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How long Christie stayed behind the wheel of the cruiser, she didn’t know. The gunfire peppering the car had abated a few minutes ago, and she considered running for it. But then she heard more and decided to stay put.
The officers who weren’t shielded by the car had died immediately. She didn’t dare stick her head out while those men were there. The last few shots hadn’t punched through the car as best she could tell though. Were they shooting at something else?
Fear petrified her.
She sat on her butt, back against the filthy wheel, and wept.
Just a few hours ago, she’d been slinging drinks at the bar and fighting off come-ons from drunks. That had annoyed her as it always did, but she now realized that anything was better than where she was right then.
She swore she wouldn’t take anything she had for granted again if she could just get away safely. There was so much she wanted to do, so many places she desired to see, that the thought of dying in that dirty, cracked parking lot forced her to keep fighting.
Christie wiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks with the back of her hand.
She spun to her knees, hands gripping the top of the tire. Her fingers slid into the tread.
Slowly, carefully, she peeked over the top of the trunk.
The window the men were shooting from was empty.
Was it a trick? Did she dare expose herself by running for the street?
An explosion rocked the building. Christie jumped, almost fell over.
A burst of smoke and debris shot out of the left side of the building. It looked as if it had come from her floor. Even worse, she thought that it might have come from her apartment.
Christie realized then that the thumb drive the man in the subway had given her had caused the mayhem happening all around her. It had led to his death. The men chasing him had thought it valuable enough to do something as daring as murder police officers in broad daylight.
They would obviously do anything necessary to get it back.
But she’d left it in her apartment.
If they were in there now, did that mean they’d found it? Would they leave her alone now and flee with their prize?
She didn’t plan to find out. Christie searched the parking lot for the best path to escape. An exit to a side street stood to her right, about fifty meters away. If she could get to the crowd shambling slowly by it, she might be able to blend in and slip away.
Staying low, she crawled along the length of the police cruiser on her hands and knees. Tiny pieces of glass bit into her palms, but she ignored the pain. She could deal with a few cuts and scrapes later.
When she reached the front end of the car, Christie paused and looked back at the building. The men still weren’t in the window.
She slid behind the Silverado that the cruiser had rolled into. It stood higher than the car, giving her a bit more room to move around behind. She got to her feet and scooted down the side.
A torrent of gunfire erupted from somewhere by her apartment building again, causing Christie to duck down behind the engine of the truck. Her eyes squeezed shut, a fresh tear forming in the corner of each.
The sounds were further away than before though, more a series of rapid-fire echoes than anything. Were they moving away from her? Engaging the protestors out front?
Christie glanced at the window again.
All was clear.
She jumped up, sprinted to the next car, and ducked down again.
No one shot at her.
The firing she couldn’t see ceased, leaving the parking lot eerily silent for several seconds. And then, the crowd roared.
Christie wondered if things were about to go from bad to worse. The men chasing her could turn the entire mob of people out front into homicidal maniacs. She scooted to the end of the next car, knowing she had to move faster, had to get away from there.
The back door of her building burst open as she slid under the windows of a Toyota.
A man screamed in pain. His voice cracked at the end of the roar.
“Keep it together,” someone hissed at him.
“Oh God,” Christie whispered. “Oh God.”
Footfalls approached. From the sound of it, Christie assumed there were at least two, maybe more. They kept coming as she lowered herself even further.
“Where’s the woman?” one of the men asked.
“Burke and Hunter went after her,” another man answered, his voice an octave higher. “Looks like they got the pigs, but I don’t see the woman anywhere.”
The footsteps came closer.
Christie flattened herself to the pavement and looked under the Prius. She saw three sets of boots jogging toward the police cruiser. They’d almost reached it when the first man moaned in pain.
As quickly as she could, Christie slid sideways, trying to get under the car. Her chest and thighs scraped across tiny bits of gravel. She knew her movements were making noise, but if she didn’t get under the car by the time they reached the cruiser, they would discover her.
Her head passed under.
Shoulders.
Hips.
“Got her!”
The men broke into a run.
“No!” Christie screamed. “Someone help me! Someone—”
A hand grabbed hold of her ankle and yanked. She kicked wildly, trying to break free of the strong grip. The man pulled even harder, and she slid almost an entire foot backward.
Her fingers searched the pavement for purchase, but she couldn’t find anything to grab onto.
Another yank pulled her free of the car.
Fingers twisted into her hair and tore her head back.
“Get up, bitch.” The man with his hand wrapped in her hair dragged her to her feet.
She felt roots detach from her scalp. The pain brought fresh tears. “Please! I didn’t do anything!”
No one responded. She was manhandled to her feet.
Three men stood before her. One of them held a hand under his armpit. Blood drenched his gray suit. Sweat poured down his face, his neck. His mouth was twisted in a grimace of misery.
Another man, dressed in black, stared at her impassively.
Her head was yanked back as the man who had a hold of her wound his hand even further into her hair.
He lifted a rifle with his other hand, jammed the barrel against her cheek.
The hot metal burned her skin.
“Wait,” the man in black said. “Not yet. We can use her as a shield. When they come—”
The back door of the building, which had swung shut, burst open again.
Four men, dressed in all black and wearing ski masks, ran outside, weapons trained in Christie’s direction.