No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(122)

We barreled back down the stairs and I heard sirens on the street to the west. I said, “Eastern door. Eastern door. Nung, go get Nick and get out of here.”

The crowds saw our weapons and parted like they were escaping from zombies, girls screaming and guys stumbling all over themselves to get out of the way.

We hit the street, Retro staring at his phone. He looked up and pointed. “That way. Camden Market.”






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Kylie sprinted through the stalls, the area overflowing with T-shirts blowing in the wind. She twisted and turned, going left and right and getting lost in the maze. She slowed, breathing heavily. She crouched down and looked underneath the hangers, trying to spot her pursuers. She couldn’t see more than five feet. She began jogging again and unexpectedly broke into an alley, outside of the T-shirt stalls.

She heard a man shout, then another, and began blindly running up the alley. She hit a main road and looked behind her, the sight freezing her in fear.

Two of the men were in the alley, and they were running flat-out, so close she could see the sweat on their faces. Her body exploded in panic and she ran as fast as she could make her legs move, pumping harder and harder, her lungs screaming in pain. She reached a bridge over a canal with a walkway paralleling the water, a large brick building proclaiming Camden Lock. She made the mistake of glancing back and saw all four men on the street, running hard.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

The words cycled through her head over and over, the terror almost debilitating. She leapt over the bridge, falling and slamming hard onto the walkway. She rolled, feeling as if someone had driven a knife into her ankle. She sprang up, ignoring the pain, and ran down the walkway. She saw an outdoor eating area and veered into it, continuing straight through into some type of shopping area.

She looked left and right, seeing stalls full of vendors stretching out, selling everything from leather jackets to lamps, like a giant flea market. She slowed to a jog, running into a tunnel incongruously full of statues of horses, thinking she’d lost her pursuers. Gaining confidence. She heard a shout behind her, and the fear returned, cinching into her soul.

She exited the tunnel, turned the corner into an indoor section full of antiques, and was ripped off her feet and thrown to the ground. She screamed and began clawing, fighting for her life.

She heard, “Kylie, Kylie, stop it! I’m from Kurt Hale. He sent me for you.”

She quit struggling, seeing a woman with a blond ponytail, holding a huge pistol. Kylie heard the men exit the tunnel, shouting, and said, “They’re right behind me.”

The woman pushed Kylie behind a large oak desk, took a knee, raised her pistol, and began rapidly firing. Kylie heard a shriek, then return shots from the men, their weapons infinitely louder than the woman’s. She dove on top of Kylie, getting behind the cover of the desk, and the stall owner ran into the hail of bullets, screaming for help. From underneath, Kylie saw him fall. Saw his leg twitch, then grow still. The other shoppers in the hall began fleeing, shouting in terror and getting away from the gunfire.

Trembling, Kylie said, “They’re killers. They’re going to kill us.”

The woman smiled, her confidence flowing into Kylie. She changed magazines in her pistol and said, “I’m a killer too. Don’t worry.”

She clicked a Bluetooth earpiece and said, “Pike, Koko, I have PC, but I’m penned in. I’ve got hostiles, all armed. One is down, but three remain. In a shopping mall called Camden Lock.”

Two rounds slapped into the desk, and Kylie heard one of the men moving closer. The woman handed her a smartphone and said, “Take a picture, then text it to the contact called Retro.”

She rose up, popped off four rounds, then ducked back down, the air around them snapping with bullets. Kylie said, “What do you want me to take a picture of?”

The woman repeated the maneuver, firing and shouting, “Anything! Your damn feet! It’ll have our location embedded in it. Just send it.”

She ducked back down and said, “Pike, Pike, I’m going to attempt a breakout. They’re closing too fast. Get your ass in here.” She glanced at Kylie, and Kylie nodded.

“I sent it.”

“Might be too late. Listen, we’re going to try to escape out the back. Duckwalk away from here, keeping the desk between us and them.”

“What if there isn’t an exit?”

“Best I can do right now. Let’s go.”

Kylie started crawling, the woman scooting backward, keeping the weapon aimed at their rear. Kylie saw movement to her right and screamed. The woman rotated, firing her pistol, and the man dove sideways, out of view. The two on the left came in fast, shooting at them on the run. The woman whipped back around, and Kylie knew they were dead. The woman couldn’t stop them both.

The pistol spit fire, dropping the first man, but the second one kept coming. He slowed and took aim with his weapon, lining the sights on Kylie, the death that was about to occur hyperclear in her eyes. She screamed, and he flew forward as if he’d been knocked off his feet from behind, sliding on his face as if he’d fallen asleep while running.

The man on the right stood up, but he was no longer firing toward them. He was firing away. Kylie saw his head slap back, a fine mist of red sprouting from it.

He crumpled to the ground, revealing the person who’d killed him.