood seeped from his chest.
