I tore my eyes from the doorway and peered around the shed, noting the heavy beams forming the frame and doors, all connected by thin, plywood walls. Something tickled at the back of my head, but it took a minute to form into words. When realization finally dawned, I let out an alarmed cry and frantically motioned Tobin down.

  My voice was unclear, but he got the message and dropped, shielding Milo’s body with his own. No sooner did he flatten out then a crossbow bolt blew through the back of the shed, punching through the plywood wall and striking the squat rack with a metallic ring.

  “Sergeant!” Tobin screamed, peering back toward the ray of morning light shining in through the wall.

  “I see it!” I exclaimed.

  I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  Cover and concealment are one of the first lessons you learn in the academy. Cover is good. It shields you from view and from harm. Concealment is also good. Just not as good as cover.

  Concealment shields you from view, but not from harm. Some cops have learned this the hard way when crouching down behind the doors of their cruisers when under fire. Bullets, for being relatively cheap, punch way above their weight class, and the last place any cop wants to find themselves is pinned down in concealment, with an enemy who knows where they are and is free to fire at will.

  Kind of like how we were now.

  A second bolt blew through the wall, cutting across my field of vision and passing out through the opposite side. A third quickly followed, and then a fourth. Most of the bolts were being aimed toward the back of the shed where the power rack and Stairmaster sat. Exactly where our shooter would have expected us to be, if they didn’t know the layout of the shed’s interior. It was a lucky break, if you could call it that, but it wouldn’t last. Short of running out of ammo, the shooter could keep firing with impunity.

  A surge of fear went through me, coalescing into a heavy ball that sat in the pit of my stomach at the realization that staying here could only end badly for us.

  “Get him up,” I snapped.

  Tobin flashed me an incredulous look. “What?”

  “We can’t stay here,” I said, as another bolt tore through the wall. This one came through ahead of me, suggesting our shooter was changing position. “Get hold of him and be ready to run.”

  “Run where?” Tobin asked.

  It was a good question. We couldn’t reach the car, and there was only one other option that wouldn’t immediately endanger those around us. “Into the house.”

  “Are you serious? We’ll never make it. I can carry him, but I’ll never be able to move fast enough to avoid being shot.”

  He had a point, and for a moment, I was stumped. Then another arrow punched through the wall and struck one of the barbell plates. It hit with a loud metallic clang and ricochetted off, giving me a sudden idea.

  “You run,” I said. “I’ll handle the shooter.”

  Tobin swallowed and brought his arms underneath Milo before lifting him off the floor. Years of outdoor labor had given Tobin a natural strength, the kind that wasn’t always reflected in gyms and bodybuilder magazines. He cradled Milo to his chest as if he were an infant, and kept the brown sweatshirt wrapped around his form. At the same time, I holstered my pistol and grabbed the largest barbell plate I could find. A forty-five-pound disc that was more than large enough to cover my torso and part of my head if I crouched down. I dragged it off the rack and dropped down beside the door as Tobin drew up beside me.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “One second.” I rested the barbell against my leg, drew my pistol and fired three quick shots out through the bottom of the nearest wall. I aimed where I knew the bullets would pass through into the grass.

  Milo let out a painful groan, and Tobin sucked in a quick breath, but a moment later he got it. Our shooter couldn’t see us, but the noise would carry and, hopefully, force them to pause to be sure they weren’t under fire. If it worked, it would only buy us a few seconds, but it was better than nothing. Assuming, of course, that we made the most of it.

  I holstered my pistol again, seized the barbell in two hands, and hoisted it into the air, holding it to my left side as if it were a medieval shield.

  “Let’s go!” I snapped and kicked the shed door open.

  We leapt through the doorway and came down onto the grass together. As soon as our feet touched, Tobin took off, bending at the back to shield Milo as much as possible. I ran alongside him, keeping pace and using the barbell plate to cover us. The diameter was wide enough to protect our vital organs, but there wasn’t anything I could do about our legs. I just had to hope our pace was swift enough that our shooter wouldn’t be afforded more than a shot or two.

  Tobin was a shorter guy, stout, and not the sort anyone would instinctively think of as being fast. But he had heart, and he dug his toes into the ground and ate up the distance quickly, crossing almost one-third of the yard before the shooter got their first bolt off.

  I didn’t see where the shot came from, but I heard the string’s snap an instant before the bolt cut through the air. I’d been banking on the hope that the shooter was still to our left. It was a gamble that paid off. The bolt came from the same direction I had the barbell plate facing. The shot was rushed and flew high, passing three feet over our heads.

  Harmless, but not unnoticed.

  Tobin let out a startled cry and tried to put on a burst of speed. Unfortunately, when he did, his foot slipped and his balance wavered. For a brief second, I feared he was going down. I knew if he did I’d have to go with him. To shield him as best I could until he got back up to his feet. Unfortunately, I also knew how much easier it was to hit a stationary target than a moving one. I doubted we’d get out of that one unscathed.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to find out. Tobin’s footsteps fumbled, but at the last second he gritted his teeth and caught his balance, righting his gait just as we reached the halfway point across the yard.

  A second bolt shot out from behind some bushes near the edge of the property and hit the barbell with a heavy clang. The force of the impact snapped the bolt cleanly in two, separate ends ricochetting away even as my hands trembled.

  The barbell started to slip, and suddenly it was my turn to falter. Unlike Tobin, I hadn’t been born with anything resembling natural grace. I hit the ground and skidded along one knee for a good two feet before stumbling back up.

  It was only a quick misstep, but it was enough to cause us to slip out of sync. For two to three seconds, we were misaligned, but that was all the time the shooter needed. I heard the whipping snap of the crossbow and caught a brief flash of green as it cut across my vision.

  I tried to raise the barbell, but it was gone before my eyes could track it. It streaked across my face and into Tobin’s path. Fear shot through me, and the shout died on my lips as the crossbow bolt sped toward him. Whether through divine miracle or just blind luck, it came a tenth of a second too early and caught the hanging sleeve of the brown sweatshirt draped over Milo. It punched through the soft cloth, tearing a deep gash in the sleeve but otherwise causing no harm.

  I stared openmouthed, unable to believe the sheer luck of it, until Tobin cast a quick glance backward and yelled, “Come on!”

  I kicked my feet back into gear, catching up with him as we made our final push toward the house.

  Our shooter had lost their best angle and seemed to realize it as we closed in on the house. Their shots increased, but their accuracy had fallen by the wayside. Bolt after bolt streaked wide or high, some impacting the house. As we closed in on the final few strides, I raised the barbell plate up over my head and hurled it through the air toward the sliding glass doorway. Iron met glass with predictable results, and the door shattered, broken shards falling to the ground and leaving us a clear means of entry.

  Tobin went through first, pausing only long enough to ensure he didn’t cut himself or Milo. I followed hot on his heels, shielding their backs with my own body. Past the doorway, we cut an immediate left and headed into the kitchen. It had a cute, country style theme, with a little rooster cookie pot and red and green towels that said “Home Sweet Home” on them.

  At the moment, I was more interested in the wall. Specifically, the concrete that would provide us cover from our shooter. Tobin stayed low, but I shot past him and peeked my head over the edge of the kitchen sink, peering out through the frilly draped window into the backyard just as a figure emerged from the bushes in the adjoining yard.

  Dressed in loose fitting pants and an oversized gray jacket, the shooter was thin to the point of being skeletal, with a bony, spidery way of moving. They were gripping a one-handed crossbow similarly to how you would a pistol, with a nylon brace wrapped around their forearm to steady it. An army green backpack hung from one shoulder, with the green-feathered ends of more bolts sticking out of the open pouch.

  I couldn’t tell from this distance if it was a man or a woman. They had a skull cap on, pulled low enough to disguise their features, but not so low that I couldn’t see the sickly, half mad smile as they raised their crossbow and fired.

  I jerked my head back a split second before the bolt crashed through the window, tore through the drapes and embedded itself into the refrigerator. I cursed and yanked my pistol free of its holster, but my shooter was moving sideways across the yard, and I didn’t have a shot.

  “Sergeant!” Tobin yelled. He’d moved from the kitchen into the living room, taking cover beside an antique upright piano that looked to be the heaviest thing in the room. “What do we do now?”

  I didn’t answer right away. We were out of immediate danger, but we still couldn’t call for help. Not unless we wanted to risk Milo being whisked off to some emergency room. My car was parked at the end of the street. Might be we could make a run for it, but if the shooter had anticipated this, it would be over before we could react. I thought back to the crossbow bolt that had barely missed Tobin and realized I didn’t want to push my luck. We needed another option. Fast. A quick means of egress with minimal risk.

  I dropped down and low crawled across the kitchen, passing into the living room before I spotted my answer. Hanging by the door was a wooden key rack. It was a cute little shelf, with a framed photograph of a happy couple and a small potted plant. Two pairs of keys hung from small golden hooks. I let out a happy snort and speed crawled across the room, fearful that any moment another bolt might punch through the window.

  The shot never came, but my gut warned me the clock was ticking. The longer this went on, the more likely it was that the shooter would risk coming inside the house. I wanted to be long gone before that happened. I grabbed both sets of keys and yanked them off the hooks before peering down. The first set looked to be made up of spares. Spare house, and several smaller golden ones that likely belong to a mailbox or the shed out back. I tossed them aside and turned to the second set. It bore a house key, along with a set of automobile keys, including a fob for remote access.

  I tightened my hand into a fist and let out a silent cry. I knew from coming in that the garage was off to our right, and I motioned for Tobin to follow me.

  The two of us moved swiftly while keeping ourselves as low as possible. As we came to the opening of the hallway, the window behind us shattered and a bolt streaked inside, impacting into the opposite wall. A flash of fear went through me, but I forced it back down, telling myself that the shooter was firing randomly in an attempt to flush us out.

  There were three doorways down the hall. One on the left, which I assumed led to a guestroom, and two on the right. The first one was open, and I peeked my head in just enough to see that it was a home office. There were two desks situated on opposite sides of a large window, and beyond the drapes and the blooming purple bushes, I glimpsed the street. A quick glimpse, but if I could see out then the shooter could see me too.

  I dropped onto my belly and low crawled across the entryway. Once on the other side, I turned and motioned Tobin to lay Milo on the ground. He did, and I seized the back of his shirt, feeling the sweat stained fabric as I pulled him across. Just as his shoulders cleared the doorframe, the office window shattered, and a crossbow bolt streaked across the room, cutting directly between us.

  The bolt buzzed past my face, and I screamed out a curse and fell back, still gripping Milo. I tumbled onto my back and pulled with all my might, carrying Milo out of the line of fire and pulling him on top of my chest at the same moment a sudden hissing noise rose to fill the hall.

  I glanced up toward Tobin and noted the crossbow bolt sticking out of the wall a split second before the water erupted outward. The last bolt had hit a waterline, and the sudden rush sprayed into the office, casting itself out in a wide arc.

  Tobin shook himself and took two steps back before leaping across the doorway. He landed on the other side and lifted Milo from atop me before helping me up to my feet.

  We continued down the hall and came up beside the second doorway that opened into a two-car garage. The first bay was empty, but the second was occupied by a dark gray Volvo. I pressed the key fob I’d taken from near the front door, and the headlights flashed, the doors unlocking and sending a flash of relief through me.

  I opened the passenger door and helped lay Milo across the backseat. Tobin got in after him, cradling his unconscious friend’s head while I shut the door and made my way around to driver side. I dropped into the seat and press the ignition button. The car came to life, and I shifted into reverse before turning in my seat.

  “Uh, Sergeant?” Tobin said. “The garage door is still down.”

  “Yes it is,” I said, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.

  Tobin’s eyes widened, and he hunched down in his seat, clutching Milo tightly to him as I slammed my foot down on the accelerator.

  The car took off like a rocket, smashing through the garage door with an ear shattering crash and ripping the entire thing right off the rails.

  The aluminum panels clung to the back of the car for a long second before dislodging. They flew down the driveway and out into the street, tumbling end over end with a series of loud crashes. We reached the end of the driveway before I twisted the steering wheel. The tires screeched, and I was sucked back into the seat as the car turned a hundred and eighty degrees, spinning round until we ended up facing the roadway.

  We jerked to a halt and I shifted the car into drive and stomped the accelerator. The car shot forward with a throaty roar, tires bouncing as we passed over the remnants of the garage door.

  “I think we did it,” Tobin said as he rose in his seat and glanced out through the rear window. “I don’t see—”

  A crossbow bolt struck before he could finish. It hit high, punched through the top corner of the window, and pushed an inch beyond the glass, its body trembling as we accelerated down the street.

  I floored it to the end of the block and beyond, only slowing once I was sure we’d passed beyond the crossbow’s range. “We haven’t done anything yet,” I said.

  The Doctor Will See You Now. Thursday, August 6th 0940hrs.

  We drove out of Winthrop and made our way south, skirting around the downtown area enroute to my apartment. I’m sure more than a few people noticed the crossbow bolt sticking out of our rear windshield, but that’s one of the perks of living in today’s society. People are reluctant to take anything at face value. Most of them probably just thought it was a gag, akin to those tacky bumper stickers or Garfield plushy dolls that decorate semi-trucks. Those who got close enough to note the realism evidently had enough sense not to want to be involved. Bottom line, nobody called the cops, and we didn’t get pulled over along the way. Which was a lucky break. It was too soon for the car to have been reported stolen, but it was only a matter of time, and I didn’t want to have to try and explain my way out of that one.

  We pulled onto my street and parked near the end of my block. Tobin stared around curiously for a moment, then his mouth broke apart into a wide smile.

  “Hey, I know this street!”

  I blinked. “You do?”

  “Sure do. Milo and I, we got a contract from the city for Union Park just last year. We do the mowing and trimming. Take care of the trees and the little garden patches along the sidewalks. It always seemed like a nice place to call home.”

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking that it was a darn small world when you got right down to it. “It is.”

  My neighborhood wasn’t low income, but it also didn’t suffer from the extreme paranoia that affects more affluent neighborhoods. We were blue collar city dwellers, and people were good about minding their business unless you gave them a reason not to.

  I shut off the engine and made my way around to the rear of the vehicle. Seizing hold of the crossbow bolt, I wiggled it back and forth, jerking it around until it finally snapped in two. The pointed end remained lodged within the glass, not much I could do about that, but I tossed the opposite end into the nearby gutter, sending the green fletching into the darkness.

  Tobin and I debated for a minute on the best way to get Milo inside. Ultimately there weren’t any good options other than just carrying him in through the front door and hoping that none of the neighbors happened to be looking out the window.

  We got Milo out from the backseat and carried him up the steps to my apartment. Once through the door, I made Tobin pause and wait while I checked the inside.

  There was no sign of forced entry near the door or windows, and no spooks or specters lying in wait behind the doorways or within the contents of my closet. Yosemite was curled into a tight little ball in the corner of his cage. He blinked at me and then yawned loudly before settling back in for his midmorning nap.

  “Bring him in here,” I told Tobin once I was sure the apartment was clear.

  I led him into my bedroom and pulled back the covers so he could lay Milo down. Milo’s skin was clammy, his forehead hot to the touch, and he groaned softly as Tobin placed him on the bed.

  Peering down at him, I was struck by the realization that I didn’t have the first clue how to go about helping him. The admission made me feel very small, and more than a little useless.