Page 152 of New Storm Rising
“You couldn’t…huff,huff…have parked…puff,puff, that darn carriage in the stable right next to where we were staying, could you?”
“And pay rent when there is unlimited free parking space outside? Be reasonable, Mrs Ambrose.”
“I would like to…huff…be! But being reasonable is far easier when…huff,puff…you aren’t being hunted down by bloodthirsty killers like a bloody rabbit!”
“I assure you, your ears are much smaller.”
“You…!” I leapt forward, making a grab for him. But even with a bloody full-grown man over his shoulder, the blasted man was still faster than me! Damn him, his long legs and what was dangling between them!
“How much…farther?” I panted as the houses around us became sparser and sparser.
“Only a few hundred yards.”
“I…hate…you!”
“I love you, too, Mrs Ambrose.”
“Ha! I just hope that darn tunnel was long enough to make sure they lost our trail and aren’t still in pursuit, or—”
Bam! Bam!
“Darn!”
I ducked instinctively as bullets started whizzing past me. Bullets that were not coming from behind, but from farther ahead! Coming to an abrupt halt, we threw ourselves to the ground.
“I assume that answers your question, Mrs Ambrose?” Mr Ambrose enquired from the dirt beside me.
“Has anyone ever told you that silence is golden, Sir?”
“I once heard something of the kind, yes.”
“How the hell have they gotten ahead of us?” Karim growled.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because they, you know…have bloody horses?”
“You might think so.” Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed a nearby barrel, kicking it over for us to take cover behind. “But you’d be wrong. Look!”
Peeking over the top of the barrel, I realized what he meant. Every time the muzzle flashes lit the night, I could see the street for a brief moment. And every time they lit the night, I saw the shots coming not from mounted men, but the windows of a house.
“They didn’t overtake us,” Mr Ambrose said grimly, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. “They had people stationed around a perimeter from the very beginning. Whoever is in charge is smart.”
Far too smart for our good.
The words went unsaid, but I still heard them.
“But then again,” my dear husband continued, “sometimes intelligence is overrated.”
Then he pulled a stick of dynamite out of his pocket, lit it, and hurled it through the open window of the house.
Explosive Relationships
I gaped. Did he just really…?
“Duck,” my dear, considerate husband advised.
KA-BOOM!
The explosion ripped off the entire building’s façade, blowing its scattered remnants all over the street. Something jagged shot towards me, aiming straight for my face, and—
