“What’s happening?” I croak.
“I don’t—”
Something whizzes by. Cracks fill the air again. The lamp beside the bed shatters.
“Fuck, someone’s shooting.”
Ollie shoves me to the floor. The breath is knocked from my lungs. I struggle to breathe.
“Rolly.” He’s on his feet and running. The shots grow closer. I low crawl from the bedroom and into the hallway. Once there I scramble on my hands and knees to the bedroom. In the doorway I cry out as fire explodes in my side. I peer down to find my shirt blossoming with a red stain.
“Quinn.”
I glance over to the side of the bed where Ollie has his arms wrapped around Rolly.
“I’m fine,” “I whisper, applying pressure to the flesh wound. I’ve been nicked, but my main concern is Rolly.
The tinkle of breaking glass thrusts me into a state of panic. They’re moving closer.
“Get in the closet,” Ollie says. We run for the closed-off space as bullets continue to whizz by.
I fall back on my butt, and he shoves Rolly in my arms and wraps his body around us both. There’s nothing to do but wait. The police must have been called by now. This neighborhood is quiet, and the sense of community is tightknit. I rock back and forth as the shots continue, hissing when another streak of fire hits me from the back. My eyes water and Rolly cries out in pain. The shots are so close together it sounds like thunder. Debris hits the ground, and the smell of smoke fills my nostrils. Suddenly, everything stops. The silence is more frightening than the chaos. Tires squeal out. Stickiness coats my body.
“Quinn,” Ollie barks.
I blink up at him, slightly confused.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding. Rolly?”
He pushes away from me, and I slump against the wall.
“Rolly.” The strangled scream rips my heart out. I glance down at the child. He’s too still, and his breathing is shallow. His lips are turning blue.
“Rolly,” I rasp.
Ollie flips him onto his back and pats his face. “Hey. Time to wake up, little dude.” His chest isn’t moving. My lower lip trembles. I begin to wonder if the blood on my shirt is mine. He rips the top up and reveals the bullet wound, bubbling blood.
“What do I do, Quinn? Please, God, help me.”
“Apply pressure.” I pray I’m telling him the right thing as the wail of the sirens grows closer.
Ignoring the pain, I kneel beside Rolly and hold his small hand. I close my eyes. Please, God, don’t take him. He has barely had time to live.
“You told me this would happen. God. Why didn’t I listen? You were right, and now all of this is my fault.” His voice shakes as he rocks back and forth, clutching Rolly’s limp frame in his arms. Tears obscure my vision, and I struggle to remain upright and alert. My tongue is thick, my mouth is dry, and I’m unable to give words of comfort. I wobble as the world spins around me.
“Quinn?”
I slump back against the wall.
“Dizzy.” I lick my lips. My lids grow heavy.
“No. Don’t you pass out on me.”
I blink and fight against the blackness.
“Fuck.”
The splintering of the door is the last thing I hear before I slip into the blackness.