All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(98)

“Wait right there, mother-fucker,” she screamed.

But I was already clambering after Emmett and Becca. As I reached them, Emmett hooked me under the arm and dragged me forward, and we ran. Lena was swearing, and I glimpsed her keeping pace with us at the opposite end of the lockers. She fired once, but her aim was wild. Another locker door exploded, and we kept running.

“Look,” Becca said, yanking free of Emmett as we reached the end of the lockers. She shoved him towards the back of the building, and I stumbled along. A red Exit sign blazed above a maintenance hallway. Jesus, I thought. If you ever heard a prayer, now’s the time. The three of us stumbled over each other, spilling out the emergency exit door as a fire alarm began to sound.

The cold, grey Denver day hit me like a slap, stinging my eyes and clearing my head. The dirty froth of clouds had dropped towards the skyline, smothering the tip of the city, and flurries zagged in front of us as the wind picked up. We sprinted down the alley, our shoes crunching the dirty blacktop. Ahead, the street looked relatively clear, but sirens sounded in the distance. The police. Thank God, the—

Another gunshot broke like a thunderclap, and this time I heard the whing of the bullet as it sped past us. Becca, gasping for air, glanced back and seemed to shrivel up. She kept running, but it looked like someone had pulled the plug and all the juice was draining out of her. I glanced back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emmett said. “Three of them?”

Lena sprinted afterwards, bracketed by two big men: tall, wide, solid, big every way you can imagine, the kind of guys that could go tooth to tooth with a Mack truck and probably get the better end of the deal. One of them, the bigger one, actually took the lead from Lena.

“Christ Almighty,” Becca said, the words whistling in her throat, “can’t they at least be slow?”

For the first time all day, Emmett didn’t have a smart response. Instead, he just looped his arm around Becca again and tried to help her run faster. Worry dug furrows around his eyes and mouth. We were closing the distance. The street ahead of us was only a block away, maybe less. If we got there, we’d be safe. It might not be true, but I told myself again: get to the street and you’re safe, just get to the street, get there, you big stupid shit-for-brains, get there because you led them into this mess and now you have to get them out.

I risked another glance back. The second of Lena’s thugs had broken right, crashing through a painted green door and into one of the buildings lining the alley. They had a plan. Of course they did. We, on the other hand, were scurrying like rats trapped in a basement. What would happen when we came out on the street ahead? Would we be trapped between Lena behind us and the thug she had sent the other way? Would we have enough time to change course? This was a big city, there had to be another way we could go.

Then I saw it, on the far side of the street ahead. A chain-link fence ran along the sidewalk, the only flimsy barrier separating us from the expanse of tracks leaving the station. And coming towards us with a shrill grating sound was a train that looked a mile long.

“There,” I said. “We can do it.”

Becca, pale and heaving huge breaths, nodded, but snot and tears made a mask over her face. Emmett, on the other hand didn’t seem winded at all. He just adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, tightened his grip on Becca and ran. I slowed my pace by a fraction. Not by much, because I didn’t want them to realize, but enough that they went first. As we left the alley, I scanned the street to the right, but there was no sign of Lena’s second thug. The detour had taken him too long, thank God, but behind us, the first thug and Lena were rapidly closing the distance.

Emmett, God bless him, charged into traffic. Horns blared, and a taxi skidded to a stop, the front bumper brushing Emmett’s leg, but he just kept running. I followed, but still slow enough to let them build up a lead. Another shot rang out behind me. Then another. When I’d made it halfway across the street, I checked my pursuit. Lena’s first thug, the one closest to us, was only a few yards behind me. If I hesitated, or if he got lucky, I’d have a bullet in my back, and the chase would be over. Lena was still clearing the alley, but traffic had picked up again, and that might slow her for a moment.

I skidded to a stop, spun, and charged. The look of shock on the thug’s face was almost comical. He was a professional, I guessed, because the shock only lasted an instant. He was already trying to slow himself, redirecting his body towards me as his arms came up for a clean shot.

But I’d been running like I had the devil chewing my ass for the last three months, and by this point, I was fast. My shoulder hit him just below the sternum, and I felt, rather than heard, the air explode from his chest. The shock from the impact traveled up my body. The thug managed to drive the butt of his gun into my back, and it hurt like hell, but I just bellowed and carried through with my charge.

The force of it sent him flying backwards. The pistol spun out of his hand and clattered across the asphalt, and the thug smacked head-first into the passenger window of a passing car. His head bounced, and the second time it hit the glass with a hollow thud. Tires screeched, and the car swerved sideways, knocking into a limousine that was struggling to weave through the jam. The thug slid to the ground, but he didn’t miss a beat. He rolled, grabbing the pistol, and got to his feet.

As the pistol rose towards my chest, I puttered backwards, trying to move, trying to be fast, but the ground had turned to sand and I couldn’t seem to get started. Then brakes screeched, and a silver Chevy Impala slammed into the thug. He flew forward, arms and legs flapping like a dishcloth hung to dry, and slapped against the back of a white paneled van. This time, he didn’t get up.