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Bing Bang lurched left, lifted his gun, and shot again. That round missed the wild man’s head by inches, but he didn’t even flinch. He bent his knees, set his feet, cocked the length of pipe back as if he were a batter standing at the plate, then swung through as O’Hare fired again. The bullet struck the wild man at the same time as his pipe connected with O’Hare’s head.

Bing Bang dropped in his tracks, his skull caved in.

The wild man looked dumbly at O’Hare’s motionless body, then down at his own side. He sat down hard in the debris, still holding the pipe.

“I’m shot,” he said.

Sampson said, “Metro PD. Drop the pipe, sir.”

The wild man blinked, let go of the pipe, and put a hand on his side. He peered at John, who was using a jagged piece of metal from the debris to cut his wrists free, then at me.

“All’s good?” the wild man said, slurring slightly. “Everyone good?”

“We’re all very good because of you, sir,” I said, trying to process what had just happened. “As soon as we get free, we’re calling you an ambulance.”

He nodded, then gazed at Emma Stein. “Her first.”

Sampson cut the zip tie around his ankles, then cut my bonds. He got his radio and called for backup and two ambulances while I checked Luke, who was quietly whimpering, and Boog, who held out his wrists for me to free. Finally, I went to Emma, who had gotten herself into a sitting position and was leaning against the wall.

“Ambulance is on the way,” I told her as I freed her from the zip ties.

She nodded, her eyes half-lidded. “My mom really dead?”

“Yes, she is, Emma. I’m so sorry.”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She tried to stand up.

“You’re hurt, Emma,” I said. “You probably have a head injury. You should stay right here until the EMTs show up.”

“No,” Emma said, forcing herself to her feet. She walked unsteadily through the rubble to her brother and sat down beside him, and the two fell sobbing into each other’s arms while Boog hung his head.

I started to go comfort the kids, but as I went past the wild man, I slowed. He was still sitting there in the debris, holding his side with now bloody fingers.

I stopped and said, “You’re a hero, sir. Thank you.”

He looked at me, then blinked as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “You’re welcome, Alex.”

Between my initial confusion and then my overwhelming disbelief and utter joy, I could barely get his name out. “Charlie?”

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MY BROTHER KEPT SAYING he was fine, but when the EMTs arrived on the scene, they found he had a through-and-through wound. The bullet had entered three inches below his rib cage and exited two inches above the ridge of his pelvic bone, and he was bleeding heavily. Then his blood pressure plunged.

The paramedics judged Charlie to be the most urgent case and put him in the first ambulance; they said Emma Stein and the boys would go in the second one. I rode with Charlie. I didn’t know if he was conscious enough to understand anything, but I kept telling him how much our father and grandmother loved him and wanted to see him.

“We’ve been worried about you, man,” I said. “We had no idea that you’d gone to the streets. Nana Mama wants to help you. We all do.”

He murmured, “Maybe.”

The closest hospital was overwhelmed with casualties from a big traffic accident near the Fourteenth Street Bridge, so all ambulances were being diverted to St. Anthony’s. The ER staff met us outside and rushed Charlie in and then straight up to the operating room.

The next ambulance that came in had Boog, Emma, and Luke aboard. I told the ER staffers who took them that I didn’t know what had happened to Emma.

Luke said, “She got free and tried to escape, and O’Hare hit her with a piece of wood. She didn’t move for a while.”

They took Boog away for X-rays, and I left Luke with his sister, called home, and told Bree everything that had happened since I’d left that morning. When I told her about Charlie saving the day only to get shot, she choked up.

“Isn’t life amazing sometimes?” she said. “Both good and bad.”