Hard Road Read Online Free PDF Page A

away, all splayed out like a rag doll, none of the tension of life in her limbs. Although it was impossible to be sure at this distance, it looked as if part of her head was just gone. A man stood near her, rigid and screaming, which was stupid. The shooter could still be nearby and might shoot him, too. Besides that, he was doing Jennifer no good. But people do stupid things under stress. And, to be fair, the crowd couldn't have realized yet that there had been a shooting. For all they knew, Jennifer had fallen and hit her head. The sound of the shots had been masked by the noise of the festival, the horns and trumpets of the marching band, and the assailant wasn't in sight. Only the few people near Jennifer would even see her wound, although a couple of worried women were now hurrying toward her. They didn't yet realize what the problem was.
     
     
Two security men in gray OZ shirts ran up, one pulling a cell phone from his pocket. He was speaking loudly enough so that I could hear him. "Get that doctor over to the Flying Monkeys! Get paramedics!"
     
     
Jennifer had help. If she were still alive and in need of help, which I very much doubted.
     
     
My job was to save Jeremy.
     
     
     
    3
WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD
"Come on, Jeremy! We've gotta run."
     
     
Running would be a lot faster than me carrying him. The kid runs like a mink. Whenever we play keep-away in his backyard, he outruns me. And gloats about it shamelessly.
     
     
He followed, but not fast enough. "What's wrong, Aunt Cat?"
     
     
"There's a bad guy around here. Please come on!"
     
     
Jeremy picked up his speed, and we raced away from the merry-go-round, keeping it between us and the general area the shots had come from. We crossed the Yellow Brick Road into Winkie country, which was yellow. There were several refreshment stands here. We slipped behind one that claimed to sell "fried mangaboos." But the scent was of fried potatoes. Then, holding Jeremy's hand, I ducked between that stand and an equipment trailer.
     
     
"Let's stop here a second and let me take a look around."
     
     
I put Jeremy behind me and crouched down to peer under the trailer. It was one of those large squarish silver things that construction companies sometimes use as tool cribs. In this case, it had been brought in to store foods that didn't need refrigeration and supplies like paper napkins, straws, and cold-drink cups. We were now about a hundred yards away from Jennifer. Only a minute had passed since the second shot, although it seemed much longer. The crowd did not yet understand what was going on.
     
     
The strip of festival I saw from peering under the truck were some legs, grass, walkways, the bottoms of amusement rides, and the wheels of strollers and bicycles. Most people were still at the ceremonies. There were men's legs, men's shoes, some running shoes too big to likely belong to women. And children's little feet and legs. Also a few small women's shoes, of course.
     
     
Still, how could I tell which were threatening, or even whether somebody out there was really after us? Could the shooter have given up and gone away?
     
     
Looking between milling legs from a distance, I was also barely able to see two paramedics as they crouched down, working on Jennifer. The paramedics' unhurried body language made it sadly clear that she was dead.
     
     
I saw a pair of legs wearing dark pants, feet in ordinary men's black shoes. They drew near the EMTs— checking whether Jennifer was dead? —then did a sidestep, moving laterally around the downed woman. I could easily imagine the man's eyes scanning the crowd, searching for Jeremy and me. But I couldn't see any of him above the knees. While the other people were approaching Jennifer, curious to see what was wrong, these feet now backed away.
     
     
Moving in a slow arc, the feet were coming closer to where I hid. Then they vanished behind other figures.
     
     
More cops arrived. I heard