Dr. NoSleep

Quinton was on his knees, fighting with the black kid over his baseball bat.

Emery was a little slower getting up, but he rushed at Robbie, who stepped back and swung his bat.

The metal connected with the side of Emery's head with a plink, like a little leaguer hitting a home run.

He stumbled into the wall and collapsed to the floor.

Meanwhile, Quinton had managed to get the bat from the fourth man, whose name I hadn't heard.

He'd punched the guy in the face, causing him to fall back against the closed closet door.

As the guy came forward again, Quinton swung the bat, driving through his legs and hips.

The metal implement hit the man directly in the throat.

He fell back, this time crashing into the accordion closet door and knocking one side off its track.

Seeing my opportunity, I lurched to my feet, but Tony was ready.

He whapped me in the chest with his bat, knocking my breath away.

I fell back to my knees, and then to all fours as I struggled to breathe.

I knew vaguely that Salazar had entered the skirmish, having had to climb over the fallen closet door to join the fray.

By the time I caught a full inhale, it was all over.

I first looked at Delia, who lay curled on the floor next to the bed, sobbing, eyes screwed shut.

On the other side of the room, Quinton was on his back on the floor, Salazar straddling him.

The gang leader yanked his knife out of Quinton's chest and stabbed it back in.

He did it three times before he stopped and glanced over at the man who'd been hit in the neck with the bat.

He scrabbled at his collapsed windpipe, eyes bulging with panic as he tried and failed to breathe.

His feet kicked feebly at the floor as he sat among the hanging clothes in the closet.