She heard screaming from the passenger. He had opened his door, but hadn't gotten out. Hands high. "No, no, let's go now! What are you doing? This is bad, man, it's bad."

Holm shifted her aim to the passenger, shouted, "Freeze! Out and down on the ground! Now!"

The passenger ducked into the car.

She turned to the driver.

But he'd already found a good angle and popped off three more.

They were hot shots where her skin had gone hard and cold. Burned. The only good being that they were probably nines, and probably full-jackets, cheap-ass target shooting shit, passing right on through instead of mushrooming, fragmenting, tearing holes like craters in her body.

But then she figured out where she'd been hit: Leg once. Leg twice. Guts. Guts as in womb.

She wailed, hand straight to her stomach. Where'd it go in? Where was the blood? Maybe it missed the baby. It had to miss. She felt nauseous. Bile coming up fast. She swallowed it back. Where were the sirens? It was a small town after all. How long had it been? A minute? More?

She tried to lift her gun. Couldn't even do that. If she strained enough, she could get it up there. Took a shot in the driver's direction. Like it did any good. She scooted back again and the pain turned up the volume. She tried to stand, failed. Tried to open her squad door. The wind took it and flung it, hitting her in the cheek and ripping away skin. Bruised her arm bad. The pistol went flying.

She picked up the mike and said "Officers down" and then there were a whole bunch of people suddenly. EMTs and officers and deputies, finishing off the kids in the car before turning to save Poulson's life, then Holm's. Then Ray was there, standing over her, holding her hand. Lots of "You'll be okay" and "Just in time" and "The baby's fine".