Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

I dove for the nearest shadow cover-the row of hedges alongside the fence. A bullet struck the middle of my back. The armor protected me, but the impact was like someone giving me a hard shove. I stumbled. My ankle gave way. I pitched forward.

No! Fall and you’re dead. Get into those bushes. Now!

I pulled myself out of the stumble as a bullet grazed my upper arm. Three lurching steps, and I dove into the bushes. A shot smacked into the fence boards. Wilkes let out a muttered oath.

Not used to firing that thing at a moving target, are you? I thought. Not used to firing more than one shot, either. And time was ticking. A house had just exploded. Cops, fire trucks, ambulances, they’d all be here…if Jack and the others didn’t beat them. Wilkes was running out of time, shooting too quickly, wasting his ammo, firing at a moving target in the dark, the only light the flickering flames from the burning house, casting shadows every which way, hiding me better than total darkness would.

I could turn the tables, use his impatience and the flickering light and the shadows to my advantage, then-

Then what? I didn’t have a gun. To take him down without a weapon, I needed to get close enough to physically attack him. While the thought of putting my hands around his neck sent a delicious shiver through me, I knew I stood little chance of getting close enough to do it.

Little chance…

A deep part of me seized on that, said “It’s still a chance, good enough, take it!” But I’d promised Jack. Sworn I wouldn’t do this again.

Still darting from bush to bush, dodging Wilkes’s shots, I drew deep breaths, slowing my heart, reminding myself of my promise.

If I took this chance, and I lost, then maybe that didn’t mean as much to me as it should, maybe I’d say the risk was worth it, maybe I could even convince myself that Jack wouldn’t realize I’d broken my promise. But one thing I did know. If I went down, Wilkes would get away. He’d have no reason to hang around, and any chance that someone else would catch him-Jack, Quinn, Felix, Evelyn, the cops-would evaporate. He’d be free again, all because I couldn’t fight that need to stop running and strike back.

Best thing I could do was stall him. Wait for help to arrive. But the yard wasn’t that big, I was wounded, and he still had time to get off plenty more rounds. Eventually a shot would be serious enough to take me down just long enough for him to walk over and put a bullet through my head.

Goddamn it, if only I had my gun! Why couldn’t I see it out there? Why couldn’t I trip over it racing across the yard? If I had that, I could take the upper hand, put a bullet into this bastard so fast-

But I didn’t have a gun and all the wishing and raging in the world wouldn’t change that. Those same flickering flames that were making it hard for Wilkes to see me were making it impossible for me to see a black gun on the ground. Even if I could find it, would it work after the fall? Then there was my wrist. I could brace my hand or shoot with my left, but both would throw off my reflexes and accuracy. Too many ifs. I couldn’t waste time-and focus-searching for the gun.

One thing I knew for certain: from now on, I was wearing a backup weapon.

I dove and weaved through the perimeter shrubs, missing some shots, getting gazed or hit in the chest armor by others. With every few steps, I stumbled. Any minute now, my ankle would give out for good.

How many shots had he taken? My brain blurted an answer. Seven-Another pffttt just above my head. Eight. He had ten rounds. Eleven if he’d chambered a round and topped up. Plus he’d be able to reload quickly, and probably even carried a backup weapon. Making him run out of ammo sounds good in the movies, but it wasn’t going to work here.

So now what? Jack’s voice echoed in my head, and I knew what he’d say. Run .

I was injured, with no working weapon, and no backup. As much as I hated to run-oh, God, how I hated to run!-if I didn’t, he’d kill me, then escape. My best chance was to make a break for it. Not escape him, lure him. Play fleeing prey and he’d follow. Why? Because if it were me doing the chasing, I’d follow. To run was to surrender. He had to fight, kill, win.

To keep this chase going, I needed to get out of this yard. Problem was, the only way out was over the fence. Jack had chosen this setup for my safety. No one had ever considered the possibility that I could get trapped here.

Wilkes fired, the shot zinging so close to my head I swore I felt it pass.

Over the fence it was.

I didn’t have time to worry whether my ankle could handle it-I had to make it work. One quick look and I found the biggest bush-one I’d just squeezed past. I steeled myself, turned sharp and raced back, ignoring the pain. The second I was behind that bush and hidden in its shadow, I grabbed the top of the fence, swinging myself up, grimacing as my wrist screamed in protest. For that split second, as I crested the fence, I was exposed. All I could do was keep my head down.

He fired. The shot hit my shoulder, stopped by the body armor, but the impact was almost enough to make me lose my grip. As I flipped over the fence, something snagged my foot. I kicked. Fresh pain as my injured foot made contact. An oomph . Wilkes released his hold, and I toppled, face-first, over the fence.

I hit the ground and clambered up. I could hear Wilkes scrabbling over the fence. A split-second survey of the yard. Also fenced. No way out until I reached the end of the row…vaulting over a half-dozen more fences. Couldn’t do it. There was no “if” or “maybe.” Couldn’t. I had to take cover.

Unlike the other yard, here there was no long hedge to hide behind. There had been at one time, until student tenants moved in. Abuse, neglect, whatever the cause, there was nothing more than a few clusters of bushes left, none big enough to do more than cower behind. The house was dark, meaning unless I was somehow lucky enough to find the patio door unlocked, I wasn’t getting out that way.

A siren wailed.

I should surrender this fight now. Step aside. Let the cops come in and roust Wilkes, take him down. I should scream loud enough that I’d raise the alarm.

But what if my screams brought someone back here? An innocent bystander rushing in to help? I could not risk anyone else’s life. This had to end here. Now.

I hobbled for the largest clump of bushes, right up against the house. Whatever I did, I couldn’t still be out here when Wilkes hauled his ass over that fence. I dove behind the bush.

Through the leaves, I saw him swing to the ground. He turned, took in the yard in one sweep and headed right for my cover.

Could he see me here?

You idiot, there’s only one place in this yard big enough to hide you. Where else would you be?

A rock. I needed a-

As I felt around the ground, my fingernails clinked against something cold and smooth. A bottle. An empty glass bottle. I could have laughed. Thank God for student tenants.

Gaze still riveted to Wilkes, I gripped the neck of the bottle with my uninjured left hand and swung the base against the concrete foundation. As it smashed, Wilkes jumped, startled.

I wheeled from behind the bush and charged. Made it three strides before my ankle gave way, but as I sprawled forward, I smacked full-weight into Wilkes.

His gun fired. I felt pain. Didn’t know where. Didn’t care. We both went down. I saw his face below mine. Saw his neck, a pale strip in the moonlight, took aim, gripped the bottle neck, and slashed down with everything I could.

Blood spurted. He fell back. I twisted and grabbed his gun. He wrenched it, finger squeezing on the trigger, but I pulled it away easily as his grip slackened. I put the barrel to his temple. He looked at me. I pulled the trigger.