My stomach rolls as I sip at my drink. I’ve barely eaten a bite all day. Jake keeps throwing me concerned looks from his perch behind the drums. Each time I wave and smile, and I swallow the bile climbing my throat. It must be a virus but in this humidity, it’s hard to tell if I’m fevered or slowly dying from heatstroke.
When they begin a cover version of “Drive By” by Train, Jake chimes in with back-up vocals. My ears perk up. I haven’t heard him sing before. His voice is deep and strong.
I stand from the table, needing to be closer to the stage. My eyes watch him as I shift through warm, moving bodies. He’s looking at me. Chills ripple my skin as he sings, “I was overwhelmed, and frankly scared as hell, because I really fell for you,” as though it were meant just for me.
I hold my hands above my head and bop my hips to the beat. He grins, liking it. Moments later, harsh screams tear right through the music.
Jake’s beat falters.
I turn.
Something hot zings by my neck.
“What the hell?” I mutter, my heart hammering as I hold a hand to the burnt skin.
The scent of fear permeates the air. Bodies surrounding me push and shove, creating pandemonium. The guy next to me stumbles and falls. People step over him, and on him, booted feet unintentionally kicking him as the crowd rushes the exit. I drop to a crouch beside him and someone’s knee catches me in the head.
“Hey!” I shout, but they’re long gone, lost in the crush of stampeding bodies.
I grab the guy’s arm, trying to help him up. By this time the music has died. The only sound I hear is yelling and panicked screams and a sharp whistling ping sound above me. I know that sound. They’re bullets. Oh my god! What the hell is happening?
“Mac!”
The shout comes from Jake, his voice loud and frantic.
“Here!” I yell back as I yank on the bicep in my grip. My shout is cut short as my hand slips. I fall backward, landing on my ass with a thump. Then I notice my hand and stare in shock, paralysed for a single second. My palm is covered in blood. I look back at the guy. He’s staring at my palm too, his eyes glassy and face pale.
“Those fuckers are shooting at us!” I shout.
I need my backpack. It’s in the room down the hall behind the stage. All our shit is kept there while the boys play. Important shit. Shifting to my knees, I make another grab for the guy. We get to our feet and I begin dragging him with me. He struggles, trying to run the other way, toward the front exit.
“Don’t be a dick!” I yell at him and yank on his arm. “That’s where the shooters are. You want them to put another hole in you? Jesus!”
“Mac!”
I turn back and Jake smacks into me. “Out the back,” he orders and makes a grab for me. Then he pauses, his face blanching as he takes in the smears of blood covering my right arm and coating Miss Piggy’s face.
“It’s not mine,” I yell, evading him with a quick sideways shuffle. “It’s his.” I shove the guy at him. “He’s been shot.”
Not turning to see if they follow, I race down the hall, adrenaline firing my blood. Jake’s band is in there grabbing at cables and shoving guitars into cases. “Are you all crazy? There’s no time for that shit!”
They keep at it, ignoring my shout. I leave them to it and make a beeline for my bag.
“Mac! Get to the car!” Jake yells behind me.
Finding what I’m searching for, I load the handgun with steady hands and engage the slide. Straightening, I turn, raise both arms, and aim it toward the hallway door. “I’ll hold them off,” I say, countermanding his order.
“Holy shit.” Rowan pauses in his grab for a bass guitar. He looks from the gun to me, taking in my proficient use of a weapon and cool demeanour. “Who the hell are you?”
I can’t resist and narrow my eyes. “I’m your worst nightmare.”
Rowan’s laugh is nothing short of hysterical.
“She really is,” Jake mutters. “Put the gun away, Mac.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There are bandits on the loose and you’re telling me to holster my weapon?”
Jake stares me down, eyes hard. “This is not the Wild West.”
“I wanna see what she can do,” Rowan interjects.
He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Mac is a shitty shot.”
I gasp.
Rowan is standing near my line of fire and cups his junk.
“That was one time!” I retort, outraged at the reminder of our family trip to the shooting range. I’d been keen to impress Jake with my skills, but when I lifted my arms and took aim, he came up close behind me. His breath had been warm on my ear and the heat of his body set mine alight. For a single second I’d thought my knees would give out beneath me. The shot went wild, and I haven’t lived it down since.
The guy we dragged to the back room with us begins to moan like an old woman. He weaves unsteadily on his feet. Moments later, the lights go down and booted feet hit the hallway as if a veritable army is coming for us.
“Go!” Jake bellows.
“Jake—”
“I’ll be right behind you!”
I don’t know what comes over me in that moment, but a shutter slams down. Everything inside me switches off leaving behind cool, clear focus. My body has taken over, and I can’t stop it, not even if I wanted to.
“You go,” I order. “I’ll cover you.”
“Mac!”
My name rips from his lips, wild with panic.
“Go!” I shout, evading his capture as I run toward the hallway door. Arms raised, I fire blind shots into the inky darkness and pray at least one will find its mark. The scuffling and the cadence of booted feet stop instantly, but there are no shouts of pain.
“Are you crazy?” Jake grabs my arm. With the injured guy in his other grip, I’m dragged through the back room and out the door into the heat of the night. We’re nearing the van where the band is tossing equipment in the back when I turn my head. My heeled boots catch in the gravel. I curse, stumbling as I catch sight of a gunman right behind us. Jake loses his hold on me.
He stops, making a grab for me. I shove him forward as I right myself. “Go!”
But the sound of heavy breathing hits my neck. Whoever it is, I’m about to be caught if I don’t do something quick. He’s too close for me to simply turn and fire my gun. It would be knocked from my hands before I could take aim.
Reaching the van, I tuck my handgun in the back of my shorts and snatch the nearest guitar case. Spinning, I slam it into the head of my pursuer.
He goes down like a sack of potatoes. My feet skid on the gravel from the momentum as cheers erupt behind me.
I pause for a moment, wide eyed as I realise I just felled an attacker with a guitar case. It’s still in my outstretched arms as my chest heaves. I stare at him, wanting to smash his teeth down his throat and leave him to choke on them. He shot at me. At Jake! I take a step toward him and he lets out a moan.