She was right. As they got closer, the details became apparent. The hole was covered with a grate.
They came to stand directly underneath it. Thankfully, the light remained pale and gray. He guessed it was the light of predawn. The grate was rectangular and looked like it was made out of sturdy iron. It would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, for a human to move it without a crowbar.
He handed his flashlight to Melly, reached up to grasp the grate with both hands and pushed up. It was heavy to shift even for him. With a scraping sound, it popped out of place, and he pushed it to one side until they had a hole big enough to fit through.
He turned to Melly, laced the fingers of his hands together and bent to offer them to her. “Time to step up.”
Setting the flashlight and her grocery bag aside, she placed one narrow foot in his grip and braced herself with both hands on his shoulders. Straightening, he lifted her until she could hoist herself out of the hole. Her weight left his hands. Tilting his head back, he watched her disappear.
Almost immediately her disheveled head popped into view again as she looked into the hole. Her expression had turned tense again, her gaze dark with worry. “Julian, it’s almost dawn.”
He nodded. “I know. Tell me what you can see.”
She glanced around. “We’re either in an alleyway, or a single-lane road. The area’s deserted. There are buildings all around that look like warehouses.” She bent over to peer into the hole at him again. “This spot is deep enough in shadow there won’t be direct sunlight for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, only I’m no good at judging that sort of thing. Please come out and judge for yourself.”
“All right. Back up.” When she disappeared from sight again, he leaped up, grabbed the edge of the hole and levered himself out to crouch warily beside her.
One quick glance around told him she was right, and he relaxed marginally. Their immediate surroundings were intensely industrial. Weeds sprouted in cracks in the asphalt, and there was a run-down quality to the buildings, giving the scene an air of desolation. If it had been a thriving warehouse district, the area would be bustling by now as businesses readied for the workday, but there was no movement in sight.
He straightened to a standing position, and she joined him. “I’m not sure, but I think I know where we are, at least in a general sense,” he told her. “There’s an area in southeastern San Francisco that’s been marginalized for years. None of our attempts at revitalization have taken hold yet. If we’re where I think we are, we’re anywhere from six to ten miles away from Nob Hill.”
She wiped her face. “On the one hand, that’s not very far away. But on the other hand, that’s much too far to travel when sunlight is going to appear overhead very soon now.”
He turned to face her. “You can travel it. Direct daylight won’t stop you.”
At the first word out of his mouth, she started shaking her head. “No. I’m not going to leave you.”
“You might not have a choice,” he said. “If you go, you can at least get someone to come back with protective clothing, along with a vehicle that has tinted glass.”
All the fragility and grief came to the surface in the look she gave him. “And leave you to do what?” she asked, her voice raw with exhaustion. “Climb back into that hellhole to wait for me?”
“I have more options than just the hellhole,” he said, gesturing to the nearby buildings.
As she opened her mouth to reply, a quick movement of air brushed against the bare skin of his back.
It was all the warning he got.
Instinct made him spin on his heel. Even as he did, he felt a piercing pain in his lower back. It went very deep.
Arching, he grabbed at the pain while punching out with his other hand. He had no time to see his attacker or take aim. Instead, he struck out blindly. As his questing fingers curled around something short and hard that protruded from his lower back, he landed a glancing blow on something solid.
A gasped curse sounded in his ear. He yanked out the protrusion and glanced down at it. It was a knife. He’d been stabbed.
His attacker struck out again. This time, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye as a black blur, he had just enough time to leap back. Fire bloomed along the surface of his abdomen. He had been cut again, but this time it was a surface wound and the damage was minimal.
Another fighter might have continued to dance back so that he could parry while taking a minimum amount of damage. In another fight, he might have done the same.
But not this fight. He lunged toward his attacker, as hard and as fast as he possibly could. He connected in a body slam, sending them both to the ground.