Page 108 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
Clare scanned the site of the recent party—abandoned tables and folding chairs, some tipped over. Food carts and the brisket smoker and a rolling rack full of winter coats. “Russ, we should bring it all behind the cases.”
“Why?”
“Some of those materials could be improvised defenses. So if they do take a peek, like Jess suggested, it’ll seem less like we’re sneaking around and more like we’re preparing. Plus, we absolutely don’t want them seeing those coats missing. That’ll be a sure giveaway.”
He gave her a slanted smile. “Good thought.” He brought his hands together. “Okay, people, you know what to do. Those of you not working on moving the cases into place, spread out and tell everyone what we’re planning.”
“Who’s leaving first, Chief?” Kevin worried his lower lip.
“Mothers with their children. Women and the elderly after that. Able-bodied men last. We should be able to fit seven or eight civilians at a time in an elevator car, plus two accompanying them.”
Within seconds, Clare was standing alone with Russ, as the rest of the group, law enforcement and guards and clergy, began pulling people into conversations, explanations, and orders.
Clare took her husband’s hand. “Kevin and I should take the lead.”
He looked at her intently. “Convince me.”
“One person with a gun and one person who’s very good at infiltration.”
“Oh, I forgot how important infiltration is to the Episcopal priesthood.”
“Which one of us took the C-level SERE course while in the army?” It was a trick question. The Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape training was mandatory for helicopter pilots. “I’m good at keeping people calm. I’m good at observation. And if, God forbid, we get spotted, I can get them away while Kevin engages them.”
He kissed her hand. “Promise me you won’t do anything to endanger yourself.”
“I promise.”
“Promise on our son.”
“I do. I just want to help these people get out of here and get home to our little boy.”
It didn’t take long to roll the exhibit cases into a long partition. Men folded the tables and most of the chairs, bringing them and the food prep items behind the barrier. Paul Terrance was lifted gently, smoothly, onto a table draped with a clean cloth. The doctor had wrapped his side in duct tape, holding the pads in place, and the EMT had cleaned the blood off his skin with someone’s diaper wipes. Yíxin stood nearby with a folded tablecloth, ready to lay over Paul when they finished moving the table. The scene sparked a thought in Clare’s mind. She approached the doctor.
“I’ve done what I can for now,” he said. “But hand sanitizer and tampons are only going to go so far.”
“We all know you’ve done your best. We’re grateful you were here for Paul.” She paused. “Where did you get that duct tape?”
He looked surprised. “The brisket guys brought it. Why?”
“Is there any left? And another tablecloth?”
“Yeah, it’s…” He gestured to where the old table still stood, an out-of-context operating-room table. “On the chair.”
She rescued what she needed just as one of the men was about to bundle them up with the blood-soaked tablecloth. She crossed behind the concealing exhibit cases and found Kevin, already in his coat, standing with Hadley. She held up the tape and the cloth.
“What’s that for?”
“We’re going to need to do something about the elevator lights, or we risk giving ourselves away.”
He frowned. “Okay…”
“I think if you can tape this above the doors, it’ll hide the light when we get to the street. There’ll be flickering when people leave, but at least they won’t be framed in a big bright rectangle.”
Hadley reached for the roll of tape. “I’ll help Flynn. You get the first group ready.” They vanished down the poorly lit hall toward the elevator.
The first group of eight were three mothers and five kids. “Purses inside coats.” She helped one of the women readjust hers. “Coats zipped and buttoned. Nothing that can snag.”
Russ crossed to her as she was pulling on her own anorak. He took her by the shoulders. “Holding on.”
