Criminals

This is an ongoing novel I've been working on tell me what you think I should call it.

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John was 4 when our parents died in the fire that took our house and most of our money.  We were out at the babysitter’s house and our parents were about to go buy a car. 

Some one left the stove on. 

I don’t remember them so I don’t miss them, but I can hear John cry at night. 

We run. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as I awkwardly shuffle into the passenger seat.  John’s already in the right gear and I impulsively reach for the seatbelt when John looks at me, eyes wide. 

“Sadie, the back door!”

“I’ll get it.” I say, falling out of the van. 

I run to the back door, just as the bank robbers burst out of the bank carrying sacks of money over their shoulders and guns in their belts.  They see me and stop in their tracks, one of them slowly reaching for his gun.  I am frozen in my tracks when I hear a hoarse whisper in the darkness.

“Sadie?”

I jump into the back of the van and scream, “Drive!”  My brother hits the gas and it’s like time stops.  I can see the bank robbers pull their guns out.  I can feel the van lurching under my feet, but for once in my life I don’t fall.

I keep my balance and see one of the men in black firing his gun.  My eyes follow the bullet down the street until I see the alley we’d been sleeping in.  Just poking out onto the sidewalk is the corner of our blanket.  The blanket that is folded over my most prized possession, a picture, the only picture of my family that’s left.