Bullets In A Cold Winter Breeze

Chapter Eighteen Bullets In A Cold Winter Breeze

"Bddddddddddddddddddd!" The murderous sound of AK-47 bullets ripping through my eardrum unconsciously gets my knees to my chest and arms flying past my face and ass as I sprint to the squabbling girls. With no thoughts of self, I blast through the screen door, flinging both girls, who seemed unconcerned by the shots, inside the house so hard it knocks all of us to the ground. Still in protection mode, I manage to throw my foot at the door. Dazing all the house walls with force, I kick it closed before crawling to my knees and slamming all the locks across the door.

As the shots continue, we slither to the basement, where I permit the girls to go down the steps first. "Yo scary-ass ain't used to them damn shots yet? Them shots you so fuckin scared of are the infrastructure to this whole godforsaken city." The old bitch giggles as I'm about to follow Melanie and Nae-Nae's lead. Reluctantly, I look back to see her making a gun with her hand before firing it directly toward my brain. My face puzzles, but all I can do is roll my eyes at her crude remark and scathing action before rushing down the steps.

While I escape, Russ's grinning body jumps over me. Simultaneously, the single crutched JoJo painfully hobbles after his brother. Enthusiastically, they rush into the explosive gun sounds, each with two weapons secured.

My soul snaps my movements, freezing the frames as I watch the girls disappear into the safety of the darkness. My hunched back straightens as my confidence surges after possibly saving Melanie's life. My muscles seem to grow, and I feel a few inches taller as the reality that I've actually preserved both of them sets in. Knowing Melanie is safe puts my soul at ease but scares the shit out of me in the duplicate manner cause as long as we're in Chicago, we can never actually be safe.

"C'mon, Trent! Get down here." Melanie urges desperately as the sound of her trotting boots begins petting the ground. It's too dark to be certain, but I know she's watching me closely and wondering why I'm not already at her side. Truth be told, much like when I ran outside to save them, I'm not in control of my body.

No part of me doesn't want to follow her order and mind my own business like I usually do. Yet, for some reason, I'm obligated to observe Russ and JoJo. "Sorry, baby," I answer, slamming the door locked before cautiously rushing to the screen door.

"Oh, so you can be tough now, huh?" The old bitch interrogates with a final chuckle as she makes her way up the stairs. With no more gunshots barging through my eardrums, it's audible that Russ and JoJo are on the front porch debating why the gunshots sounded so close, yet no one can be seen. No screams, tire squealing signifying a drive-by, or even sirens confirming cops are on the way. It makes no sense. Why would someone just let off over twenty shots besides the empty street? And the even bigger question is how would they disappear without a trace? My mind races with attempts to make sense of the invisible encounter. If not for the sounds ricocheting in my mind so loud, I'd question if the event even happened.

Before I can decide on rejoining the girls, the arrogant sound of glass shattering reveals a bloodied man being tossed out of the window directly across the street from us. I gape in horror as the already deceased body splinters the concrete like an oil rig. What the fuck would make somebody shoot someone more than fifty times in their own home? Oh yeah, I live in Chicago now, where there's no need for logical reasons.

I take a few much-needed deep breaths; before getting relaxed enough to stand on my feet. The next gunshot is a single bullet. Most likely from a handgun, signaling that the shooter either committed suicide or even a second shooter shot the first. Either way, Russ and JoJo take the sound as their cue to charge into the conceivably vacant house without looking around to observe the many witnesses standing outside. Assuming they know what they're doing, I turn a blind eye yet monitor everything going on. I know they'll ask me to do something on their return, and I'd rather it be on my own accord than be forced to do something I don't want to while Melanie might hear what's going on. Getting bossed around is one thing, but getting punked in front of my lady is an entirely different animal that I can't allow.