C. Palov - Ark of Fire

Edie lifted her head a scant few inches, enabling her to furtively glance about. Grimacing, she swiped the base of her palm across the trickle of blood that oozed from a scrape on her upper cheek. With the same hand, she gestured uphill.

“If we can get to the Think Tank at the top of the hill, there’s a path leading down to Rock Creek. This time of year, the creek should be low enough for us to cross on foot.”

“And the advantage to this escape route?”

“It’s the quickest way out of here.” Again she swiped at the scrape on her upper cheek. A blooded huntswoman.

He took a moment to consider the merits of her plan. Although the uphill route would put more strain on lung and leg, the pavement was hedged with clustered bunches of reedy bamboo, which would provide excellent cover. If they navigated quickly and carefully, they could remain hidden from sight. Assuming the sniper had no cohorts with him.

Caedmon deferred to her plan with a quick nod.

Once again snatching her by the hand, he led the way, running toward the uphill fork in the pathway. He considered it a good sign that he heard no whizzing bullets. However, the screeching bald eagle did not bode well, signaling that the sniper was in pursuit.

Midway up the hill, Edie started to lag, her exhalations loud and uneven. There being no time to rally the troops, he yanked her toward him. Letting go of her hand, he slung his left arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side, forcing her to keep pace with him.

“You can catch your breath once we’re free and clear of our assailant.”

Propelled, no doubt, by a burst of fearful adrenaline, Edie managed to hasten her step.

A few seconds later, the path leveled out.

“The Think Tank is that stone building straight ahead of us,” Edie informed him, pointing to a quaint structure straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel.

Pulling her behind a stacked stone wall that oozed frozen icicles, he surveyed the area. Dismayed, he could see that they’d have to navigate a long stretch of open pavement, with no trees, rocks, or bamboo to obscure their movements.

“There’s thirty meters of open terrain between here and the Think Tank. Will you be able to sprint that far?”

She nodded. Then, sinking her fingers into his forearm, “Caedmon, I’m afraid. Really, really afraid.”

“No disgrace in that. I’m feeling a bit unmanned myself.”

Her brown eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding, right? You’re like one of those guys in the Light Brigade.”

“Yes, well, we know what happened to them, don’t we?”

“No, what happened?”

“Nearly half the brigade perished in the ill-fated charge.” Not giving her time to contemplate the dire significance of that bit of British lore, he snatched hold of her hand and took off running. His gait the longer, she had to move her legs twice as fast to keep up. A lone zookeeper, attired in wellies and a pair of brown coveralls, rode past in a covered golf cart with several buckets of animal feed lashed into the cargo space with bungee cords.

“I’m halfway tempted to hitch a ride,” Edie muttered, huffing heavily as she spoke. Barely able to raise her arm, she pointed to a grotto-like area. “There’s the path . . . on the other side of the building.”

“Right.” He veered in the direction indicated, the path being a set of wood-planked steps that snaked down the side of a very steep hillside. At the bottom of the wooden steps, Caedmon could see a deserted car park.

“Rock Creek is on the other side of the parking lot,” Edie informed him between two noisy gasps of breath. “Once we cross the creek, we should be able to hike our way up to Beach Drive, where we can hopefully hail a cab.”

Caedmon redirected his gaze beyond the car park. Through a dense grove of leafless tress, he saw a winding creek burdened with tumbled rock. And though he couldn’t see it, he could hear a busy motorway on the far side of the ravine, autos speeding along at a fast clip. Somehow, he had his doubts about hailing a cab.

Keeping his reservations to himself, he led the way down the wooden steps.

They made fast time of it down the steps, which were layered in a broad pattern that allowed for an easy descent down the steep hill.

As they neared the bottom, Edie murmured an apology, her heavy-heeled boots repeatedly making a rhythmic thump on the weathered wood.

“It might help if you—” He stopped in mid-suggestion, suddenly picking up the reverberation of an unseen footfall.

He peered over his shoulder, catching a flash of motion at the top of the steps. His visibility impaired by the thick growth of shrubs and trees on either side of the steps, he had no way of knowing if the third party was a zookeeper, a by-stander, or a cold-blooded killer.

“We have company,” he whispered in Edie’s ear, motioning her to silence.

Frantically, she glanced behind her. He wasn’t certain, but he thought she mouthed the words Oh, God .

A few seconds later, reaching the bottom of the steps, they crossed a paved road. On the left side of the pavement was the deserted car park; on the right, an abandoned greenhouse with sheets of torn plastic eerily waving in the breeze. In between lay a wild hinterland that hadn’t seen scythe or blade in many a year.

“This way,” Edie hissed, lifting her skirt to knee height as she tramped through the underbrush.

Caedmon fell into step, reaching over top of her head to brush aside hanging limbs and scraggly foliage. Although the brambles and briars caught on hands, face, and clothing, the overgrowth provided excellent camouflage. Caedmon was still unsure who followed them down the steps, the intruder having yet to reveal himself.

Reaching the creek embankment, they came to an abrupt halt.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, surprised to see that the creek was far more than the tinkle of water he’d foolishly envisioned. Instead of a tinkle, a calf-high torrent of water raged past, creating frothy whitecaps as it hit ice-covered rocks. “If we attempt to ford this so-called creek, we’ll break our—”

Just then, a tree limb plunged into the water, severed from its parent by a high-speed bullet.

As though pushed by the hand of God, the two of them barreled into the frigid creek, any lingering concerns about the wisdom of crossing the treacherous waters shoved to the wayside.

Within seconds of braving the creek, Edie lost her footing, her arms windmilling in the air as she attempted to regain her balance. Caedmon grabbed hold of her tartan skirt, preventing her from pitching forward. Yanking her upright, he released the fistful of fabric only to shove his hand into her waistband, that being the most expedient way to keep her from lurching into what was fast becoming numbingly cold water. Thusly linked, they sloshed across the aptly named Rock Creek.

“Oh, God!” Edie shrieked as a nearby rock shattered from the impact of another bullet, splashing them both in the face.

Retreat not an option, they emerged from the creek, skirt and pant legs saturated with cold water. Their goal being the nearby motorway, they clawed their way up the embankment.

After one near tumble and an ungainly scramble to keep from falling backward, they reached the top.

In front of them loomed a four-lane thoroughfare with cars whizzing by at forty miles per hour.

“There’s a cab!” Edie exclaimed, pointing to a bright yellow vehicle in the distance. “Start waving your arms so the cabbie can see us.”

Several feet from where they stood, a bullet embedded itself into the asphalt pavement.

Galvanized into action, Edie ran along the median strip, her arms wildly swinging to and fro. Almost instantly, car horns began to blare, and one motorist rudely gestured as he drove past. Caedmon had no choice but to give chase. Drenched to the knees, with twigs and debris clinging to their garments, they looked like a pair of escaped asylum inmates.