It sounded like a firework went off. I blinked, surprised, and Dante dropped my hand. He took a step toward the back door, his mouth hanging slack for just a half moment until we heard the shout.
“Stay here,” he growled at me, but I was already following. He sprinted to the back door and kicked it open, ducking down low.
I heard more bangs and more shouts, and it took me a moment to realize what was happening. I stared in through the open door at Gino, ducking down behind the kitchen counter, his gun held out. I could see three men in the hallway, pressed against the wall. One moved out into the open with a shotgun and pulled the trigger, blasting the spot where Gino was hiding with bullets.
Dante went careening into the room and lost his balance. He fell onto his side and slid along the hardwood floor, coming to a stop near Gino, who ducked down behind the counter again. He reached behind him and produced another gun, sliding it over to Dante, who grabbed it and got to one knee.
“Hold them off,” Dante growled.
“Run,” Gino said. “Just go.”
“Not without you.” Dante moved up and fired off a few rounds, the gunshots like explosions in my skull. I felt like I was stuck in place, nailed to the spot. Like I was a Tree of Heaven, my roots digging down deep into the concrete, connecting with all the other roots of the city.
“Go!” Gino shouted, standing up and firing his gun again. Another man ran into the room as a third came around the corner with a small machine gun that sprayed bullets in wild patterns on the wall. I ducked down, a scream leaving my lips.
The guy with the submachine gun had a hat pulled down low over his eyes and a black mask covering the lower half of his face. He wore dark khaki cargo pants and a button-down gray shirt. The others were dressed in similar outfits, black masks covering their faces, khaki pants, button-down shirts. One was tall and thin, one was average height. The other was muscular and bald.
Everything happened so fast. Dante came up, fired off a few rounds, and caught the average-looking guy with the dark hair in the leg. He screamed, staggered, shot his pistol a few times before falling over. Blood smeared all over the walls and the floor. Dante staggered back and ran, diving behind the couch as a shotgun blast boomed.
Gino fired his gun over and over again, shouting something incomprehensible. Dante rolled on the floor and sprinted at me as more bullets flew in the air around him. He slammed into me, shoving me back and away from the door as bullets ripped into the frame and the walls all around where I had just been. I slammed into the ground hard and felt pain flare in my elbow, but Dante didn’t give me a chance. He dragged me up and shoved me toward the back fence.
“Jump it,” he screamed. “And fucking run.”
I staggered over toward it, but didn’t go. He turned to the doorway and fired inside again. I heard shouts and more gunshots.
Dante turned and ran at me. He grabbed me, shoved me toward the fence, and practically threw me at it. I hit hard, wood biting into my hands. I jumped and caught the top, hauling myself up as a guy appeared in the doorway. It was the bald man with the shotgun, and Dante gunned him down with a shout, blood spurting from the wounds in huge waves.
Gino came stumbling out of the door as the bald guy collapsed. He was bleeding from his chest, the blood pouring from between his fingers.
“Gino!” Dante screamed.
“Go,” Gino gasped.
I hung there at the top of the fence. Dante looked up at me, eyes wild, and shoved. I teetered sideways then went over, falling over the fence.
I landed in a bush, the branches cutting into my skin. I heard a scream and more gunshots. Holes appeared in the fence nearby. I yelled Dante’s name and jumped for the top again, desperate to see him.
But Dante appeared at the top. He leapt over it, his shoe catching the top just enough to trip him up. He landed off balance, rolled to the side, got to his feet and ran to me. “Come on,” he hissed.
“What? Where’s Gino?”
“Gino’s dead.” Dante fired at the fence blindly, wood ripping up from the holes. “Run!”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me as he sprinted at the backyard neighbor’s house. He slammed into the side fence, fumbled with the latch, and flipped it open. We were running down a brick side walkway, skirting along pretty yellow flowers and a rosebush, as we came to the hill that led down to the sidewalk. I stumbled and almost fell but Dante grabbed me, held me up, and pulled me along.
We hit the sidewalk and he slowed his pace. We crossed the street and Dante shoved his gun into his waistband, covering it with his shirt. He held tight to my hand, and I saw blood on his shirt. “Dante,” I said. “You’re hurt.”
He looked down and shook his head. “Gino’s,” he said.
“What… what happened? Who was that? Dante?”
“Gino held them off,” he whispered, and said nothing else.
We walked for a while. It was a hot morning, muggy and disgusting. People stared at us, some of them wary, some of them confused. Dante didn’t speak to anyone, didn’t acknowledge anything, until we reached the center of town. He ducked into a small dry cleaning place with a pretty older Korean woman sitting behind the table in black jeans and a white button-down.
“Mr. Dante,” she said, eyes going wide with shock.
“Let me use your phone, Mrs. Kim,” he said.
“Of… of course. Yes, of course. Here you are.” She placed a landline on the top of the counter and moved away, lingering just a few feet away.
Dante picked it up, dialed
