Critical Condition. Sandra Orchard

      THREE

      Screams—her own screams—barraged Tara’s eardrums. She dove face-first into the front seat of the car and covered her head with her arms.

      The window behind her seat shattered, spraying glass over the seats, her clothes, her hair.

      “Tara, talk to me!” Zach’s voice shrilled from the vicinity of the floorboard.

      She took one hand from her head and felt for her cell phone. If she hadn’t been reaching into the car to grab the phone, that first shot might’ve gone through her heart instead of through her car and out the passenger window.

      Her fingers closed around the phone as another shot ripped through the door. Clinging to the phone, she rolled to the floor. Pebbles of glass ground into her legs and arms. “Someone’s shooting at me!”

      “Are you okay?”

      “Someone’s shooting at me!”

      “Where are you?” he demanded.

      “In my car.”

      “I need an address!”

      The sound of screeching tires pierced the air. “I think he’s gone. I hear sirens coming. I’ll just—”

      “Tara, stay down.” The urgency in Zach’s voice knocked her back with all the force of a physical push. “Don’t lift your head. Tell me where you are.”

      “Sam’s Cove. Thirty-eight Eagle Avenue. It’s ten minutes west of Miller’s Bay.”

      “I’m on my way, but stay on the line. Are the sirens getting closer?”

      The steady timbre of his voice eased her heart’s frantic pounding. “Yes.”

      “Good. Someone must’ve called it in. Stay down until the cops get there.”

      She swiped at a tear dripping down her cheek and gasped when her hand came away bloody.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m bleeding.”

      “Were you hit?”

      “It’s just from the shattered glass, I think. I don’t know....” She felt herself losing control. “Zach, I can’t stay here. What if the shooter comes closer?” Except she couldn’t run for the house and draw gunfire near Suzie.

      “Stay calm. Put pressure on the wound. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Just hold on.”

      At the sound of feet pounding toward her, she curled deeper into the narrow space beneath the dash.

      A hulking figure appeared at the door, blocking the light.

      Tara couldn’t help it. She screamed.

      “What is it?” Zach asked urgently.

      “Tara, it’s me.”

      Relief poured through her as she recognized the voice of her mom’s neighbor John Calloway.

      The older gentleman gingerly pulled her free of the glass. “Let me get you inside.” He tried to pry the phone from her clenched fist. “The police are on their way. Your daughter is screaming for you, and it’s all your mom can do to hold her.”

      Suzie’s cry fired Tara’s muscles. She dropped the phone and ran to the front door, where Mom held her thrashing daughter by the waist. The instant her mother released the child, Suzie tumbled into Tara’s arms.

      Mr. Calloway herded them inside the house.

      Within seconds, an explosion of colored lights strobed through the window, dancing across the walls of the tiny living room.

      Tara collapsed into an armchair, and Suzie burrowed into her arms, sobbing. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.”

      Tara’s mom shook her head, but thankfully didn’t voice her disagreement.

      “Did you see the shooter?” Mr. Calloway asked.

      “No.”

      “You must have seen something,” Mom pressed, her voice edging higher.

      Tara squeezed Suzie more tightly and gave her mother a not now look.

      Mr. Calloway shook his head. “You never saw things like this when I was a kid. It’s the drugs. Seems to be all kids care about these days. The cops say they broke up that local drug ring, but I don’t believe it. Before long we’ll be no different than those American cities you see on TV.”

      Her mother slipped from the room and reappeared with a damp facecloth. She gently dabbed at Tara’s face. “The cut doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” The cloth came away bloody, and Mom’s wary expression belied the calm in her voice.

      Through the window, Tara could see an officer unfurling caution tape as another pointed in the direction from which the shots had likely been fired. She shivered. Drive-by shootings weren’t supposed to happen in quiet communities where churches outnumbered bars four to one.

      A loud rap sounded at the door. Mr. Calloway let in a uniformed police officer and directed him to Tara.

      The officer removed his hat. “I’m Officer Nelson, ma’am. I need to ask you some questions.” His gaze shifted from her to Suzie.

      Mom reached for Suzie’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Grandma will get you some milk and cookies while your mommy talks to the police officer.”

      “No.” Suzie’s arms clamped around Tara’s middle. “I not leave you.”

      “It’s okay, sweetie.” Tara lifted her daughter’s chin. “We’re all safe inside the house with the officer here to protect us. I need you to be a big, brave girl. Okay?”

      Mom gently cupped Suzie’s shoulders and tugged her away. Mr. Calloway hovered at the door, looking uncertain whether to stay or go.

      The officer pulled out a pad and pen. “Did you see who shot at you?”

      She wedged her trembling hands under her legs. “No.”

      “Has anyone threatened you? A jilted boyfriend maybe?”

      “No!” she retorted.

      “You having any domestic problems? A business deal go bad?”

      Momentarily speechless at the suggestion that she brought the attack on herself, Tara crossed her arms. “No.”

      “It’s got to be drugs,” Mr. Calloway muttered. “It’s always about drugs.”

      “I’ll take your statement in a few minutes, sir. If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the kitchen, I’d appreciate it.”

      Mr. Calloway let out a snort, but did as he was asked.

      Officer Nelson flipped over a page of his notepad. “Okay, then tell me everything you can remember—descriptions of any people or cars you saw pass by before the shooting.”

      “I didn’t notice anyone. I left work sick.” Thankfully, she didn’t feel too sick anymore. The overload of adrenaline coursing through her system must’ve flushed out whatever had been cramping her stomach. That and the shot Alice had given her. “I brought my daughter here to my mom’s so I could go home and sleep.”

      The sound of squealing brakes snapped her attention to the living-room window. A black pickup screeched to a stop at the end of the driveway, nose-to-nose with a cruiser. Zach jumped out.

      Her heart kicked at the sight of him plowing past the police tape, a mix of determination and worry creasing