“And you have mine,” Stocky replied.
I kept the Beretta trained toward the entrance, then glanced at Jessie. “You’re going to have to suck it up and move if you want any sort of chance to make it out of this alive. If you want to stay and get tortured, then that’s your bit, but I’m leaving.”
“All right, fine.” Jessie used the brick wall to help him to his feet. He grumbled in pain as he fought to pull himself off the floor. I stayed low, backing away behind him as he limped toward the corner.
Stocky’s goon near the table opened fire at me. I ducked, rolled out of the way, then returned fire. The bullets nicked the top of the chair, splintering the wood.
A thud hit the floor behind me. I peered over my shoulder, finding Jessie face first on the ground and not moving.
Shit.
I checked his neck for a pulse, but found none.
“Jesus Christ,” Stocky said, shouting at his men. “What did I say? We need him alive, not dead you dim-witted idiot.”
A report sounded from the entryway, followed by the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. I flinched, then turned toward Stocky and his men, spotting him and only one other gunman left.
I stood, fired, and bolted for the corner at the back of the loft.
Stocky and his man held their positions for a moment, then returned fire. “Go. Move out now. We can’t let him escape.”
Both men stood and gave pursuit with weapons trained in my direction. I popped off two more rounds, then skirted the edge of the brick wall.
The bullets punched the masonry brick in my wake, chipping chunks off that crumbled to the wood floor. I limped my way down the dim corridor, spotting the railing of the fire escape through the large window. I pulled the mask out of the coat and slipped it back on.
The heavy footfalls drew closer, hammering the planks behind me. I trained the Beretta at the corner. My free hand worked the locks of the window.
“Give it up, pal,” Stocky said, from the other side of the wall, “and I’ll consider giving you a quick death.”
I fired at the sharp edge of the brick while unlatching the locks. I pushed the heavy window up. Ash blew inside the loft, gathering on the floor around my feet. A gush of cold wind rushed me. I ducked and stepped out onto the fire escape.
Stocky poked his head around the corner. I fired another round while on the move, making him pull back. His man stormed around the wall with his rifle shouldered and trained at me.
My foot caught the windowsill, tripping me up. I fell to the fire escape. The side of my head slammed the steel railing, rattling my brain. I rolled onto my back, palming my skull.
Black Coat shuffled down the hallway with his rifle trained out the window at the fire escape. I blinked, trying to erase the blurred vision. I fired at the window he ran in front of. Each round hammered the glass, busting through to the other side.
A round caught him in the shoulder. His body twisted, then spun around. He fell.
I shook my head, grabbed the railing, and got my feet under me. My legs wobbled. The world spun as I made my way down the stairs, one step at a time.
My body rocked from side to side. The wind rushing me and the sight of being off the ground made me nauseated. Acid burned the back of my throat, but I kept it down.
I hit the second to the bottom step before the landing, ready to lose my balance. The fire escape vibrated under me. Heavy footfalls pounded each step, closing in fast.
Stocky tackled me from behind. I fell forward and hit the landing. The weight of his body crunched against mine. The Beretta popped free of my hand and dumped over the side to the pavement below.
He grabbed my shoulders, then my arm, yanking me onto my side. I threw an elbow, smashing the side of his head.
Stocky lost his balance, slipped off my waist, and hit the railing. The fire escape vibrated. I scrambled to my feet, fighting through the pulsating pain inside my head and the dizziness that accompanied it. My hand grabbed the railing, steadying me as I faced the next flight of stairs.
Stocky punched me in the kidneys and shoved me forward. I slammed the railing, then leaned over the side. My hand held firm on the top steel bar. He grabbed a handful of my coat, then my pants. He lifted up and leaned in close.
“Unless you want the express way down, tell me where the woman is and what you know,” he said, snarling in my ear. “Either way, you’re dying on this fire escape. How, is up to you.”
I lifted my foot, grazing his balls with the heel of my shoe. His hands released my coat and pants. He gasped and took a stepped back, giving me a small window to attack.
I turned, then hammered his jaw with my fist, knocking him to the ground. Stocky hit the landing, then curled up in the fetal position, cupping his private area. His face contorted in pain, lids clamped shut. He gnashed his teeth and panted.
I worked my way down the flight of stairs to the next landing. My side radiated pain where he’d struck my kidneys. I struggled to breathe.
A gunshot echoed from behind. A round struck the steel next to my leg as I made the corner. I hurried down the next flight. My gaze flitted to the stairs above me.
Stocky got to his feet and staggered his way down the steps after me. He trained his heater in my direction, but held his fire.
The dizziness waned some. The nauseated sensation lessened with each passing second. I flew down the next flight. One more to go.
Stocky fired. The bullet struck the railing near my hand. I leaned away and continued on down the stairs. He yelled, hollering at the top of his lungs. The wind and distance distorted his words, making it hard to understand.
I hit the last landing, made the corner, and climbed down the ladder to the pavement below. I glanced up, taking each rung as fast as I could.
Stocky barreled down the steps, pointing at me with a scowl on his face. He leaned over the side, training his silver piece in my direction.
My foot missed one of the rungs as my hand moved down to the next. Gravity took hold and pulled me to the ground. My arm stretched, reaching for the steel rung of the ladder. The tips of my fingers grazed the bar, but didn’t grab hold.
I hit the pavement seconds later—flat on my back. The impact ripped the air from my lungs. I gasped, fighting to breathe. Every bone in my body ached.
I rolled to my side, then forced myself off the ground. The SUV wasn’t too far away. My hand buried inside the coat pocket, fishing for the keys. I lurched down the alleyway, looking over my shoulder.
Stocky climbed down the ladder in a blink, then dropped to the pavement. A gunshot made me flinch and duck. The round tore through the flap of my coat, missing my waist by an inch or less. It pinged off the grille of the SUV.
I limped around the front end and down the driver’s side. I flung the door open and climbed inside the cab.
Stocky unloaded the magazine, hammering the windshield. I leaned to the side, shoved the key into the ignition and fired up the engine. It grumbled at first, then roared to life.
I pumped the gas, shifted into reverse, then pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard. The SUV took off toward the street with the door still open. I sat up straight, then glanced in the rearview mirror.
A black sedan was stopped in the road, blocking my way out. I hit the brakes, bringing the SUV to a skidding halt. The dark-tinted windows of the sedan made it hard to see inside.
Stocky ejected the spent mag in his heater, then reached around his back. He grabbed a fresh magazine, slapped it into the well, then cycled a round.
I closed the door, shifted into drive, and punched the gas. The back tires squealed. The SUV lunged forward and took off down the alley, heading right for Stocky.
He dove to the side, going end over end as I passed by. He got to his feet, turned, and fired at the fleeing vehicle. Muzzle flashes caught my eye from the side-view mirror. Each round punched the rear door of the SUV.
The sedan turned and gave pursuit down the alleyway. It stopped next to Stocky. He raced
around the front end and jumped into the front passenger seat.
I worked the steering wheel from side to side, trying to avoid the trash cans and other garbage that lay in the alley. The front end of the SUV plowed through a silver-tinted trash can. The lid popped off the top, hit the hood, slammed the windshield, then rolled over the roof.
Air rushed through the bullet holes in the windshield, creating a whistling noise. I checked the rearview mirror, then the street up ahead. It looked clear and free of any obstacles.
The sedan closed in fast, its headlights growing brighter. I kept the gas pedal mashed to the floorboard, bearing down on the empty street.
I pumped the brake at the end of the corridor. The front end of the SUV bottomed out where the street and alley met. I jerked the steering wheel clockwise. The tires skidded over the pavement. I made a wide arch onto the vacant, desolate street, then punched the gas.
The sedan followed suit, drifting out of the alleyway at a sharp angle. The back end swung around, but the car corrected its trajectory.
The streets had little to no traffic, much the same as when I came through earlier. My mind worked fast, plotting out the best course of action to lose the tail.
The sedan surged forward, gaining on me. I took the corner at the intersection full tilt, missing the curb by a foot. A yellow hatchback sat parked across the street. The SUV went wide. I wrenched the steering wheel.
The bumper grazed the driver’s side of the small vehicle, ripping along the fender and door. I pulled away and darted across the street to the correct side of the road.
The sedan remained close—unyielding. It mimicked my every move. The headlights shone through the back window. An idea gelled—a last-ditch effort to gain some distance on them.
I eased off the gas some. They closed in. I slammed the brakes. The sedan rammed the back of the SUV. A loud crunching noise sounded. The SUV lunged forward from the impact. I swerved from side to side.
My head snapped back against the headrest, hands working the steering wheel to straighten out the vehicle. I went wide, crossing onto the other side of the road. Headlights flashed ahead of me. A truck closed in. Its horn honked.
I wrenched the steering wheel clockwise and out of the incoming vehicle’s way. The truck swerved to miss me, heading toward the curb.
Its brake lights flash red.
Tires locked up.
The truck crashed into a light pole head on.
I checked the side-view mirror, hoping the driver and any passengers inside were okay.
The sedan slowed and drifted back. The driver side headlight failed. The bumper scraped along the road.
The distance between the two vehicles grew wider, giving me a chance to leave them behind. I cut through the intersection without slowing much, turned down the street, and punched the gas.
I checked the rearview mirror, but didn’t spot the black sedan. I kept the pedal mashed to the floorboard, tearing through the falling ash as I headed back to the motel as fast as I could.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SCARFACE
The young girl looked at me with her arms folded across her chest. My hand remained stuffed in the pocket of my coat, gripping the dagger. I glanced down to her, then the nearby buildings, scanning for any movement.
She shifted her weight, then pulled the scarf farther up the bridge of her nose.
I remained on guard.
Ash gathered on the top of her head. I struggled to gauge her age from the thick coat she wore and the scarf covering the bottom portion of her face. Her height suggested maybe ten years old or so, but I couldn’t be sure.
The wind whipped the ends of the long strands of blonde hair that ran from under the light-blue beanie she wore. I took a step closer, curious as to what she wanted.
The grumbling of an engine sounded from down the street. She looked for the source of the vehicle, then backed away. I glanced to the vacant road, scanning either way.
She ran down the sidewalk in a dead sprint, leaving me where I stood. She slowed, then waved her arm at me. The noise from the inbound vehicle grew louder. She pointed down the street past me. Headlights cut through the falling ash, heading our way.
I took off down the sidewalk after her. My hand left the pocket of the coat. I peered over my shoulder and spotted the inbound vehicle rolling toward us.
I faced forward. The girl had vanished without a trace. I searched for a place to lay low. The buildings I ran past sat dark and void of any movement beyond the windows that didn’t have plywood covering the glass.
A door swung open about five paces ahead of me. The young girl stepped out, then waved me inside. An arm reached out from the depths of the store, grabbed a handful of her coat, then jerked her back.
The door closed.
I ran harder and reached for the silver handle. The tips of my fingers grabbed the outer edge, holding the door open. A masked man dressed in a green-camo jacket with the hood pulled over his head jerked the silver-steel bar toward him.
The tip of my shoe wedged between the door and jamb, keeping it from closing all the way. He looked at me through the thick, plastic eyepieces of the single-filter gas mask he wore. He jerked the door again, fighting to crush my foot.
My fingers moved to the edge of the door. I pulled toward me, widening the gap. My leg slipped inside.
The grumbling engine drew closer to the store. The young girl stood back from the entryway, watching the both of us fight over the door. She looked at me, then the man who had pulled her inside.
He removed one of his hands from the steel bar, then reached behind his back. I tugged harder, yanking the door from his grasp.
It swung open. I darted inside, closed the door, then secured the deadbolt.
He pulled the young girl behind him, shielding her from me. She peered around his shoulder, then pointed in my direction.
A car drove by the front of the store and continued on down the street without braking. I turned around, facing Green Camo and the girl.
He lunged at me with a buck knife in his hand. His arm lifted in the air, then came down at an angle.
I caught his arm in midair, turned, then threw him against the door. His face smashed against the glass, rattling the door. I twisted his arm, holding the knife behind his back, then hammered his wrist.
The buck knife fell from his fingers and clanged off the tile floor. I kicked it away. I retrieved the push dagger from my pocket, then drew my arm back.
The young girl tugged on my arm before I could strike. I glanced back to her. She shook her head, then looked to the man. He groaned through the mask, low and muffled. I kept the pressure on his arm. The girl jerked my arm again.
“All right.” I released the man’s arm and took a step back.
The girl pushed past me and checked on him. He lowered his arm, then turned away from the window to face me.
The dagger hung at my side, clutched in my fist. He palmed his arm, then turned toward me. She stayed at his side, looking at his arm. He yanked the hood back, peeled the mask from his head, then shoved it under his arm.
Beads of sweat raced down the sides of his flushed cheeks and past the five o’clock shadow around his jaw. The thick-brown hair went in all directions on top of his head. Bags rested under both eyes.
His brow furrowed and nose scrunched. He squinted while panting. “Listen, pal, we don’t want any trouble. Take what you want and leave us be. Just don’t kill us.”
The young girl looked back to me while standing at his side. He moved in front of her again, placing his body between us.
I lifted the goggles up. “I’m not going to kill you as long as you don’t try that again.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine,” he said to the girl who touched and studied his arm while craning her neck. “It’s not broken or anything. Just sore is all.”
The young girl looked to me, then to him. She dipped her chin, and examined his arm a moment longer before stopping.
He turned aroun
d, glanced at me, then looked at her. He rotated his arm and winced. His fingers pressed under her chin, lifting her head up. “I know you mean well, sweetie, but I have told you you’re not supposed to go outside without me. It’s dangerous. Also, where is your mask?”
The young girl pointed across the building, but didn’t speak or mutter a single syllable. Odd.
He sighed, tilted his head forward, then ran his hand over his face. “You need to wear it outside. Breathing in the air isn’t good for you right now. We have to be smart and make sure we’re doing the right things. It’s important that you listen to me.”
She gave a single nod, then wrapped her arms around his body, hugging him.
“What is going on here?” I asked, confused. “So, you’re not trying to hurt her or anything like that?”
He looked at me with a disgusted look as if I had said something preposterous. “Lord no. She’s my daughter. I was protecting her from you.”
“I had no intentions of hurting her.” I looked to her, then back to him. “She snuck up on me down the sidewalk and ran away after spotting that car that drove by. She wanted me to follow her.”
“Do you typically chase after eleven-year-old girls like that?” he asked, nodding at his daughter.
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. I wouldn’t hurt a kid.”
He looked down to the dagger in my hand. “If you’re not here to hurt us, then what do you want?”
I glanced around the dim store, scanning the aisles and stocked shelves for any figures moving in the shadows. “Is there anyone else here in the building? I don’t like surprises.”
He stayed close to the young girl, then shook his head. “No. Just my daughter and myself.”
I slipped the dagger into the sheath inside my coat. “I just need to lay low for a minute is all, then I’ll be on my way.”
“I take it that you’re not with the heathens out there roaming the street?” Green Camo nodded toward the street.
“If you mean the armed men wearing the tactical body armor and all, then no, I’m not,” I answered. “Me and my associate ran into them on the highway, then again in town. I guess they don’t care for outsiders much.”
Brink of Extinction | Book 2 | Stay Alive Page 15
