Chapter 21
“ Y ou didn’t tell me they were going to blow up the roadblock!” Hannah yelled at Tom as he opened the door to let her out. Her voice shook with fury. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
They’d skidded to a halt near a low building that might once have been a school or hospital.
Now it was just a skeleton of rubble and broken concrete.
The driver and the others in the back, including Jamal, scattered the moment the truck stopped.
Already, the blue flashing lights of the military police could be seen closing in—seconds behind.
“You wouldn’t have come,” Tom shot back, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the shattered structure.
“Damn right, I wouldn’t!” she snapped, following him through a hole that had once been a window. “That was madness. Those guys are crazy. They’re full-on rebel activists. I can’t believe you?—”
“Get your head down,” he cut in sharply. She dropped low without protest as they sprinted through one derelict room after another, hugging the walls.
Gunfire cracked behind them.
“That’s Jamal and his rebel activist friends covering us,” Tom muttered. “It’ll buy us some time.”
Hannah ran blindly, heart pounding, ducking as best she could while he led the way through the maze of rubble. A bullet zinged past, striking the pillar next to them with a vicious thud.
More gunfire, closer this time.
Tom launched himself on top of her, shielding her as they hit the ground behind a low wall. He rolled to one side and fired rapidly in the direction of the gunfire.
Hannah lay frozen, eyes squeezed shut.
“Come on, let’s move!” Tom shouted, yanking her to her feet in one fluid motion. She stumbled after him around a corner and into another burnt-out room.
He paused, scanning quickly for exits. His eyes locked on a window still crusted with broken glass. With a few hard scrapes of his rifle, he knocked the jagged shards away. Then he turned to her.
“After you.”
Shouts echoed behind them. Gunfire popped again.
Hannah placed her hands on the windowsill.
“Brace yourself!” he called out.
Before she could ask why, he grabbed her legs and boosted her through. She hit the ground awkwardly, surprised more than hurt. They were only on the first floor, thank God.
“Sorry. Coming through,” he shouted, leaping after her. She scrambled aside just in time as he landed hard, rolled, and popped to his feet.
He yanked her up. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
She clung to his hand with a death grip as they sprinted up a side street and ducked into another crumbling building across the road.
This time, he charged straight for the stairs and took them two at a time, spiraling upward until they reached a metal door barely hanging on its hinges.
He shoved through it and they burst onto the roof.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
She threw herself onto the tarred rooftop, chest heaving. Tom crept over to the edge, crouched behind the low wall, and peered at the street below.
Heavy boots thudded through the building beneath them.
Her pulse was racing. “Are they coming?” she croaked.
A loud bang below answered her question.
He glanced back. “It won’t be long. We need to move. Can you keep going?”
“Yes, let’s go.” Waiting around to get caught wasn’t an option.
“We’re going to have to jump.”
Her mouth went dry. “Oh my God. How high is it?”
“That’s not important. The gap’s only about a meter wide. You’ll make it. I’ll go first—just follow my lead.” She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. They were at least three stories up.
But he was serious.
“If you don’t follow, you’ll be left behind,” he warned.
That got her moving.
Tom backed up a few steps and ran. He cleared the gap with ease, landed solid, and turned to hold out a hand.
“Come on.”
Don’t look down. She chanted the words in her head as she stepped back.
The soldiers were coming. Their boots pounded the stairwell.
Now or never.
Tom’s hand was waiting. “Now, Hannah!”
She sprinted forward. The edge of the roof rushed up. She launched herself—and landed hard at his feet.
She’d made it.
But there was no time to celebrate. He yanked her behind a cement block just as soldiers burst onto the roof behind them.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Good. Because I need you to do that again.”
Her heart dropped. “Again?”
Sweet Jesus.
She was not cut out for this. Jumping between rooftops was something out of a Bond film, not real life.
“Ready?”
Shouts rang out. Their pursuers were already on the move.
She barely nodded.
“You go first. I’ll cover you.”
She peeked at the next gap. It was wider than the first—at least a meter and a half.
She kept her head down and ran. A yell went up behind her. She braced for gunfire. It came, but not from behind. Tom’s rifle barked a warning as she launched herself through the air.
She landed and rolled, just like she’d seen him do. It helped, winding her less.
Before she’d caught her breath, Tom landed beside her.
“Get under cover!” he yelled as bullets rained down on them. They scrambled behind another concrete structure just in time.
A soldier leaped across the gap, and she screamed.
Tom spun out from their hiding place and, with a powerful kick to the torso, caused the man to stumble backward over the edge. His partner halted, raising his weapon, but before he had time to fire, Tom shot him in the head.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, turning away.
“Them or us,” Tom said matter-of-factly. “Let’s push on. We don’t know how many others are coming. Once we get into the rebel-controlled suburbs, we’ll be okay. They won’t follow us there.”
Hannah stayed close to his side. She didn’t have a clue which suburbs were controlled by the rebels.
How the hell did he? They skirted the long, flat roof that appeared to be the top of an old apartment block.
There was no fire escape, which would have made life easier, but at the far end, she spotted an open window.
Tom had seen it too.
“This way.” He forced it open as wide as it could go.
She peered inside. “This is someone’s home,” she hissed, but Tom had already hopped over the windowsill and was scouting about inside.
With a quick look around, she followed suit.
They were in a bedroom—and a messy one, at that. The bed was unmade, and clothing was strewn all over the floor. Gingerly, they picked their way through the clutter toward the door.
So far, so good.
They heard the television from another room, so presumably someone was home. Hannah held her breath, praying they wouldn’t suddenly make an appearance.
A dank, musty passageway led from the bedroom toward the front door. Treading lightly, they inched past the entrance to what she assumed was the living room. The door was slightly ajar, offering a partial view of the TV, but nothing else. Hopefully that meant the occupant couldn’t see them, either.
Then they heard a clunk, like someone had set a mug down on a tabletop. Tom held up a hand. She froze, waiting for a creak or a groan—anything to indicate the person was getting up.
Nothing happened. They hadn’t moved. She exhaled. After a few more seconds, just to be sure, he motioned for them to continue.
On the right was a small kitchen, even messier than the bedroom. She turned up her nose at the smell as they passed by. Tom slid open the old-style bolt that served to lock the front door. It grated slightly but not loud enough to rise above the noise from the living room.
Slowly, he eased open the door, and they slipped out into a communal stairwell.