Page 41 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

She breathed in and out a couple of times, then nodded and whispered, “Ok.”

He released her head but took her hand in a crushing grip. For a moment, he looked around, as if getting his bearings. Then he started moving, and she had no choice but to follow. They stayed off the streets this time, slipping like wraiths between old houses and shops and abandoned buildings.

They got about two blocks away, when the sound of repeated gunfire shredded the air.

Georgia glanced nervously behind her. Besides the gunshots she could hear angry voices shouting.

“Do you think they found...?”

Peter’s answer was immediate. “Yeah.”

They stopped, hunkering down by an old shed as trucks and men hurried past, headed toward the sound of the shots.

Waiting precious minutes until the traffic passed, they were finally able to carry on, turning to the east after going so many blocks north.

It was easier to see, Georgia realized with a start. Night had passed and dawn was swiftly approaching. But they were nowhere near the edge of the city, let alone the base.

As the world got gradually lighter, Peter slowed down and looked hard at every building they passed. A place to hide.

He ignored several promising places in favor of a sagging, broken-down shack stuck between the street on one side and an empty lot filled with several rusted car shells, long since stripped of anything useful.

He moved several rotted beams aside and went down some crude steps into a roughly dug-out basement. Georgia waited, glancing nervously over her shoulder, for him to come out.

“This is good,” he whispered, his head emerging from the darkness. “Go down and wait for me. I’ll fix things up here to cover up the dug-out.”

Georgia stared at the black hole in the ground with a horrible pounding in her head. Another dark, small place. What had she done to deserve this repeated punishment?

As he moved past her to pick up one of the rotting boards, Peter handed her something long and slim. A flashlight. The one thing that might help her control her fear. Georgia took it from him, refusing to look up, staring at her scuffed and dirty shoes, trying not to cry.

“Where did you get this?”

The pounding behind her eyes strengthened painfully. It had to be the amount of adrenaline in her blood stream. She’d gone from emotional extreme to emotional extreme in minutes and had been under intense stress for hours.

She was lucky she hadn’t had an aneurysm.

“Off the soldier.” He said it like he’d gone shopping at a small-town dry goods store.

She stared at the flashlight in her hands, the pain making it hard to think. Peter must have known they’d end up in a place like this and knowing what she was most afraid of, deliberately took it from a dying man to replace the one they’d lost. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or horrified by his ability to think that far ahead.

Peter was already sifting through rotted boards and other bits of wood, his attention split between the road and the pile he was making.

Gathering her tattered dignity and scattered wits, Georgia descended into the underground room.

Beggars can’t be choosers in a situation like this.

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