He stood up and staggered a step backward, then forwards to the pier’s edge.
One of the shooters looked right at Pham.
He raised his submachine gun and fired a short burst.
Pham’s body jerked as if he had been shocked by an electrical current. He fell to his knees.
“No!” Parkowski yelled.
Another one of the shooters, the woman, fired a burst from her own weapon. Two of the men paused to reload.
Pham fell face-first onto the wooden pier. Blood seeped from his body and stained the deck red.
The shooters had momentarily paused their killing spree.
At least forty bodies littered the ground behind them. People ran off the beach towards the safety of the buildings, screaming, as they finally realized what was happening above them.
The other two reloaded and they fell back into a lockstep.
Parkowski and DePresti slowly backed up towards the aquarium at the pier’s end as the four shooters stepped towards them.
Parkowski knew what she had to do.
She made a break for the edge. DePresti followed her a split second later.
The four shooters opened fire but it was too late.
They were already in mid-air.
Parkowski hit the water hard feet-first. She heard the submachine guns’ rounds cut through the air around her, but, mercifully, none struck her body. The killers weren’t as good at hitting a moving target as they were at gunning down innocent people on the pier.
Parkowski sank to the bottom, about seven to eight feet deep. As she opened her eyes, she saw a school of fish pass by in front of her through the murky water.
Dazed, Parkowski floated back up to the surface, but was snapped out of it by DePresti appearing out of nowhere.
He grabbed her arm and shoved her to the bottom.
Parkowski gave him an angry look — they needed to go up for air — but realized what was going on when she looked up and saw the streaks of the bullets, fired from the four shooters still up on the pier.
The saltwater slowed the projectiles. They fell harmlessly around DePresti and Parkowski and sank to the sand below.
She was shocked at how many bullets had been fired at them. There seemed to be hundreds, all around them.
DePresti took the lead again and started pulling her south, away from the pier.
Parkowski grabbed his hand, their brief scuba diving experience coming in handy now. She squeezed it, then pointed at her neck and chest with the other one.
DePresti nodded and pulled her slightly towards the shore, near where the large waves were breaking.
He pointed at the cresting wave above them, let go of her hand, and pushed off towards the surface. DePresti thrust his head out of the water for a second, getting a breath of fresh air, and then dove back down towards the bottom.
A hail of bullets followed him. The shooters on the pier had seen him.
Parkowski, almost out of breath now, waited a second, then two, and did the same.
She aimed for a spot far away from where DePresti had taken a breath. Parkowski closed her eyes and pushed the lower half of her face out of the cold Pacific, exhaled, then inhaled, and threw her body back towards the shallow ocean floor, opening her eyes back up on the way.
They didn’t fire at her, or if they did she didn’t notice, but she didn’t take any chances as she pushed her body flat against the sand next to her boyfriend.
DePresti grabbed her hand again and she gave it a squeeze.
He pointed in the direction away from the pier, south, and let go of her hand as he kicked off in that direction. Parkowski waited a second then followed him.
Her boyfriend went up for air after an excruciating thirty seconds, then dove back down. Parkowski did the same.
This time she looked around quickly. They were a decent distance away from the pier now; far enough that she couldn’t make out if the shooters were still there or not in her brief inspection.
She played it safe, diving back down to the bottom after filling her lungs with air.
DePresti wasn’t so cautious. He was about halfway between the surface and the sea floor, swimming quickly.
It was probably safe — she didn’t see any bullets enter the water. Parkowski swam up to join him.
They swam underwater for at least ten to fifteen minutes, coming up carefully for air then diving back down, as they hugged the Pacific coast going south towards Hermosa Beach.
Then, they swam back up to the surface, Parkowski first, and swam another five or six minutes in the same direction.
DePresti overtook her, and started turning in towards a surprisingly empty beach for one o’clock on a Saturday. She estimated that they were half a mile from the pier, near the Manhattan/Hermosa dividing line. It must be safe.
The authorities must have cleared the beaches after they became aware of the massacre happening just up the road. The only people Parkowski saw on the beach were the lifeguards, and instead of looking out towards the ocean for a swimmer in distress or the occasional shark, they were looking at the far-off Manhattan Beach pier.
