“Can you walk?”
His answer was a grunt and a slow nod. Barely.
I dragged him. His steps were drunken, barely coordinated. Each breath a wheeze of pain. But he stayed on his feet.
I got his arm around my shoulder, and we staggered toward the hallway. My legs trembled under his weight, but adrenaline shoved us forward.
Then
“There!”
Lev. Face bloodied. Eyes murderous.
I turned and fired the gun I’d taken from Alexei. One shot caught his leg. He screamed and went down.
I aimed again—click. Empty. Useless. I tossed it, but another shadow lunged—Alexei wasn’t dead.
He tackled me from the side, and we crashed into the wall. His hands clawed at my throat.
“I’ll fucking kill you, you little bitch...”
I grabbed the shard of broken glass and drove it into his eye. He screamed, flailed—then went limp.
I shoved him off. Blood covered my hands. My face.
I reached for Misha again. He was on his knees now, shaking.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Almost there.”
We turned the corner...
Chernov.
Face slashed, eye bleeding, gun raised.
“You don’t leave,” he hissed, hand trembling on the trigger. “You don’t get to take him. You’re mine...”
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw the third charge. Smaller, improvised. Just a flashbang—but enough.
The explosion lit the corridor white. Chernov screamed, clutching his face.
I pulled Misha down another hallway, kicked open the emergency door, and stumbled into the night.
We were outside. Still inside the compound walls—but near the perimeter now.
There were more guards. Shouting. Flashlights sweeping the yard.
I dragged Misha toward a ruined truck, pushed him behind it just as bullets tore through the air.
I grabbed a pistol from a dead guard and fired back. Three shots. One went down. The others ducked.
“Misha, stay with me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he gasped. “You hear me? I’ll fucking crawl.”
He didn’t have to. I saw it, a hole in the perimeter wall, half-collapsed from the blast. A way out.