Chapter 45
Naomi gasped as she fled through the blinding snow.
Pain and terror drove her onward. Her twisted ankle stabbed fire up her leg with every step.
Still, she dared not slow. Behind her, she had heard the heavy thud as men crashed with a clatter of armor behind her, taking the same hard exit as she had.
Her parka, still unzipped, flapped around her like the broken wings of a bird. Winds buffeted her, finding every way through her clothing to reach skin. By now, snow had started to crust over her. Still, adrenaline and terror kept her warm.
But for how much longer?
She fought to go faster, especially knowing she was leaving a trail through the snow. The storm sought to help her—by blowing powder and filling her prints—but she did not have enough of a lead for this to make a difference.
She searched for help, some straggler battling home, but she knew running into such a person would only get them both killed.
The gloam of lights through heavy snowfall drew her onward.
She prayed to find an open restaurant or shop, somewhere with enough people to ward off an attack, but everything had been shuttered tight.
She glanced back, rubbing the back of her wrist across her frozen eyelids, but she could see nothing except a blanket of white. Still, she heard her pursuers steadily closing on her. The crunch of boots on ice, the rattle of body armor, the grunt of coordinated commands.
As she faced around, her foot slipped on a patch of ice. She lost her balance and slid headlong into the snow.
No . . .
Panicked, she struggled for half a breath before regaining her legs. She shoved off—but not before noting a darker shadow blooming in the snowfall behind her.
They’re almost on me.
As she sped across the next intersection, a loud grumbling rose to her right. A glance over showed a growing well of brightness. She skidded into a turn and ran toward it, not with any plan, simply drawn by the instinct to flee the darkness for the light.
Or maybe it was something else, something her body reacted to before comprehension reached her mind.
Then she heard it.
A deep-throated scraping behind the engine’s grumbling.
Please . . .
Ahead, the glow sharpened into spears of light, driving through the snow, sweeping past the next intersection. The brightness illuminated a huge snowplow. It shoved heavily past and continued onward until it vanished out of view.
As she ran, the noise of the machinery’s passage obscured any audible sign of pursuit.
Still, she refrained from looking back and only raced harder.
She reached the intersection, and rather than striking off in the wake of the plow, she turned in the other direction.
The street remained scraped enough to hide her footprints.
She fled along the plow’s path, pushed by the wind from behind.
She prayed the hunters would think she had chased after the plow.
After she crossed another block, faint calls, muffled by the snow and wind, carried to her from behind.
She recognized the sounds of momentary confusion and took advantage of it.
While the hunters might split up, she trusted she had gained enough of a lead.
She fled another three blocks, then ducked off the plowed road.
By the time her pursuers hunted down this spot, the storm should have erased her path.
Or so she hoped.
She continued through town, lost, freezing, and hobbling worse as the adrenaline wore off.
Her heart pounded in her throat, while terror strangled her.
She fought to hold back tears that would only turn to ice.
For the moment, she seemed to have shaken off her pursuers.
Such a reprieve left her time to think about who she had left behind, who had helped her escape.
Tag . . .
She stumbled to a wall, leaning a shoulder against it. Would they torture him in her stead? Would he tell them where the others had gone? She stared in the direction of Monte Antelao, but there was no sign of the peak through the snow.
Fearing for the others, fearing for herself, she shoved off the wall and headed into the blizzard.
But where can I go?