Predator Concrete Jungle 7

Stillman's jaw dropped. "What in the hell did that?" he asked.

Then someone screamed, and blood sprayed across the carpeted shooting platform at one position.

"Hey!" Stillman shouted. He charged through the ruined door, pistol raised.

"What the..." he began.

He never finished that sentence-or any other sentence, ever again. He went down, blood spraying. Salvati stepped back, startled, trying to see what was going on, but he couldn't find a clear view. He could hear screams, and he saw blood on one of the windows, but half the lights in the range seemed to have gone out suddenly, and all he could make out was frantic movement, he couldn't see who was doing what. Was it some kind of brawl? Was someone going for the cash register? He couldn't imagine a stupider crime to attempt than robbing the police shooting range-but thieves could be amazingly stupid.

After all, Salvati thought, he was probably the only guy in there who wasn't armed.
He hesitated. He had his choice of several weapons, if he wanted one, but he hesitated. He couldn't see what was happening, but he heard shots now, and more screams, loud thumping. What the hell was going on in there? The guys back there had guns, they were shooting, at least half of them were trained professionals-what could he do that they couldn't, except maybe walk into a cross fire? But maybe something heavier than handguns would help. He turned to look at the display cases. Something hit him on the back of the head, and Joe Salvati went down. Down and out.-pg.45 chpt.5