Caught in the Crossfire

Chapter 2: Hit the Floor

The early September air was cool and damp in our little town of East Hope, Idaho: population 218. The windows of the run-down Dodge Dart were cracked, and the wind blew in our faces. My sister sat in the driver's seat, her long, silky black hair contrasted with her pale skin. She was beautiful. We stopped at a red light, and she turned her head and smiled at me. I loved the way she smiled. Her lips drew back to reveal two rows of perfect pearly whites. It made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice rang out like bells. That was my favorite thing about my sister, her voice. I shrugged.

"We'll just run in to get your prescription and leave I promise." There was the smile again. I couldn't help but smile back, my closed-mouth smile was no comparison, but I didn't care. We sat through the rest of the drive in comfortable silence. I looked out of my window into the forest. The rows and rows of towering trees were swallowed up by darkness the further back you looked, like they were trying to hide from the world. My body was wracked with a fit of gut-wrenching coughs. She glanced over at me with a look of pity.

"I can't believe you have pneumonia the week before school starts!" I nodded and shrugged my shoulders again. It wasn't fair. My sister was starting her senior year, and I was a sophomore. This was our last year together before she left for college. It was supposed to be remarkable. It wasn't starting off great, but oh well.

We pulled up to the small general store and parked in front of the entrance. We got out, and I pulled my violet, threadbare sweater tighter around me as the cold nipped at my arms. I followed my sister into the store.

"I'll get your medicine," she announced, breaking the stony silence in the store, "go pick out some tea ok?" Again, I nodded in response. When everything was found, we made our way to the middle of the shop and waited in line to pay.

There were two odd people standing in front of us, about three customers away from the cashier. One was tall and lanky, with short dark brown hair that limply flopped over to one side. The other one was almost the exact opposite. He was short and stocky, with a harsh, military- haircut and clean-shaven. They looked uneasy and jumpy. The tall one kept putting his hand in his pocket, pulling it back out, and replacing it. He would twitch his middle finger against the side of his thigh, then wash, rinse, and repeat. My sister raised her eyebrows at me and looked pointedly at his trembling fingers. We backed up, a little unsure of the bizarre strangers. They must have been passing through town because they had unfamiliar faces. Later I learned that they had been on their way to visit their mother.

Finally, it seemed as if they got tired of waiting for the couple in front of them to finish buying their groceries. The short one nudged his friend in the ribs with his elbow. They turned and started to walk in different directions. I immediately knew something was wrong. They pulled ski masks on over their heads. I gasped. My sister pulled me to her, and we hit the floor when they pulled guns from their jacket pockets.

"Everybody listen up!" the short one bellowed. He held the gun over his head and fired a single shot into the ceiling. Plaster fell from the newly made hole and dusted the people below. My sister screamed along with the others, and I was sent into a coughing fit.

"Do exactly what I say and no one will get hurt!"