No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

The window shattered behind the barricaded table, spilling
crunchy shards across the floor. She saw something there,
something moving in the three-inch gap between the table and
the window frame. It was orange, blunt, like some big, dumb
animal outside was sticking its beak in. It took Darby a few
heartbeats to realize what it actually was.
Of-fucking-course.
She hurled Jay to the floor, covering her face. “Get down,
get down—”
THWUMP. The vending machine’s glass exploded into
white kernels. Skittles and Cheetos bags hit the floor.
The nail gun’s muzzle twisted, repositioning. Ashley’s
first two nails had gone high, so he was adjusting his aim.
Trial and error. It was the very same gap Sandi had peered
through before, now being used against them.
“I hate him,” Darby whispered, rolling onto her belly,
whipping her slick hair from her face. “I hate him so much—”
“What’s he doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Is he shooting nails at us?”
“It’s fine.” She tugged Jay upright, by the wrist. “Come
on, come on—”
They slid into Espresso Peak, taking cover behind the
stone counter as — THWUMP-THWUMP-THWUMP — an
onslaught of shrapnel pierced the air, pinging off the floor, the
walls, the ceiling. The pastry case shattered. Styrofoam cups
bounced. A carafe banged like a gong and hit the floor beside
them, splashing warm water. But the counter and cabinets, a
forty-five degree inlet, protected them from Ashley’s direct
fire.
“See?” Darby patted Jay, checking for injuries. “We’re
fine.”
“You said he wasn’t shooting nails at us—”