Not to the Swift

Chapter 22

Jamal stammered but had no answer. He lost his grip on the duffel bag. It fell to the rocky ground with a clatter.

"When you gonna figure it out, man?" George shook with rage. "This whatever-you-got in the bag, it worth your life? You got a dad I can talk to so he can whup some sense into you?"

"Dad's in jail for another six to twenty, depending on behavior. Only showed up a couple times to bum money off my ma."

George softened. "Figures. Okay then, you want to explain to your mama when you're standin' in some orange jumpsuit on your way to visit your dad for a few years? Or you want your mama standin' over a grave, cryin' your name?"

Jamal shook his head.

"Good." George's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I been there. And it sucks."

Gunfire pierced the silence across the yard.

George spun at the sound, then turned to Jamal. "First things first. You seen René or one of her friends? I'm bettin' they cut through here to get home, and I'm afraid they might be caught up in this."

Jamal remembered the flash of color between the railcars, before the gunmen showed up. "I think I saw something. Looked too girly to be gang colors, and too bright to be some homeless chick's clothes."

He froze. "But it was on the other side of the yard. We'd have to cut through where all them shootin' each other up."

George crouched and pulled Jamal along. "Alright, son, let's be careful and take the long way around. My fear is, someone might be interested in what you got in that bag."

"So we ditch it," Jamal said. He bent to pick up the bag with his leather gloves. Then an idea came to mind. "And I know right where we should."

* * * * *

Carlos held the girls close, hidden in the shadows of a freight car near the edge of the railyard. "Ain't no more cars for a long ways. It'll be tough to sprint that far. They'll probably spot us if we try."

Mikeyla wiped away tears. "What do they want with us, Mister?"

Carlos shrugged. "I don't think they got any interest in you all. But I don't wanna wait and find out. Power does things to people, messes with their minds. If a man thinks he can get away with a thing, he often tries."

The man looked down at the torn-up boots on his feet. "Mix that power with guns, drugs, and a big ol' heap of don't-give-a-shh—" He trailed off. "Well, what I mean is, they might hurt you just 'cause they could do it."

More gunshots tore through the dark, but they were distant. René quivered. I don't think I've heard so many in my whole life put together as I've heard tonight.

"Things dyin' down," Carlos said. "Might be able to make a break for it soon. You girls headed for—"

The sound of shoes on gravel nearby startled René. Carlos hushed mid-sentence, and he put a finger to his mouth to keep the girls quiet.

A circle of light danced around the rails and weeds between the freight cars to their left and the car in which they hid.

Carlos moved with silent precision, sliding forward and gathering the girls into the freight car corner behind his bulky adult frame.

"Yo!" A teen boy's voice called to his friends outside the rail car. "I seen some folk run this way. Back me up."

More gunshots, two of them closer.

Quivering but noiseless, René peeked past Carlos's right shoulder. The flashlight shone into the car, illuminating the far end. Then it shifted and she squinted in the glare.