Amish Safe House. Debby Giusti

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Another round of gunshots. Her heart thumped a warning. She wiped her hand on a dish towel and hurried into the living area. “When did he leave?”

      Her seven-year-old daughter clutched her doll and shrugged. Thankfully, Kayla seemed oblivious to the gang warfare that held this part of the inner city hostage.

      “Come with me.” Julia reached for her daughter’s hand.

      Kayla reluctantly rose from the floor, still holding her doll, and slipped her small hand into her mother’s. “Where are we going?”

      “To Mrs. Fielding’s apartment.”

      Kayla’s face broke into a wide smile. “Maybe she baked cookies today.”

      If only all of life’s problems could be solved with a cookie.

      “Hurry.” Julia ushered her daughter into the stairwell and up one flight of steps.

      She knocked on the apartment door. “Mrs. Fielding?”

      Relieved when the sweet neighbor with the warm gaze and understanding smile opened the door, Julia gently guided Kayla through the doorway.

      “William’s outside,” she explained. “I heard gunshots.”

      The older woman’s brown eyes widened. “Lord, protect that boy.”

      “Can you watch Kayla?”

      “Of course, dear.”

      “Lock the door, Mrs. Fielding. The gangs have started following their victims into stairwells.”

      “God help us.” The woman moaned as she pointed Kayla toward the table. “Sit there, baby. I’ll get you a cookie.”

      Once the door closed, Julia waited to hear the click of the dead bolt fall into place before she raced down the stairs, pushed on the outer door and stepped into the cool night air.

      A pop-pop-pop sounded, followed by a rapid burst of semiautomatic gunfire. Heart in her throat, Julia ran toward the sound.

      “William?” She glanced into the alley, the neighboring apartment, the small grocery on the corner with its windows barred to stop the rampant crime.

      “Thank you, Charlie,” Julia spat out, her hands fisted. Anger at her ex-husband bubbled up anew.

      More gunfire, peppered with angry shouts.

       Where’s Will?

      She turned left at the intersection, then right onto a side street. Her gut tightened. Halfway down the block two bodies lay sprawled on the roadway. Dark swaths of blood pooled on the pavement.

      Fear tangled her spine.

       William!

      She wanted to scream his name, but her outcry would draw attention to a fourteen-year-old enamored of punk teens and twentysomethings who flaunted knives and guns and endless cash.

      She blamed Charlie, her ex, who was serving time. So much for fatherly love. The only thing he had provided for his children was a heritage of crime.

      Slipping into a nearby alleyway, she peered at the thugs marked with tattoos and piercings milling around their fallen comrades.

      More shots. A man gasped, his face caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He clutched his chest and collapsed to the pavement. Just that quickly, the rival gangs scattered.

      Footsteps sounded. Julia held her breath and narrowed her gaze, trying to determine who was approaching.

      Her eyes widened.

      William!

      She stepped from the darkness and grabbed her son’s hand. “Where were you?”

      “Mom, please.” He jerked free.

      “You snuck out.”

      “I told Kayla.”

      “You didn’t tell me.”

      She glanced back. Three men stood staring at them. Julia’s heart lurched. She motioned William forward. “Go home. Now.”

      Footsteps slapped the pavement behind them. She turned again. Her heart stopped. The men were running toward them.

      “Hurry, Will.”

      With his long legs and easy gait, her son moved ahead of her. They turned left at the corner and right at the next intersection. Her lungs burned. She gasped for air.

      William climbed the stairs to their apartment building and plugged in the code. The door clicked open. He disappeared into the stairwell.

      Julia followed him inside and up the stairs. He stood at the door of their apartment, fumbling with the key.

      Shouts sounded below.

      “Where is he?” Male voices. “Where’s that punk kid? David’s friend. He saw it all go down.”

      Another voice, coming from the same group. “I know his apartment number. Follow me.”

      Heavy footfalls pounded the stairs.

      Julia’s heart stopped. She reached around William and jiggled the key. The door to their apartment opened. She shoved him into the living room, slammed the door behind her and engaged the lock.

      “Hide, Will. In the bathroom.”

      She grabbed her cell phone off a side table and followed her son through the bedroom to the bath beyond, locking both doors behind them just as the gang members crashed through the front door and entered the apartment.

      “Lay down.” She motioned William into the tub. “Cover your head with your hands.”

      Trembling, Julia punched 911 into her cell. “The Philador gang,” she said, breathless, once the operator answered. “Three of them...in my apartment.”

      She gave the address, the words spilling out one after another. “My son and I...locked in the bath. Hurry.”

      Angry shouts. Glass shattered. A heavy object clattered to the floor.

       God, can You hear me? Protect my child.

      Julia pushed her weight against the bathroom door, hoping it would hold. Her heart raced. A roar filled her ears.

      If only the police...

      Sirens sounded.

      Would they get there in time?

      Voices in the bedroom. Something or someone rammed the bathroom door.

      “You’re dead, punk.”

      William glanced up, his face twisted with fear.

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