Cliff Ryder - The Finish Line

In the split second that David saw that, he also registered the other man bringing his pistol around, as well — about to shoot him if he didn't fire first. David's reflexes, instincts and training all combined to spur his body into blurred motion as he made his move.

Sighting on the second man, he fired three times as his target's gun spit flame and lead at him. David's bullets hit him high in the chest, while the other man's hurried shots whistled by, punching through the helicopter's canopy. The man tried to keep his weapon on David, but he staggered backward and sat down, then fell backward, his face already turning a flushed pink as he struggled to breathe through a punctured airway.

Immediately David sighted back on Tara and her opponent — just in time to see him fire. The bullet punched through her jaw, into her brain and out the side of her head, sending a chunk of skull and gray-pink matter flying into the air.

David squeezed off several shots, but the guy held up Tara's body, using her as a shield as he retreated to the iron door, shooting wildly the entire way. Once behind more solid cover, he let her shredded, lifeless form drop.

Popping open the helicopter door, David threw himself backward on the floor. "Go! Go! Go! Watch out for a sniper at five o'clock!" he shouted.

The pilot engaged the throttle and the engine roared as they prepared to take off. David smashed away the rest of the broken side window with the butt of his pistol for a clear field of fire, expecting the last man to rush at them at any moment. Tara's body lay near the door, a few yards from Cody's. David wanted to look away from the bodies, but he knew he couldn't — he had to remain on guard, in case the remaining attacker did something stupid.

The helicopter left the ground, rising away from the slaughter on the rooftop. David scrambled into one of the backseats and buckled himself in, trying to divide his attention between the door and his lone passenger. "You all right?" he yelled at her. A mute nod was her only response. "We'll get you back to England. You'll be safe there…"

She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear, and David trailed off, aware of how hollow his words sounded in his own ears.

His stomach dipped as the helicopter lurched, and at the same time David heard a strange noise, as if someone had thrown a watermelon at the windshield. The inside of the canopy was speckled with red mist, and the pilot's head lolled to one side, his hand loose on the collective.

The sniper got the pilot!

David wrenched his seat belt free and lunged into the cockpit as the helicopter's formerly steady engine stuttered, and the aircraft sideslipped through the air, losing altitude and almost crashing on the roof. Grabbing the collective from the pilot's motionless hand, he pushed it down, decreasing the rotor's attack angle and dropping the helicopter like a rock onto the next building.

The chopper skittered across the roof of the building next to the trauma center, and a vision of his life ending in a fiery collision flashed before David's eyes. He tried to remember how to power the engine down, and realized he was holding the throttle control — it was built into the collective. David twisted it with all his might, but the engine revved up even more, making the helicopter bounce faster along the roof. Looking out of the one section of canopy that wasn't covered in blood, David saw the end of the roof, then some kind of open-air courtyard. He twisted the handle the other way, and the helicopter skidded toward the very edge before grinding to a halt, the blade still slicing furiously through the air above his head. David searched for the power switch on the main instrument panel just as one of the skids slipped off the roof, making the entire helicopter lean precariously to one side.

Finding the main power switch, David flipped it, killing the engine, but the still-whirling blade shook the aircraft, threatening its already unstable position. David leaned back from where he stood and slowly — placing his hands and feet with care — crawled toward the door that led to the roof.

He turned back to the woman, who sat frozen in her seat, clutching a black laptop case. "We have to get out of here. I'm going to open the door, and then I want you to unbuckle your seat belt and come to me," he said.

"I can't — if I move, we'll go over," she said.

"If you don't move, we're gonna go over!" The helicopter shuddered and tilted even farther, the screech of tortured metal grating through David's skull. "Come on, you have to move. I'm going to open the door." He reached for the side door and pushed on the latch, shoving the door open. Grabbing the lip of the floor with his good hand, he reached out to her with his wounded arm, steeling himself for the pain that was about to come. "Unbuckle your belt and take my hand."

She sat frozen for a long moment and, just when David thought he'd have to go back for her, slowly moved her hands to her waist and unfastened the buckle. Setting it down carefully to one side, she slung her computer case over her shoulder and reached out to him, taking a cautious step across the slanted floor, then another, until their hands were almost touching.

The helicopter settled a bit more, and David knew it would go over at any second. He grabbed her hand and pulled as hard as he could, ignoring the fiery pain searing through his injured shoulder. "Come on!"

He scrambled to the edge of the helicopter's floor and jumped onto the landing skid that now hovered in midair beneath him, feeling the machine shift again at the sudden shift in ballast. With a last, agonized tug, he pulled her out just as the aircraft teetered, then hung on the lip of the roof for a moment.

"Jump!" Holding her hand, David leaped off the skid, pulling her with him. Unbalanced now, the chopper slipped over the side of the building to land with a deafening crash in the courtyard below. David heard shouts and screams from below at the helicopter's impact.

David collapsed on the roof, sucking in a breath and clutching his injured arm. Beside him, the woman panted from a combination of terror and shock.

"I can't believe we're still alive…" She put her hand on the roof to steady herself before she fell over.

"Hey, hey!" David took her chin and turned her face to his. "Take a deep breath. Now take another. You gotta stay with me — we're not out of the woods yet. Are you hurt?"

The woman sat up and examined herself. "I don't think so, other than skinned knees and hands. You're bleeding, however."

"Yeah, I know." David glanced at his shoulder.

"Not just there." She pointed at his left side.

David followed her hand and saw a large red patch where his shirt had adhered to his skin. The wound in his side flared with the movement, and he knew he'd have to treat it as soon as possible before it got infected. "Crap, the son of a bitch must have tagged me. Thank God for adrenaline, I guess. Come on, we gotta get down from here."

"Wait a minute, why should I go anywhere with you?" the woman asked.

David tested his legs and found them slightly wobbly, but otherwise stable. "Well, your choices are to either come with me, or I can leave you for those goons we met in the train station."

She shuddered at the idea, then shot to her feet. "Those other two on the roof — they were your fellow agents, or something like that, right?"

"Something like that." There really hadn't been time to explain. David had just rushed her to the roof and into the helicopter before all hell broke loose. He scanned around them, spotting what looked like a door on a roof to the north. "Wait for my signal, then follow my trail exactly," he said.

"Why?"

"Because that sniper might still have a vector on us. And when you do move, try to stay low." He loped off across the roof, away from the trauma center, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Reaching the thin cover of an air conditioner unit, he crouched down, ignoring the steady burn in his side, and watched the area past the trauma center roof, looking for any sign that the sniper might still be searching for them. A thick gray column of smoke rose into the air as something on the helicopter caught fire. That's as good a cover as we're going to get, he thought, waving her toward him. The wail of emergency vehicles reverberated in the distance, echoing off the tall buildings around them. As she walked — following his path exactly, he noted — David studied her during the short journey. She seemed to have shaken off her earlier hysteria, but he could just be watching her slip into the early stages of shock. Have to keep an eye on her for the next few hours. Other than that, she moved well, low and fast. Of course, the idea of a high-velocity bullet aimed at one's back makes just about anyone move fast.