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Toowell.
“There’s only a handful left,” Alina informs me. “We might actually—Pyotr, look out!”
Before I have the chance to react, something hard and heavy is suddenly on top of me. I barely have enough time to blink before a furious fist comes flying down to pummel my face. A mercenary dressed in all black attacks me from above, reaching for the blade attached to his utility belt.
“You motherfucker!” he hisses at me. “I’m going to enjoy gouging your eyes out.”
He brings his knife down, but I manage to squirm out of the way just in time. Summoning every ounce of my strength, I throw him off me and scramble to get on top. Our positions are reversed now. He’s at my mercy, but not for long. He swings at me, the edge of his blade slicing across my chest, blood dripping from my opened skin.
Damn him. I didn’t even hear him coming. Had it not been for Alina, I’d probably be dead.
“Pyotr!” she screams. “Duck!”
I don’t hesitate. I roll out of the way just in time to see Alina whip out a gun. She fires two shots, both of which hit our attacker square in the chest. She trembles but keeps a brave face. Staggering to my feet, I approach her carefully, placing my hand over hers to lower the gun. I know that couldn’t have been easy for her.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sniffling back her tears.
“Yes, all thanks to you—”
All of a sudden, five more Salkov soldiers storm through the building’s roof entrance, their weapons drawn and ready to fire. I’m running purely on instincts now. I snatch Alina’s hand and drag her behind the building’s water tank. A series of pipes and large ventilation fans are close to take cover behind, but we won’t be able to hide forever. The Salkovs must have realized there was a sniper picking them off from afar and have come to deal with the problem.
Alina’s eyes are wide and full of fear. “What are we going to do?”
It’s five on two, though I’m not going to risk putting Alina in a head-to-head fight, so it’s more like five on one. Our priority is to escape. If I can clear the way, maybe Alina can make it out of here in one piece. At this point, I don’t even care if something happens to me as long as my wife and the child she’s carrying make it out alive.
“Wait for my signal,” I whisper to her. “And no matter what, know that I love you.”
She frowns. “Don’t say that like it’s a goodbye.”
I kiss her on the lips quickly before getting up and rounding the corner, leaving her well-hidden and out of the way.
The Salkovs are still searching for us, but they’re not doing as thorough a job as they could be. I remind myself that these aren’t actually well-trained soldiers. They’re just run-of-the-mill gangsters running around with their overpowered toys. They know nothing about strategy, only point and shoot—something I can take advantage of.
Keeping low, I take stock of their weapons. They’re all armed with Makarov pistols. I have one of my own in New York. It’s a common weapon, and the magazines hold twelve bullets—and maybe one in the spout. What this really is, is a numbers game. If I can get them to waste their bullets, then maybe I’ll have bought us enough time to get out of here.
Crouching down, I gather a handful of gravel. The pebbles are cold and damp against my palm. From my hiding spot, I pick up a single pebble and toss it as hard as I can toward the other side of the roof. It clinks off a ventilation hood, drawing the Salkovs’ attention.
Two of them fire blindly, wasting up to five shots before they realize nobody’s there.
“Hold your fire, idiot!” one of them snaps.
They’re all skittish. Good. This will work in my favor.
I pick another pebble and toss it elsewhere. Again, they fire in the same direction as the sound. While they freak out, I’m mentally counting the number of bullets remaining.
“Where the fuck are you?” one of the Salkov soldiers screams.
“Come out, you fucking cowards!”
“I knew it. The Antonovs are fucking pussies!”
I let their insults wash right off my back. I won’t be goaded into making a mistake. This time, I let them stew in their own uncomfortable silence. I can tell they’re getting agitated because their insults become much more colorful and vile. They fan out, searching the area slowly with their weapons drawn. They’ve left the rooftop entrance wide open—perfect.
From where I’m hidden, I catch Alina’s eye. I point to the door, a silent signal to run. She nods, albeit hesitantly, before moving toward the exit as quiet as a mouse. Only once she makes it do I start to follow.
The cold, hard tip of a gun jams into the base of my skull.
“Nice try, Antonov.”
