DEONDRE MUST HAVE SEEN Momma Magda pointing up at me, too, because he grabbed Jazz’s hand and hurried her through the crowd toward the hostel entrance. Strawberry was right on their heels. One of the local cops yelled after them, but his hands were too full with the other rescued kids for him to do more than that.
The woman kidnapper watched it all, and I felt the heat of her glare all the way up on the third story. She couldn’t risk chasing after us while the rescued children who could identify her were so close at hand. Instead, she whispered to the guard beside her, and the two of them did an about-face and disappeared around the end of the block. The tech and other guards peeled from the crowd to follow them.
“They’ll be back,” Simon said, placing his hand on my shoulder. I flinched and nearly fell out of the window. He grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled me back.
I spun around and there he was, a smug look on his face despite the blood dripping from beneath the hand he had pressed against his ear. “Did you miss me?”
“Dude!” I used the slang word that had become part of my vocabulary thanks to Uncle Marshall. And Timmy. “W-what happened?”
“Got my earpiece shot off.” He pulled his hand from his ear. A half-moon chunk was missing from it. “And part of my ear went with it.”
There were pounding footsteps, and Deondre, Jazz, and Strawberry piled into the room. Strawberry’s face lit up and she threw her arms around Simon. “I thought you were—oh, never mind that. You’re a hero!”
“Uhh…”
She pulled back and looked at his bloody ear. “I’ll get something to bandage that up.” She pulled her backpack from the five bags lining the wall. Part of our plan meant getting out of here as soon as we rescued Jazz, so we’d packed our stuff.
Deondre smacked Simon on the shoulder. “What you did out there? It was savage. But we’ve gotta move.”
“He’s right,” I said. “They know we’re up here. We’re probably okay while the crowd’s outside, but after that we’ve got to be gone. I already called a taxi.” I looked at Jazz, and it was like I was looking at Ellie. “Hi, Jazz. I’m Alex.”
“And I’m Simon.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze took us all in. “All of you. Thank you so much. Where’s Ellie?”
“She should be here any sec—”
“Nooo!” Ellie’s scream echoed from both my earpiece and outside. There was a screech of tires, and we all leaped to the window.
She was pedaling up the side street as fast as she could, but she couldn’t outrun the small green sedan that swerved to cut her off before she reached the intersection in view of the crowd. She tried to dodge, but her front tire struck the car’s bumper and she flew head over heels over the bike.
“Nooo!” Jazz shouted, in a duplicate version of Ellie’s cry.
The front doors of the car swung open, and Garcia and Sánchez were on her before she could push to her feet. They must have confiscated the vehicle after I’d disabled their Mercedes. They yanked Ellie roughly from the pavement and dragged her toward the car. She twisted and kicked, freed an arm from Garcia’s grasp, and for a moment I thought she would get away. But the lieutenant whipped a punch across her jaw and she went limp. Sánchez picked her up, tossed her into the backseat, and slammed the door. Garcia jumped into the driver’s seat, closed the doors, made a U-turn, and sped away. Sánchez remained behind. As he looked up at our window, he drew his thumbnail across his throat.
“He’s going to kill her!” Jazz cried out.
“We’ve got to do something,” Strawberry said.
Deondre said, “We’ve got to get the hell out of here, is what we’ve got to do.”
Simon’s phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and read the text. “And we’ve only got a few seconds to clear out.” He darted to the row of packs and tossed mine over to me. “My artist friend says an angry woman and some men are in the lobby looking for us.”
“To the roof!” Deondre said, grabbing his pack in one hand and taking Jazz’s hand in the other. Strawberry was right behind them.
Simon waited while I fumbled to unzip my pack. “Come on, come on, come on,” he urged, bouncing from one foot to the other.
I shoved the Spider, tablet, and charger into my bag, and dashed out the door. Simon followed, locking the door behind us to buy a few precious seconds. There were shouts below, and heavy footfalls echoed from the lower stairwell. My mind raced as we scrambled up to the roof. We’d brainstormed a number of contingency plans throughout the day, and the rooftop escape was the riskiest of them all. But as the angry voices behind us grew closer, it was all we had left.
Strawberry held the rooftop exit door open for us, and as soon as we were through, she snapped it closed. Deondre was waiting with the straight-back wooden chair we’d brought up earlier. He wedged it under the door. It wouldn’t hold for long but that was the point.
The hostel’s rooftop patio and garden area was used on a daily basis by the guests. Starlight and a quarter moon barely illuminated the cozy space. There were three different sitting areas, interspersed with potted flowers. Several chairs surrounded an open hearth, where I could smell marijuana. We ran past it toward the utility shack. Deondre and Strawberry exchanged a quick look. Strawberry nodded, took Jazz’s hand from his, and led her away. Jazz’s eyes were glazed over, and I suspected she’d retreated into herself to cope with the shocking reversal of fate between her and Ellie.
Deondre moved toward the fire escape.
“Fast as you can,” Simon said.
“Don’t worry. They’ll never catch me.”
The rest of us piled into the rickety shack, which housed a scatter of garden tools and extra pots. It smelled of fertilizer. Simon used the light from his smartphone to illuminate the space. Strawberry and Jazz huddled in a corner, and tears moistened both of their faces. I couldn’t stop feeling like their pain was my fault, but I had to bury the thought in a drawer for now.
I held the slatted wood door open. “There’s a breeze but we should be okay. Get ready.” We’d hidden the last of the smoke bombs in the shed, just in case. Strawberry still had a couple of firebombs left in her pack, but the last thing we needed up here was another fire.
“Need a light,” Simon said, holding the bomb. Strawberry already had her lighter out. She struck up a flame and both of them waited for my signal.
“Remember,” I said, “toss it no further than the hearth.” For our ruse to work, we had to set the hook by using the bomb as if to cover our escape. The breeze would disperse the smoke, but not at first. So it was critical the bomb landed where it wouldn’t totally obscure the view between the exit door and where Deondre waited on the fire escape.
The door rattled.