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Kinsley dove to the concrete, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to dodge the bullets and get to her car. Her dirty laundry in the backseat was her last chance. It had to save her life.
Seriously.Dirty laundry stopping a bullet from taking her life. Laughable if her life wasn’t on the line. She was grasping at straws, sure, but she’d try anything to stay alive.
Another gunshot rang out. A bullet struck the sidewalk by her legs, shards of cement biting into her ankles.
She wanted to dig her phone from her pocket and call 911, but she had to get out of his line of fire first.
She rolled. Once. Twice.
The rough surface razored against her skin. Rocks bit her knees.
Don’t stop.
She tumbled behind her car.
A bullet whisked through the air, sounding like a missile to Kinsley and splintering the tree behind her.
If she hadn’t moved…
No, don’t think about that. Just keep going.
She army crawled forward, sliding behind the front end of her small Honda. Additional bullets pinged into the side.
Keep going. Now!
Inch by inch. Skinned arms getting worse. So what. She was still alive.
She reached the backseat door. Her target. The location where she’d haphazardly thrown her dirty laundry on the floor to take to the laundromat.
She rolled to her back and clicked the remote to unlock the doors. They beeped in unison with another bullet.
Who in the world was shooting? Was it some random shooter firing at her because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was someone out to kill her?
No. Someone wouldn’t really be trying to kill her. Nother,of all people. She was just an average person. A nobody. Nothing special.
Shivers raced down her arms, and her muscles wanted to collapse.
Didn’t matter. Someone fired bullets from across the parking lot. Bullets that could kill her, and she had to act. Fast. Smart.Ifshe was going to survive. And she planned to survive.
She belly crawled onto the seat and swept her hand over the floor. Feeling for. Searching for. Needing her Kevlar vest that lay tangled in the heap of laundry.
A bullet shattered the windshield above. Glass sprayed through the backseat. She ducked and covered. Prayed.
Even if her vest was at her fingertips and would provide protection for her body, it only worked if she could put it on without first taking a bullet.
“No, LT. Stop. Just listen.” Devan Graham—Dev to everyone who knew him—counted the barrage of bullets discharged in the far parking lot.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“We have an active shooter situation at the morgue. In the overflow parking lot.”
“Why there?” his former lieutenant asked. “It should be empty at this time of day unless they have an event going on.”
“No event, but that doesn’t mean someone didn’t park back there.” The overflow lot for the medical examiner’s office and Oregon State Police Forensics Lab was just beyond the tree line that Dev was heading for.
“You think someone is just taking pot shots?” LT asked.
