At the corner she turned around and headed back. Once again she thought she heard someone behind her and turned to ask directions, but no one was there. Three blocks later she stopped and looked around. She didn’t recognize anything. Had she walked past this street?
Lightning lit up the sky and was quickly followed by a loud crack of thunder. She put her jacket on and was unzipping all four pockets looking for her cell phone so she could get accurate directions back to the hotel when she heard a loud pop, the sound very like a firecracker exploding. Then another pop and another and another. She looked to the sky, half expecting to see a dazzling fireworks display.
No . . . no. Those were gunshots, and they were coming from right around the corner.
It all happened so fast. There wasn’t even time to run. Isabel was the only one on the street now.
She turned and saw several men and women looking out their windows from the apartment building across the street. She was still holding her breath when a man staggered around the corner. His shirt was covered in blood, and there was even more blood streaming down his right leg, soaking his pants. He had a gun in his hand and a badge clipped to his waist. Before she could react, he lurched forward, reaching out to her. He was trying to say something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
His voice was a tortured whisper. He was mumbling the same word, over and over again. She was so shocked, she froze. Throwing himself into her arms, he clawed at her jacket. She wrapped her arms around his waist, stumbled back, then went down to her knees, trying desperately to protect him from crashing to the ground.
He was such a big man and so heavy. She tried to ease him to the pavement, but his weight pulled her forward. He hit his head before landing on his back. She landed full length on top of him. He still had a death grip on her jacket and was pushing his gun between them. Did he want her to hold on to it for him? He kept thrusting the gun at her until it was firmly in her hand.
The weapon was sticky with blood. She gripped it tightly with her finger on the trigger. She was lifting up when out of the corner of her eye she saw a man running toward her, coming fast. She didn’t see his gun until he fired at her. Two shots. The first bullet went wild, but the second bullet grazed her upper arm and burned like the blazes. She reacted without thinking.
She shot him between the eyes.
He fell backward and landed with a loud smack on the street. Still holding the gun with her arms out straight, her left hand balancing her right, she braced herself, waiting to see if there were any more shooters out there.
Keeping her attention on the corner, she carefully moved off the injured man and laid the gun next to her. When she dared to look down, she saw he wasn’t moving. She put her hand on his chest to find out if he was still breathing. Frantic, she spun in all directions looking for help, but the street was eerily quiet.
The wound on the man’s shoulder was seeping blood in an even trickle, but his pant leg was completely saturated now. Oh God, there was so much blood. She had to do something. The bullet must have nicked an artery. Blood was coming so fast it was pooling on the sidewalk and streaming
across the curb into the street. She pressed the palm of her hand against the opening, one palm on top of the other, hoping she could stem the flow. She glanced up, and that’s when she saw a man standing at the corner a block away. He was big and had shocking red hair. She started to call out to him to come help her, but he suddenly disappeared. Had she imagined him? Oh God, she needed someone to help her.
Time stood still, and then suddenly chaos exploded around her in a blur. Everything was happening with lightning speed, and she didn’t have time to react. People were screaming; sirens were blaring, and men and women were rushing toward her. Police cars and an ambulance arrived at the same time. Three police cars blocked the street and the ambulance was right behind them. She didn’t know how many policemen there were, but it seemed as though a whole squadron was running at her. A very young officer had his gun drawn and was shouting at her. There was so much noise she couldn’t understand what he was saying. A wave of nausea hit her. The metallic smell of blood was making her sick. She closed her eyes, continued to press against the wound, and took deep gasping breaths to keep from throwing up.
Just as the paramedics reached the injured man, the young policeman holstered his gun and shouted something. Was he reading her her rights? There were so many people yelling she couldn’t really be sure.
One of the paramedics put his hand on top of Isabel’s. “Okay, good job,” he said. “You can let up now. We’ve got this.” As she pulled away, he looked her over. “Are you injured?”