“We’re not safe in here.” Jeremy looked around. I heard their fathers and Rosalind shouting. A gun shot sounded and Jeremy ran to the door and unlocked it. “Come on. Good thought. But we have to get out not hide in here. We’ll go through the other room and then out the window.”
Out the window? What?
“Yes.” Jules nodded. “Come on.” A second shot was fired, and I jolted. It was so much louder than I had ever pictured gunfire, and considering how many school shooter drills I had done in my life, I had pictured it a lot.
Jeremy yanked me forward, his grip tight around my wrist as we darted through the bathroom to the entrance to Barrett’s room. My lungs burned; each breath felt like icicles scraping the inside of my throat, fever sweat prickling at my forehead despite the chill. I really could pick the worst moments to get sick. It would be comical if it wasn’t terrifying. Julian moved ahead, his fingers flying over the handle before he threw the door open. The shouts downstairs echoed up the steps—frantic, furious, closer than I would have liked. Who had the guns? Who was firing at who? Was anyone hurt? We had to get out to find out.
We didn’t waste a second. Jeremy nudged me toward the room that shared the bathroom with the room we’d been sleeping in. We hadn’t really designated whose room was whose since we had gotten to this place. My bare feet slapped against the cold tiles, then the carpet, and I winced every time. My body just hurt. Julian was faster than both of us, already shoving the window open. The snow outside glowed in the pale late afternoon light, a thick blanket covering the yard and the branches of the tree just outside the window.
“Thank God this elm didn’t dry. Didn’t Granny say that most of the elms in this area died?” Julian whispered to us.
“I don’t remember, and I don’t care right now.” Jeremy scooted past Julian. We were going to use this tree to get down, but it was covered in snow. Nothing about this was going to be easy.
“Are you sure about this?” Barrett shouted up to us. He and Phoenix were on the ground. Gun fire boomed in the house, and we all jumped, us inside and the guys on the ground. How had they known we were going to do this?
Jules answered my unspoken question. “I’m texting them.”
Jer nodded. “Yes.”
I hesitated, coughing hard, and Jeremy half-lifted me by the elbow. “Now!” he whispered, urgency sharpening his voice. He climbed onto the sill first, his shoes crunching against the icy wood. Julian followed, swinging his legs out and clutching the tree trunk, neither he nor I were wearing shoes. What was the matter with me? Why could I never be appropriately dressed for the situations I found myself in?
The air outside hit me like a slap: cold and biting, stinging my eyes and throat. I clambered after the others, hands shaking, feet already numb. The bark was slick with snow; I almost slipped, and for a second, panic flared—would I fall? Jeremy reached over, steadying me, and Julian guided my hand to a sturdy branch.
I had never done this before. How did I shimmy down a snow laden tree? But necessity bred competence or at least not being totally and completely inept.
We scrambled down as quickly as we could, Jeremy leading the way—his footprints pressing clear and certain into the snow below. Julian gritted his teeth, his socks quickly soaked through, but he never looked back. I felt every inch of the climb, every ache in my chest. My fever burned, but the fear of what was happening in that house was stronger.
Phoenix grabbed me around the waist, pulling me against him before I got to the ground. “Got you. Wow, you are hot.”
Was I? Because right then I was freezing. I shivered in his arms, but I didn’t know where we were going when he carried me around the side of the house. Their gran’s old house was lit up, and they ran, Jules still in his socks.
“Are you okay?” Barrett put his hand on my forehead. “Yes, you are hot.”
Phoenix set me down on the couch. I had to say something. “What’s happening?”
“Well, I think that Daryl is going to die. I think my mom is going to kill her brother, if she hasn’t already.” Phoenix took off his coat and wrapped me in it while Julian stripped his socks and then grabbed mine, pulling them off. Barrett grabbed blankets and wrapped all of us in them.
The reality of what we had just done struck me. We could have died going down that tree.
Jeremy touched my cheek. “She’s hotter than before. The stress. We need Eric. Is he in that house?”
The door swung open and Stephen rushed in. He was out of breath and flushed. “Thank god. You’re all here. Okay. An ambulance is coming. Kit got shot. Don’t panic. Eric says he will be okay. But he’s hurt. And Daryl is dead. I need towels. I came to get some because I don’t know where they are in the other house.”
His words spurred action. My guys didn’t shout, they ran. Phoenix grabbed a towel and sprinted outside, his brothers on his heels. I didn’t have shoes, and I wasn’t moving so fast. But I got to my feet. What was I going to do? I really, really couldn’t go outside barefoot. I needed to be there, but I couldn’t be there as I was.
Barrett rushed back. He picked me up, wrapping me in a blanket. “Stay with me. Okay? I’m going to carry you but when we get inside don’t leave my side.”
Barrett carried me toward the house and once again the cold struck me hard. I was really getting tired of this. Maybe we should move somewhere warm someday. But in the meantime, we had to focus. Their father was hurt. The main room was chaos. Or maybe not. At first glance it had seemed that way but actually everyone was organized. Daniel and Rosalind kneltdown next to Kit where he lay stretched on the floor, a crimson stain blooming across his shirt. Where was he shot?
“Boys. Don’t be scared. My brother assures me that I will survive this. And it was my fault. I didn’t move fast enough.” Kit was talking.
Eric was beside him, holding a towel and pressing down on Kit’s shoulder, his bag open and spilling gauze and instruments onto the carpet. Did he carry that everywhere? Phoenix knelt opposite, holding Kit’s shoulders with a gentle firmness that kept him from twisting away. I saw how calm Phoenix was—his voice low and soothing, his movements quick but deliberate as he counted Kit’s pulse and relayed numbers back to Eric.
“I really am fine.”
Rosalind ran a hand through his hair. “Stop fussing and let Eric do what he does. You’re hurt. We’re going to help you. You were very brave.”
I deliberately didn’t look across the room. Daryl was dead. Someone had thrown a sheet over him. Probably Stephen who was pacing from the dead body to his brother.
