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I don’t know if my voice or the shot spurs her on, but she moves faster. She gets out of the tunnel and stands up on the other side, turning and moving backward as I start to crawl out.
A hand grabs onto my ankle, and I’m pulled off balance. I fall forward and land in the debris on the floor, cutting my hand on something in the process.
I roll quickly, drawing my gun, but I’m not fast enough. Brett is on top of me, and I take a right hook to the chin. The back of my head bounces off the floor, stunning me for a second. Brett is straddling my chest, grabbing his gun from a shoulder holster and swinging it toward my face.
I slam my fist into his crotch. I don’t have enough leverage to really make it count, but it slows him down enough for me to grab his wrist and twist it backward. The gun falls to the floor, sliding out of reach. I quickly punch up and into Brett’s nose. He jerks back as blood spatters over my face.
Turning my hips, I dislodge him and pin him to the ground. With my knees on his shoulders, I land blow after blow into his face.
How many times? How many times has he hurt her?
I punch again. I’m fairly certain I’ve cracked one of my knuckles, and I don’t care. I should have killed him when he first touched her. I wanted to. My gut instinct told me to, and I didn’t do it. He’s punching me in the side, bruising my ribs, but I don’t stop.
A sudden, sharp pain in the side of my head sends me to the ground. I’m not sure what he hit me with, but Brett is now on top of me, wrapping his fingers around my throat. At first, I’m too dazed to respond. All I can manage is to grab his fingers and try to pull them off my throat, but it’s no use.
I’m lightheaded. I can’t be more than a minute away from losing consciousness. I have to move. I have to think, but the dizziness is getting to be too much. I can’t loosen his fingers from my neck.
No. If he gets me, he’ll get her back. Oh fuck, no!
With all my strength, I reach up and grab a hold of his shirt, wrapping it up in my fingers. I yank him down as I clench my stomach and pull myself up, slamming my forehead into his. It dazes me, but it also gets his hands off my neck.
I roll to the side, choking and gasping. Brett is on my back a second later, and we roll again through the rubble all over the floor. Something hard slams into my shoulder, halting the roll with Brett back on top of me. He doesn’t grab for my throat again, though—he reaches for whatever stopped me.
The barrel of my Sig is pointed under my jaw.
Brett’s eyes are wild as he grins maniacally down at me.
“You never should have come here,” he says.
The blast rings through my ears. I wait for the pain, but nothing comes.
Am I dead?
There’s screaming, but the sound is dulled in my ringing ears. I realize Brett’s weight is no longer holding me down, and I roll to one side.
Brett is next to me, holding his shoulder and yelling at the top of his voice. I look toward the wall and see Hannah. In her hands is Brett’s gun.
Holy shit! She shot him!
I look back to Brett, who is still rolling on the floor in pain. I grab my Sig from where he left it and waste no time shooting two rounds into his chest and another in his head. I stare at the body for a long moment, making sure there is no room for doubt before I clamber back to my feet. I stumble a little—my head is swimming and my ears are ringing—and make my way to Hannah’s side. Slowly, I cover the barrel of the gun with my palm and take it out of her hands.
Hannah takes a step back, pushing herself against the wall near the broken glass door. She wraps her hands around her stomach, and tears start to run down her face. Her eyes are still blank, but she comes with me when I pull on her arm. Her other hand still reaches around her stomach, cupping the bulge.
Marco stares at her with wide eyes as I bring her out to the street.
“Where’s Chuck?” I ask.
“He told me to come make sure you got out! He’s at the front gate. There were a lot of guys coming out, but I think he was leading them the other way.”
“They know I’m coming out over here,” I say, shifting Hannah’s weight on my arm. “I need to get her out of here. We all need to get out of here.”
“Marco and Katrina are at the old Coke place.”
“You go ahead,” I tell him. “Get them ready to move out. We’ll cover you.”
Marco rushes off, and another shot rings out. I recognize the sound of the discharge of my rifle. I glance at Christine and then in the direction she’s aiming.
Chuck appears from around the corner, firing shots as he turns and backs toward the truck.
