Pop! Pop!
Sterling ducked and dodged to the left as bullets tore from above. He glanced up and let out a tiny sigh of relief.
The angle was wrong. The shooter on the roof couldn't actually hit them. The stairwell was too tight and the angle too steep.
"Eyes up," Sterling said. " Marlow, can you cover us and take him?"
"Give me a second," Marlow said. "Go. Go. Go."
Sterling and Nelson bolted toward Restrepo's landing. Nick stayed right where he was, holding the middle floor.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Bang! Bang!
Wood splintered like popcorn.
Sterling flattened himself against the wall. Nelson had lowered himself in front of the door.
Gunfire continued to erupt from all sides.
The door to Restrepo's apartment was a hollow-core piece of cheap pine with a brass deadbolt that looked older than dirt. Nelson drove the breaching tool into the door an inch above the lock and the door folded inward like it had been waiting to give up.
Sterling raised his weapon and inched inside.
Restrepo had crawled under the kitchen table with his knees pulled to his chest. His eyes were wide with terror. "Is this part of the plan?" he asked in broken English.
"No," Sterling said. "We have to go."
Restrepo shook his head. "They kill me."
"If you stay here, they sure will." Sterling dropped to the floor, reached under the table, and curled his fingers around Restrepo's ankle. "The only chance you've got at staying alive is to come with me now."
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"Maybe not, but this doesn't hurt how the story plays out." Sterling yanked.
"Mi hermana." Restrepo twisted and scurried out from under the table. "Where is she?"
"She's safe, and if we go now, you'll see her soon."
"Two sets of boots above us that weren't supposed to be there," Snow said over comms. "You better get your ass out of there."
Sterling craned his ear and lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.
The fourth floor was supposed to be a Colombian family of four on the west side and an empty unit on the east. No one wore boots to bed.
"Marlow, you got eyes on that roof shooter?" Sterling asked.
The radio crackled and for a moment, there was no gunfire, only the sound of boots above them.
"Marlow, you copy?" Sterling asked again.
"Hit," Marlow whispered. "Second shooter. Northeast roofline." He coughed, but it sounded wet. "Caught me in the side under my shooting arm above my fucking vest."
"How bad?" Driscoll asked.
"Bad enough."
