Male voices raised up into the night, harsh shouts shattering into high squeals of terror. Court clutched Ronnie’s arm to his chest with both hands as if it were some sort of security blanket. As if it might protect him from whatever made that ungodly racket.
Gunfire erupted in short, fast bursts, followed by angry, wordless cries. And the screams—over everything, the screams. Closing his eyes against the terror welling up within him, Court murmured, “Ronnie?”
To his surprise, the fingers in his tightened. “I hear it,” came the gruff voice behind him
How long had Ronnie been awake? Court wondered. Had he woken when Court moved his wrist to see the time, or sometime before that, aware he held Court so close while feigning sleep?