Page 85 of Entangled

“Nine-one-one emergency services, what’s your emergency?”

Cara rattled off the address to the shelter. “Active shooter, at least one dead.”

“You’re sure it’s active, ma’am?” the woman asked.

Another gunshot rang out from down below as Cara headed for the housing wing first. “Very fucking sure, thanks.”

“Okay, please remain calm and on the phone.”

Cara pulled the lock-in bar from above the housing wing’s entrance doors and set it up as firmly as she could against the bottom, hearing some of the women come out of their rooms. The dispatcher continued to ask Cara questions, and she rattled off as much information as she could while she placed the metal bar in under the doors, opened it wide so that it used the cement walls as support. Now, the door couldn’t be opened from the other side.

“Ma’am, do you know—”

Cara ignored the dispatcher, and turned to the women coming out of their rooms, and the few staff there, too. “There’s an active shooter on the main floor. Door one to the housing wing is closed, secure, and locked-in. I’m going to exit out door two and head toward the kitchen. Someone needs to put the lock in bar behind me. Do not open those doors. Do not open them until you hear police declaring a non-active situation. Get in your rooms, close the doors, lock them up, and get under your beds, in your closets, or your bathrooms if you have one in your unit. Turn the lights off. Be extra quiet. Police have been notified, so let’s not get on a dozen cell phones and block up the emergency lines. Okay?”

She could plainly see the questions the waiting people wanted to ask, and their fear. She was grateful that they simply nodded, and she continued on, heading for the exit door.

“I take it the shelter has codes in place for this sort of thing,” the dispatcher said. “That’s good, very reassuring.”

“Just because we have them, doesn’t mean we want to use them.”

“Good point. The police are on their way.”

Cara’s phone vibrated, an incoming call on the other line, but she focused on making sure the housing wing did as she asked, and locked in the exit door that led to the stairs. Instead of going down the stairs to the bottom floor, she went down the U-shaped hallway that would lead her into the offices and kitchen area.

Once again, her phone vibrated with a call on the other line.

Cara checked it, seeing Gian’s number.

“You’re still on the line, ma’am, aren’t you?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes, but—”

Another burst of gunfire rang out behind the doors that lead to the offices wing where Cara had first come from. The noise and shock alone sent her spinning back into the wall again.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

She couldn’t lock in the offices wing when she knew there were people inside that might be able to get out. Not to mention, the lock-in bars were inside the doors, not outside. Because the people within needed to be safe, and keep the bad guys out.

Cara hadn’t meant to, but in her panic, she had clutched her phone the wrong way, and ended the call with the dispatcher. She could hear the shouts of Melinda’s raging husband just a few feet beyond the office wing’s doors when her phone started ringing.

Loudly.

Loud enough for someone to hear behind the doors.

Utter fear sent Cara running for the only safe zone left. The kitchen. Attached to the dining hall, she could get inside, have the doors locked down, wait for the cops, and hope for the fucking best.

She slammed into the back section of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, shouting and waving at the staff to help her get the lock-in bar in place. Her words mostly came out in a jumbled, panicky mess of jerky sentences and orders in the dark space with only the dim emergency lights up above.

Someone seemed to hear her, though.

Or they understood.

They just got the lock-in bar spread at the bottom of the door when the first kick hit it. Then, another round of gunfire sent Cara and the man who had helped her get the bar in place, flying backwards. She stumbled over her own feet, suddenly thankful the doors were metal and could take a bullet or two.

“The other door,” Cara mumbled to the confused, frightened staff working in the kitchen, “get the lock-in bar in the other door!”