Will to Survive by Eric Walters Page B

that order into her walkie-talkie, I realized what they were thinking: this could be nothing more than a distraction—a prelude to a full-out attack that would come at another part of the neighborhood. That’s why they were sending Howie to the exact opposite side from where the gunfire was coming.
    The siren stopped and the silence was welcome, like music to our ears. And then the new signal started, a short blast every five seconds, to summon all able-bodied neighbors out of their beds and onto assigned posts on the walls around the entire perimeter. I could only imagine how frightened people were right now, knowing we were under threat of attack.
    I followed my parents and Herb as they went through a passageway between two of the stores, leading out to the front of the stores, to the parking lot. We moved to avoid open spaces or any other spot where we could see the condo tower—or where anyone in those windows could see us. We finally got to the outer wall.
    Three more shots rang out. I pressed myself against the wall and froze—even though I was under cover. My dad put a comforting hand on my shoulder and I forced myself to take a deep breath. I couldn’t afford to panic right now.
    My mother worked to calm the guards while she and Herb asked questions and tried to gather information. Three of our men had been gunned down—the third when he tried to go out and assist the first one who had been shot. All three were dead.
    â€œAre you sure the shots came from the tower?” Herb asked me.
    â€œI saw muzzle flashes from several different spots over there, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t positioned elsewhere as well.”
    â€œThat’s an incredible shot,” Herb commented. “You’d need to be a trained marksman with a sniper rifle.”
    â€œDo you think it’s shooters from the Division?” I asked.
    â€œWe can’t know for certain, but they would have that capacity, I’m sure,” Mom said.
    â€œAnd you think there’s possibly going to be an attack and it’s going to come from the opposite side?” my dad asked.
    Herb shrugged his shoulders. “That would be the logical place if an attack was going to happen.”
    Another shot rang out and the front window of the clinic shattered. We had to hope that whoever was in there had taken cover in the back.
    â€œDo you want me to lead an away team out to the condo tower?” my father asked.
    My mother jumped in quickly. “It’s too dangerous, honey. We don’t know how many of them are out there.”
    Herb nodded. “This could be nothing more than a trap to get a team or two out there and then ambush them. It’s better to have our guns on the wall.”
    â€œThen what should we do?” my father asked.
    â€œI think we’re doing it. Man the walls, stay low and in the shadows, and wait for the morning,” Herb said.
    â€œAnd then in the light of day we reassess and make some decisions,” my mother said.
    *   *   *
    A few hours later, I was sitting in the Petersons’ kitchen. It was still dark out.
    â€œHold still,” Mrs. Peterson said to Lori as she disinfected the scrapes on the left side of her face.
    â€œDoes it hurt bad?” I asked.
    â€œNot nearly as much as a bullet wound would have.”
    â€œI should have spun or something so I landed on the bottom.”
    â€œRemember that the next time.” She reached out and took my hand. The knuckles on my left hand had also been scraped by the gravel. Lori lifted up my hand and looked at the scrapes with concern.
    Mrs. Peterson finished with Lori and then put the same disinfectant on my hand. It stung and I flinched.
    What I hadn’t told Lori or her mother was that I’d all but forgotten about her up there on the roof for over an hour after I’d left her. I was so occupied by the flying bullets and the things my mother and Herb were