Personal Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page A

and looked around for some means of protection.
    The vehicle wouldn’t cover him for long. The assassin only needed one clear shot and it would be all over.
    His first instinct was to run directly away from the car, toward the school, but his second instinct took over. There were kids that way. A lot of kids, and a stray shot could hit any one of them.
    He took a chance and poked his head up. The gunman was at the front of the vehicle. One more step and Jake would be in the open, totally vulnerable.
    He dove to the back of the vehicle as the shooter approached the side, the deadly weapon ready to fire at a split-second’s notice.
    Jake sprang to his feet and raced across the street, running at an angle, praying the assassin wasn’t adept enough to hit a moving target.
    A bullet whined past his head and he ducked, hit the ground, and rolled behind a tree at the edge of the sidewalk. He was safe for a couple of seconds, but a quick glance around the tree trunk showed his assailant still approaching.
    He turned and raced down the sidewalk, but in a moment the shooter was directly behind him. Another bullet whistled past, dangerously close. He was fully exposed, and now the gunman was running after him—that would throw off his aim, but how long would it be until a bullet found its mark?
    People were on the sidewalk ahead of him as well as across the street. Many ducked out of sight when they heard the shots, most still in danger from a stray bullet.
    He dipped to the left and ran toward the side of a house. That would be safer for him and everyone around, and he hoped there was no one behind the dwelling.
    Keeping low, he reached the side of the house and glanced over his shoulder. His pursuer was still coming, never giving up, determined and deadly.
    He dashed to the rear of the house and looked around for a weapon, but with only seconds to spare, there was no time to waste.
    Should he circle the house? The killer might have the same idea and could turn back and cut him off. He made a quick decision and ran to the rear of the property. He hopped a small fence dividing it from the neighbor behind, racing along the side of the house toward the next street over.
    Another shot exploded, this time flattening itself against the brick wall of the house, inches from his head.
    This maniac was persistent and seemed to be determined.
    Jake finally reached the street and he crossed over, ducked behind a tree, and glanced back. The madman pursued.
    An idea struck him. Carver Street and their house was one block over, on the next street parallel to where he was. He whipped out his cell phone, found the last inbound caller, and hit redial.
    “Everything okay?” the officer asked.
    “It’s Jake. I’m half a block away on foot and I’m being pursued by a gunman.” He took another glance and crossed the front yard of the house, heading toward Carver.
    “I’ll be coming from beside the house to your left about three doors up,” Jake spoke quickly into the phone. “And he’s behind me.”
    “We’re on it.” Jake heard the car door open. The officers would be prepared.
    He glanced back as he hopped the hedge between the two dwellings. The hitman was close. He had lost some ground as he made the call. The gunman stopped and leveled his weapon.
    Jake ducked as the assailant fired and the bullet missed its target.
    He sprang to his feet, crossed the back yard at an angle, and raced up the side of the house. Carver Street was directly ahead. Just a few more seconds.
    He hit the sidewalk, running fast, and crossed the street. A sideways glance showed the gunman but a moment behind.
    Down the street, he saw the police cruiser parked in front of his house. The officers were out of the vehicle, heading toward him a step at a time, their guns drawn and ready. They’d seen him.
    He ducked behind a tree and spun back around. The hitman had reached the sidewalk across the street, stopped, and then stepped into the street, sighting down the