I inhale a fresh cloud of dust and feel the growing stickiness of my clothes against my skin. When I reach Roméo, I tap his shoulder. We hunch down between buildings.
I squint, hearing only our steps and my breaths leaving through my teeth. Behind us, the alley opens into another street with small huts stacked up like decks of cards. In front of us looms a busy intersection where rusted cars and boarded-up buildings sit. I hear voices echoing throughout the street in front of us and lean around Cole’s wide shoulders to get a better look.
People gather at the intersection, standing in a circle while trading jokes and talking. At first, I see only males, but then a small female joins them.
Even if they’re harmless, we still have to act as if they’re our enemies. And they very well might be if they see us.
The female laughs and smacks one of the males on the back. One of the others shakes his head. None of them have noticed us so far, but my hands stay tense around my gun. We take very slow, cautious steps.
Cole goes first, loose stones crunching under his boots. He turns left, around a corner, and out of the alley. They still haven’t given us any reason to believe they’ve seen us.
One foot in front of the other. I press my lips together and keep my gun ready. We sidestep along the building.
A barrage of gunfire opens up. The Sinners all freeze. Bullets ricochet above them, chipping and scattering pieces of cement through the air. Sinners dive for cover, yelling and directing each other where to go.
My heart pounds in my chest like a drum on steroids. Cole picks up the pace, but Roméo has a harder time keeping up as he gasps for air. Doors slam, curtains close, and people disappear into huts and doorways. I can’t help wondering where the others are and pray they’re okay. The sporadic shooting continues. It comes from the direction of the hospital, getting louder and then slowing. Then I hear the thundering of something bigger.
I scan the perimeter for the source of the noise. Zeus lets out a bark, baring his teeth, but when I glance again, there’s nothing.
Just then, Cole yanks Roméo into the doorway of a building. I follow without question. After clearing the room, Cole ducks down and pulls all of us away from the door. My backpack and I stumble sideways.
“What the—”
“Shhh,” he says, a finger to his lips. He peeks up over the windowsill and then slams his back into the wall below it. His hands turn pale gripping his gun.
A vehicle roars past. I close my eyes and hold my breath. When the vehicle’s out of hearing distance, I open my eyes. Roméo’s shaking, hands white in his lap.
I get up, dusting the dirt off my pants. I share a water from my backpack with Roméo, who guzzles it down, struggling to catch his breath in between gulps. When finished, he tosses the empty bottle aside. He jumps out of his skin when the popping of the guns start up in the distance.
Where are the others?
We head back out into the cacophony. The street’s littered with poorly made cement blocks that have crumbled. My feet are on fire, as if someone’s rubbed the skin off. Glass litters the ground and crunches under my boots.
The hospital is only three blocks away now. Time’s moving in slow motion, yet it’s a blur to me. I swat flies away from my face with clammy hands. I don’t see Bruno, Grace, or Bill anywhere. Every shadow could be one of them, or a guard. I just hope I know which it is when the time comes.
Throughout it all, though, Cole never waivers. He’s quick and decisive. Just the way he runs, directs, and observes makes me feel confident in him, even when I can’t trust my own instincts.
We’re on the last street before the main intersection in front of the hospital. Cole abruptly turns, weaving through an alleyway filled with trash. Papers, bones, and torn material line the walkway from wall to wall. Something sticks to my feet, but I keep moving.
Up ahead lies another connecting alleyway, reminding me of a maze. When Keegan and I were younger, we’d sometimes make forts in cornfields near our house. The farmer would show up on my parents’ porch yelling, but he could never prove it had been us trampling down his corn, making bedrooms and bathrooms and weapons rooms. That farmer was eventually accused of gluttony and taken away.
I blink, and the memory dissipates. Cole stops at the edge of the street. He holds up his fist. He hunches down, so all of us follow, except for Zeus. His ears perk up, and his tail goes stiff.
The ground rumbles beneath us. A shot of terror explodes within me, sending fear through my brain. The clanking and shaking is unmistakable. That sound so familiar. It chokes me up as my thoughts race.
A large tank, silhouetted by the moon, thunders past the front of the hospital. Its turret faces forward, and a man sits inside, his hands rotating the fifty-caliber machine gun on top.
Oh man. We’re screwed.