and as Robert found his feet he glimpsed Green-O's pops and Furious rising up. Zane was straddling his guy and thumping his face, while the girls behind them were screaming and hurling bottles.
The third Orandelle was leveling his gun on Robert when a bottle struck his wrist and knocked it loose, a second before Green-O's dad thumped into him. Robert dived for the weapon as his first guy was getting up and drawing a second pistol from a calf holster. Robert snatched up the fallen gun and fired, hitting the second guy in the belly. He fell back with surprise on his face and blood welling out through his yellow jacket, like a burst ketchup bottle.
Robert swiveled to fire again but the gun was cracked out of his hand by the third Orandelle's boot. Green-O's pops was down, two of the Orandelles were down, and now the third was about to stab a knife into Robert's chest.
Zane, bloody and pale-faced, rose up and took the knife through the throat. Blood gushed out, and he wore a faint look of surprise on his face as he fell into the brown dirt. The Orandelle lurched for the gun but Robert snatched it up first, holding it in the Orandelle's face.
The man sneered. "Goddamn-"
Robert fired. The bullet blew through his face and out the back of his head.
He dropped. Robert dropped too, to his knees. His shoulder was throbbing and Zane was dead. He turned him over and looked into his still and staring eyes.
"I think Green-O's dead!" somebody shouted.
He peered through the thin mist of gun smoke, lit strangely by the headlights of two yellow Humvees parked amongst the trees. Green-O was lying in the dirt with his hands on his belly. He looked dead. There was blood all over him. Robert turned. The others had run off, and bloody bodies lay everywhere. A minute, maybe less, and everyone was dead.
What had he just done?
He dropped to his knees by Zane's side and tried to staunch the wound in his neck and another in his belly, but Zane was already dead. Feeling numb, Robert moved to the next body. Green-O's father and Furious were dead too, the Orandelles were dead, everyone was dead.
He dialed 911, called in the police and an ambulance, then checked Green-O. He was unconscious, but a whisper of breath leaked from his mouth. Robert lifted him to his shoulder and ran through the woods to the road in front of Denver Elementary to meet the ambulance.
Hero, they'd called him. He hadn't felt like a hero.
On the bus Robert rubbed his temples. As a rule he tried not to think of any of that. Killing people wasn't heroic, and Zane's loss had been crushing. But every year Green-O made him go to the memorial, tying it to new attempts at killing, hoping some of Zane's glow would rub off on him. Every year he'd increased his role at the graveside to something nearing master of ceremonies. When Green-O retold the story now he elevated both his and his father's roles. The Orandelles were still their enemy, and every year they took another shot at revenge.
There would be blood tomorrow. If Green-O had his way, Robert would pull the trigger like a good little soldier.
He rubbed his tired, chlorine-reddened eyes. If it was only about pride he'd do it, he'd swallow it as the price of getting out. But it was more than that. It was people's lives, and his life and his mother's life.
It left only one decision. They were leaving Frayser tonight.
2. FRAYSER
He hurried through the lamp-lit streets of suburban Frayser, passing like a thief in and out of pools of shadow. Down the alley behind Walgreens there were scattered soda cans, beer crates and a single fly-tipped washing machine. On the corner of Frayser and North Watkins he turned left and made for the row of houses on Riney Street.
They were mean and largely ill kept. Many had overgrown front yards, some with rusted cars raised up on blocks with all the wheels missing, though a few had green lawns. Each one carried memories from his youth. Once Green-O had dared him and Zane to