Free Silencing Joy by Amy Rachiele Page B

he said loudly into the phone. “I have
a picture of a possible 207 at the game last Saturday night.”
(pause) “Yes sir.” (pause) “He has re-infiltrated the target’s
group.” (pause) “We’re working to keep the victim safe and trying
to reestablish integration.” (pause) “I realize that, Sir, but I am
out of the game.” (pause) “The media piece on my death made me
obsolete, Sir. This was the best course of action.”
    I was trying to guess what his boss could
possibly be telling him during those pauses when the vase next to
the computer exploded into razor-sharp shards, scattering
everywhere.
    In an instant, Will had his hand on the back
of my head, pushing down. I fell to the floor with him on top of me
as he covered my body with his. The computer above us blasted
apart. I screamed. Will crouched, taking my hand, and grabbed my
camera. We made our way across the floor as more furniture burst
into bits and debris flew through the air. I used my free hand to
cover my head.
    At the fireplace, Will lifted a large stone
in front of the hearth. Underneath was a compartment filled with
guns, knives, and all sorts of weapons. He took out a rifle and
moved quickly, loading it and putting it down. A click-click sounded from the next weapon, a handgun.
    A large backpack was nestled the right corner
of the hiding place. He swung it over his shoulder, handed me the
camera, and motioned for me to put it in the backpack.
    With the handgun stuffed in his jeans, he
picked up the rifle again. Crawling, he moved towards the back door
and I followed nervously. The shooter must have had a silencer; you
couldn’t hear the actual shot, just the reverberation and slicing
echo the bullets made on impact. Will whispered to me when the
shots slowed.
    “That’s a sniper. We’re going to try to go
out the back. Stay down.” He locked his eyes with mine, his face
holding a sad, shocked look.
    I noticed the keys sitting on a table by the
side door near the kitchen. In this situation, the keys were a mile
away.
    “Should we get the car keys?” I whispered in
a panic.
    “No, let’s get out of here.”
    We continued to shuffle and crawl to the back
door. Will held the rifle in a ready position and pointed for me to
sit over to the side. I did, realizing I had to trust that Will
knew what he was doing, because I sure didn’t. Therapy would
definitely need to be on my list of things to do after these days
of hell.
    The shots dwindled down. I hadn’t heard one
in what seemed like a long while, although it was probably only a
minute or two. I realized how hard my lungs were pumping with
fearful breaths. It was painful.
    I cast my eyes to Will who had his ear to the
bottom of the door as we both sat on the floor. I started to speak,
but he gave me the hand up, the universal symbol for “shut the hell
up.” I shushed. We waited for what felt like years. He turned to
me.
    “See that window over there?” He pointed
across the room. “I’m going to smash it, then you are going to slip
through this door beside us and run. You got it? You’re going to
get up fast and run to the woods. No matter what happens, don’t
stop. I’ll be right behind you.”
    I didn’t think it was possible for more fear
to fill me. The terrifying thought of running from the confines of
the house scared me into paralysis. I couldn’t do it! A lump
the size of a mountain took up residence in my throat. I looked
directly at him.
    “I can’t,” I mouthed to him panic-stricken.
He clutched my arm hard and stared straight into my eyes.
    “Yes, you can.” He positioned me in front of
the door and unlocked it. “Get ready,” he said in a harsh whisper
from behind me.
    I heard the window shatter and more shots hit
inside the house. I swung open the door and ran. The sound of my
feet hitting the dirt reverberated, then the sound shifted from
pounding to crushing leaves and twigs.
    It was only a few feet to the woods. Will
probably thought this was our