gatecrashers

We were in the back yard of the home where one of my closest friends lived when she was a child. It was night and everything seemed chaotic, dangerous. Too many people milled around - in the yard, throughout the house - as though the party had been gatecrashed. We were tense, sensing violence, and decided to leave. Five of us piled into my small car, which was parked in the front yard, with B behind the wheel and me in the passenger seat. As we turned to pull out of the driveway, a huge 4WD ute with headlights on high beam pulled in, engine revving, looming over us, forcing us to reverse. Young angry men were in the ute, yelling, and loud, aggressive music roared out the windows, base thudding. The ute spun around, tyres spinning, ripping up grass and spraying mud everywhere, circling around us. B was infuriated and, instead of driving away, turned our car to face them. I screamed at her to go and, as I did, the men in the ute fired guns, shooting at us, at the house, at everything in sight. B swung the car around, the rest of us ducked and covered our heads, and we pulled out of the driveway, speeding up the road through the suburban streets. We were unhurt.