Free Users by Andrea M. Alexander Page B

to realize that the cops weren’t taking care of the wreck, they were in a standoff with a group of men stealing the truck’s contents. Several bystanders stood on the hill, watching. Others were lying down, possibly injured.
    This might be my one and only chance to stop Granger. He knew it too, because he started to move around the line of cars to get by on the hill. I followed him and pulled out my pistol, struggling to steer across the steep embankment. My car wasn't nearly as efficient as the truck, and Granger was about to reach the clear side of the interstate. It was now or never. I rolled down my window and shot at the truck's tires before it began picking up speed. I fired until my magazine was empty. Then I awkwardly reloaded, worried I'd shoot myself trying to multitask. But I'd hit a tire, and Granger’s truck came to a stop on the shoulder beyond the wreck site. The Walmart truck robbers must have thought the cops had shot at them, because they all started shooting – two from inside the trailer and two from behind wrecked cars. The policemen fired back, and people started screaming, bumping fenders trying to get past each other.
    As I threw open my door, a man jumped out of the driver’s side of the truck with a weapon aimed. I ducked, using my door as cover and praying for my life as bullets pinged into the metal. At the pause in his gunfire, I leaned out and shot back. The man went down. Another guy shot at me from the opposite side of the truck. I crouched, waited for a pause, and then I popped up and fired. The man had moved into the bed of the truck and was fumbling with something. My third shot hit him and he fell over the side. The third man took off running up the hill toward the woods. I ran to the truck and checked the cab. No one was in there, but neither was Iggy. Had I been wrong? Was she back at Target? Had I just shot two men for no reason?
    “Iggy!” I yelled her name as if she might miraculously appeal.
    Someone banged on the metal toolbox that stretched across the bed of the truck just beneath the rear window. “Cael! I’m in here!”
    I hoisted myself into the bed of the truck and pulled the tool box lid. It was locked. I dived through the back window and snatched the keys from the ignition, then I returned to try several keys before feeling a satisfying twist. I threw back the lid and Iggy lunged toward me, wide-eyed and sucking in gulps of air. Just as I grabbed her and hauled her out, someone shouted at me to put my hands up in the air. I turned around slowly to find a man with a beard and a baseball cap aiming his gun at me. The cops were still shooting it out with the thieves.
    “Hands up or I’ll shoot!”
    “Does everyone have a gun down here?” I raised my arms in the air on a heavy sigh. What a shitty way for this to end: me going to jail while the rest of the world fell apart. I’d never thought I’d be arrested for anything save associating with my pot head friend.
    “I said, raise your hands!” he yelled again.
    “They’re up!” I looked at Iggy and realized the man was addressing her and not me. “Put your hands up, Iggy.” Cars honked. People either shouted each other to keep their cars moving, or they ducked low to avoid getting shot. Where were the cops? Had they been killed? Were they coming after us now?
    “We are not giving up,” she told me with a shaking voice. “I’m not letting you get arrested.”
    “Maybe they’ll dismiss the charges because I stopped a kidnapping.”
    The man shouted, “I’m not gonna let you get away with shooting those people."
    "Why does he have to be a hero?" I grumbled.
    Iggy pointed at me. “This man saved my life. You saw him pull me out of that toolbox, right?” The guy looked confused. “Please,” she continued. He didn’t lower his weapon. “Do you feel that?” she asked him. He winced and rolled his shoulders. “If you don’t put down the gun, I’ll hurt you.”
    I looked at Iggy. I was obviously