Page 59 of Silent Comrade
Britt’s fingers fisted his shirt but shehung on, matching him as he took deliberate steps backward.
The man grinned and raised the gun.
Shit.
He recalled the layout of this station. IfRed could get Britt up those escalator stairs to street level, theyhad a chance.
Making a ruckus was low on Red’s list ofresponse options.
A safety clicked. Not his.
Red fired, hitting the guy on the side ofhis chest. Not center of mass. Damn it.
The return shot didn’t do much better, butkudos for nailing Red’s thigh. Fire burned through his leg as thebullet made a high squelching sound, passing through and through ata gazillion miles per second. A yelp from Britt. Had she been hit?Damn it.
He pulled the trigger once more.
Off-target, damn the blinding pain fromRed’s leg. The dude stopped and leaned over, a hand pressed intohis chest wall, his arm hanging at his side. A fewseconds—that’s all Red had bought them.The man groaned and stood up again, hatred and pain etched on hismeaty face.
“Run!” Red yelled as the man raised a shakyhand with the gun still in it.
Britt dashed up the escalator, and hefollowed, obscuring the guy’s target, and moving slower, as his legtried to collapse on him.
He adjusted control of the virus, exchangingclarity of thought for amplified strength and abilities. The virusflared, surging to the injured area, and beginning the healingprocess. Not fast enough.
As they emerged to street level, Red scannedthe area and pulled Britt along with him, trying to mask the limp.He glanced down. Hard to mask the spreading dark patch on his upperkhaki pants leg. He glanced back, catching a glimpse of the man’ssandy hair as he emerged from the station at a slower pace. Butrelentlessly moving forward.
Red scanned his surroundings. City blocks,closed businesses, few cars, and fewer people out at this hour.Less ability to blend in. He couldn’t formulate a plan quicklyenough. Thinking took too much effort with the virus surging.
Humid evening air cooled his sweatyforehead.
“This way,” he gritted out, pulling her downa short alleyway.
Britt’s ice-cold hands gripped his wrist.“Are you okay?”
He clamped his jaw against the slice of painas he stepped down on his injured leg with aclunkon athick iron-tasting manhole cover. “Fine. For now.” He could barelyform sentences. He needed her safe. The damned virus needed hersafe and it didn’t care about the price to reach that goal. Redretained a tight rein on his sanity and hung on for dear life.
His vision winked crimson.
Limping a few more blocks, he led her intoyet another alley and ducked behind a dumpster full of spoiledalcohol, rotting vegetables, and damp cardboard. Not ideal, but itwould work. He sucked air into his lungs and did his damned best tocompartmentalize the pain lancing through his leg as he pressedBritt next to the rusted metal bin and stood in front of her.
He hit a button on his phone. “Rodeo?” hesaid, keeping a hand on Britt’s shoulder.
“Hey, got some half-time details, party boy?Is she the freak in bed, or are you?”
“Shut up, asshole.” The words hissed outthrough a tight jaw. “Problem.”
“Shit.” The switch flipped and Rodeo becamea cold, calculating operator in a half second. “Sitrep.”
“Shot at, successfully.”
“You or Britt?”
“Me. We’re safe right now. What’s yourlocation?” Red sucked in air as his leg muscles spasmed.
Rodeo’s voice came through musicalbackground noise. “Club.”
“Where’s the roommate?”
