My ear tracked the sound...the slow roll of rubber on blue metal, the stealthy crunching undergrowth sound of something prowling.
When Gail Bell was seventeen, she was shot in the back. Coming home from evening class later than usual one night, she took a short cut through the dark streets of new estate, unaware she was being watched. When a car began following her, she felt a jolt of fear. Then the car stopped and out of the eerie silence came a cracking sound as a bullet struck her from behind.