Cry From The Grave
Chapter 20
The glass door flew open with such force that Ballack was convinced Crabolli had shattered it. She and Tori wore looks of complete bewilderment, but before a word could form from either mouth, a battery of boom-boom-boom thundered again and bullets slammed around them. One pinged off the side of the grill, missing Ballack's head by a centimeter. Hull screamed in agony and Tori sprawled prone behind him, grabbing him under the armpits and pulling him back into the house as best she could. Crabolli whipped out her gun and crept alongside Ballack.
"Where is he?" she screamed in his ear.
"Most likely in the tree area, beyond the road," he yelled back, remembering his line of sight from earlier. Gesturing with his head, he asked, "Do you see that sick-looking maple over there, about ninety yards away?"
Crabolli lifted the lid of the grill into an upright position, giving herself a chance to look around the edifice without exposing herself. With a lightning-fast flick of her wrist, she opened fire in the direction Ballack indicated. Whoever was firing from the woods had ceased activity.
"Missy! Cam!" Tori's voice erupted from the house. "Get inside! We've got to get Zane out of here!"
"Get in, Cameron!" barked Crabolli. "I'll give us some cover!" And she immediately fired off another round. Ballack wheeled quickly and ducked to give the sniper no shot at his head before zooming back into the kitchen area. He was just inside the doors when he heard a tremendous crash behind him and saw Crabolli sprawled against the sliding glass. She was clutching her left shoulder and the door had spiderweb cracks running all over the bottom third of the pane.
"Son of a..." Ballack gasped, instinctively moving toward the door but stopping before any expletive could tumble from his mouth, for a bullet rocketed into the kitchen, smashing into a stoneware jug on a shelf against the south wall. Crabolli turned over on her belly, wriggling on the deck boards in tremendous pain and snaking over the rear threshold. She just made it into the kitchen as another bullet slammed into the door and turned the cracks into a glistening shower of glass.
"Aaaaahhhh!" Crabolli uttered, her shoulder covered in blood seeping from a wound that seemed to originate at the end of her collarbone. Hoping she was not badly hurt and seeing that she had situated herself away from the glass, Ballack moved from her towards Hull. Tori slid on her belly to the back door and pushed it shut as yet another bullet hit the grill and sent the top down into a closed position.
Ballack hovered over Hull, who was struggling to breathe, and when he looked at the red pool on his fellow detective's chest, he saw frothy bubbles in the blood.
"Tor!" he shouted. "Ambulance! Now!"
"We have to..."
"Yeah, I know! We have someone outside trying to mow us down! Well, Zane's blood looks like cranberry juice with peroxide! Call now! Wright City can probably send something within ten minutes. Let's keep him breathing!"
"Cam...Cam..." Crabolli was whispering through gritted teeth.
Ballack went back to her as Tori grasped the house phone and dialed 9-1-1. Checking over Crabolli's entry wound, he saw the bullet had snapped through the end of the collarbone closest to her shoulder, which was turned at an awkward angle. Crabolli was cursing softly as she rolled into a more comfortable position.
"Hang in there, Missy," he encouraged her. He turned back to Hull's fallen and twitching form. "Zane! Keep your eyes open and breathe slowly."
Tori yelled a thank-you into the phone and turned to Ballack. "Warren County Ambulance will be here in seven minutes. St. Joseph's at the Lake is the closest hospital with what can use and it's a good twenty minutes away. Said to keep them safe and comfortable."
"Yeah the comfortable part will be no problem," groaned Crabolli as Hull whimpered in pain.
"And quiet," Tori snapped.
"Everybody, shut up!" said Ballack, who was trying to pick up a sound in the distance. Moving toward the damaged door, yet making sure he was as far out of a dangerous angle as possible, he pulled Tori's binoculars from his lap. Pressing them to his eyes, he located the genesis of the rumbling sound that had reached his ears. The dust cloud made his initial perspective difficult, but as he looked more closely, he saw both Cardinals and Rams bumper stickers bordering a Missouri license plate, which he had no trouble making out against the background of a white pickup truck speeding away from the scene.
"Out of the way," he yelled, scooting around the prone bodies to the dining table to find pen and paper so he could write the license number down before he forgot it.
"Did you get it?" gushed an exhausted Tori.
"I think so, and we can call now," he said, reaching for his own phone. "And I doubt there are too many Honda Ridgelines slaloming around this area. Should be an easy find. Especially," he turned to Crabolli, "since you've mentioned that make and model before."
"Most likely in the tree area, beyond the road," he yelled back, remembering his line of sight from earlier. Gesturing with his head, he asked, "Do you see that sick-looking maple over there, about ninety yards away?"
Crabolli lifted the lid of the grill into an upright position, giving herself a chance to look around the edifice without exposing herself. With a lightning-fast flick of her wrist, she opened fire in the direction Ballack indicated. Whoever was firing from the woods had ceased activity.
"Missy! Cam!" Tori's voice erupted from the house. "Get inside! We've got to get Zane out of here!"
"Get in, Cameron!" barked Crabolli. "I'll give us some cover!" And she immediately fired off another round. Ballack wheeled quickly and ducked to give the sniper no shot at his head before zooming back into the kitchen area. He was just inside the doors when he heard a tremendous crash behind him and saw Crabolli sprawled against the sliding glass. She was clutching her left shoulder and the door had spiderweb cracks running all over the bottom third of the pane.
"Son of a..." Ballack gasped, instinctively moving toward the door but stopping before any expletive could tumble from his mouth, for a bullet rocketed into the kitchen, smashing into a stoneware jug on a shelf against the south wall. Crabolli turned over on her belly, wriggling on the deck boards in tremendous pain and snaking over the rear threshold. She just made it into the kitchen as another bullet slammed into the door and turned the cracks into a glistening shower of glass.
"Aaaaahhhh!" Crabolli uttered, her shoulder covered in blood seeping from a wound that seemed to originate at the end of her collarbone. Hoping she was not badly hurt and seeing that she had situated herself away from the glass, Ballack moved from her towards Hull. Tori slid on her belly to the back door and pushed it shut as yet another bullet hit the grill and sent the top down into a closed position.
Ballack hovered over Hull, who was struggling to breathe, and when he looked at the red pool on his fellow detective's chest, he saw frothy bubbles in the blood.
"Tor!" he shouted. "Ambulance! Now!"
"We have to..."
"Yeah, I know! We have someone outside trying to mow us down! Well, Zane's blood looks like cranberry juice with peroxide! Call now! Wright City can probably send something within ten minutes. Let's keep him breathing!"
"Cam...Cam..." Crabolli was whispering through gritted teeth.
Ballack went back to her as Tori grasped the house phone and dialed 9-1-1. Checking over Crabolli's entry wound, he saw the bullet had snapped through the end of the collarbone closest to her shoulder, which was turned at an awkward angle. Crabolli was cursing softly as she rolled into a more comfortable position.
"Hang in there, Missy," he encouraged her. He turned back to Hull's fallen and twitching form. "Zane! Keep your eyes open and breathe slowly."
Tori yelled a thank-you into the phone and turned to Ballack. "Warren County Ambulance will be here in seven minutes. St. Joseph's at the Lake is the closest hospital with what can use and it's a good twenty minutes away. Said to keep them safe and comfortable."
"Yeah the comfortable part will be no problem," groaned Crabolli as Hull whimpered in pain.
"And quiet," Tori snapped.
"Everybody, shut up!" said Ballack, who was trying to pick up a sound in the distance. Moving toward the damaged door, yet making sure he was as far out of a dangerous angle as possible, he pulled Tori's binoculars from his lap. Pressing them to his eyes, he located the genesis of the rumbling sound that had reached his ears. The dust cloud made his initial perspective difficult, but as he looked more closely, he saw both Cardinals and Rams bumper stickers bordering a Missouri license plate, which he had no trouble making out against the background of a white pickup truck speeding away from the scene.
"Out of the way," he yelled, scooting around the prone bodies to the dining table to find pen and paper so he could write the license number down before he forgot it.
"Did you get it?" gushed an exhausted Tori.
"I think so, and we can call now," he said, reaching for his own phone. "And I doubt there are too many Honda Ridgelines slaloming around this area. Should be an easy find. Especially," he turned to Crabolli, "since you've mentioned that make and model before."
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