I checked all angles and directions. Nothing.
“How come we can’t hear the shots being fired?” Murray asked.
“You heard the faint noise in the distance like popping corn?”
“Sort of.” He paused. “That was it?”
“Most likely. My guess is somebody’s using a rifle with a night scope. I can’t tell if we’re lucky he or she missed, or if the shooter was simply trying to scare us.”
“If they were trying to scare us, it worked. I don’t know why I didn’t piss my pants.”
I said, “Please don’t.”
We were now on the far side of the complex from his car. Up against the building, if we tried to move left, we would be in light for at least ten or fifteen feet before we got to the next shadows. A car length away to our right a six foot high fence ran from the building toward the woods beyond the edge of the complex. The light between us and the fence in that direction was less. Deep shadows clustered under the fence.
I said, “I don’t want to stay here and wait for a killer to sneak up on us. We can’t move fast, and I don’t want to be a target, but a moving target is better than a sitting duck target.”
He nodded, tried to stand, gasped and fell to the ground.
I said, “I’m going to carry you.”
“Okay.”
I hefted him onto my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and hustled to the right. We managed the distance to the fence without getting shot. Above the fence we could see the glow from the lights in front of the condo. The lights might be fairly feeble, but they were positioned just wrong for an attempt to climb the fence. While going that way, if we tried going over the top, we would be perfect targets in full view of whoever was firing. With Murray’s leg it would be a further risk getting him over fast enough to come out of this unharmed. The far end of the fence stopped about forty feet from the woods where the shots had originated. A couple cars dotted the parking lot between the end of the fence and the woods.
I said, “I think we should head for those woods.”
“Isn’t that where the shots were coming from?”
“Yes, but any other way we go is going to lead us into brighter light or away from cover. If we go there, we equalize things. We’re closer to the woods here than from the spot I thought the shots came from in the woods.”
“What if he’s moving?”
“You can stay if you want.”
“Unless he’s waiting at the end of the fence.”
“That’s not where the shots came from originally. We need to keep moving.”
“Don’t you have a gun?”
“Yes.” I’m always armed. I don’t make a big deal about it.
“Why don’t you shoot back?”
“There isn’t much point when we’re this far away. The flash of light from my gun would give away our position. At this distance, I’m unlikely to hit anything. He can aim at the flash and very possibly hit something.”
“Can’t you do the same thing with him?”
“I’ve got a hand gun. It doesn’t have the range of a rifle. I don’t have a night scope. It’s quite a distance to where he is. The shots are coming too close for them to be simple random attempts to scare us, or maybe he’s an excellent shot who is doing an excellent job of scaring the hell out of us.”
Murray gulped and turned from pale to ghostly white. For a few seconds I thought he might be sick again, but he rallied.
I said, “If we were at the end of the fence nearest the woods, I would be more likely to be effective if I needed to start shooting.”
Murray said, “We’ve got to get from here to the woods? I’m not sure I can make it.”
“We can get to the end of the fence until we’re close to those cars, then dash for their cover, then run behind and between them until we get to the woods.”
“Why don’t we knock on one of the doors of the complex and get somebody to call the cops?”
“Every doorway is in the brightest light around here and being there would make us excellent targets. Do you really want to debate this now or do you want to try to get the hell away?”
“You might be used to this, I’m not. I’m scared. Aren’t you?”
I stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, wait.” He grabbed my arm. He hesitated a second or two then stood up. I braced his arm. He tested his leg, winced, gasped, and said, “Let’s do it.”
We did a three-and-a-half-legged race. At the end of the fence, we paused a moment. “Ready?” I asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We ran, hopped, reached the first car, and crouched behind the back fender. He panted hard. His teeth were gritted tight shut. A few times I thought he pushed the contact a little more than was necessary for propping him up. Then again, he didn’t try to grab my crotch or pinch my ass or ask for my underwear.
Murray unclenched his teeth enough to ask, “Is he gone?”
I suspected it was a nervous question rather than a request for definitive knowledge.
I said, “We’ve got twenty feet of space between the last car and the start of the woods. Under the trees we’ll be in shadows. We can make it.” We dashed between the cars until we got to the last one, a purple Lexus.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
“Go.” Arms linked, we dashed-hopped over the last bits of open ground. The pavement ended, and we entered the welcome darkness. Once we were off the pavement, I slowed us down. When we were three strides inside the trees, a tremendous boom split the night followed about fifteen seconds later by another.