Page 89 of Wandering in Darkness
“Right… right…”
I stare through the scope, trying to scan the hotel. I see movement all around, but none of them are our people.
My stomach tightens. “Where are they?”
“Eddie, where are you?” After a moment, he shakes his head. “They’re probably not in a position to talk.”
“They should have been out by now.”
“Cal, you’re panicking. Calm down.”
That’s when we see movement heading toward our building—not just one guy but five or more—and they’re smart. They’re well aware that by hugging the building, I can’t get them from this angle.
“Let’s move. Quickly,” Devon orders as he grabs my arm. “MOVE. Leave the gun.”
I don’t want to leave it, but I understand that moving without a large rifle will be the fastest. Together we start down the stairs, but when I hear people at the base of them, Devon tugs me into a hallway and begins rushing toward the other stairs.
“Fire escape,” I say as I see an open doorway and push him inside. The balcony door sticks, but he jerks it free while I go for the open box holding the ladder to climb down. I slide it into theslot and Devon heads down it as it swings with his movement. I hurry after him before I spot someone coming around the corner. I aim my handgun and shoot the man, forcing him to draw back for cover.
“What the fuck have we gotten into?” I ask.
“Just keep moving,” he says.
“Where are Tate and the others?”
“I haven’t heard anything from them yet.”
“Fuck. Get the car. When we call for you, pick us up,” I say as I rush past him and run toward the hotel before remembering that I don’t have an earpiece myself to contact him with.
“Don’t you fucking dare. You get your ass back here!” he yells.
But there’s absolutely no way I’m going to turn my back on any of my people. There are three of them in there, and while I know they are all phenomenal at what they do, I’m best with a gun and I’m going to do whatever I can to get them out unharmed.
The door leading into the building is thrust open by a worker, so I dash toward it, but as I push my way through it, I’m immediately blocked by panicked people flooding out of the hotel. They’ve heard the gunshots and want out, no matter the cost, as they push and shove toward the door. A woman slams into me and rams me back against a doorframe that cuts into my back, but I push in deeper.
I wish I had the fucking earpiece so I could at least communicate with them and figure out where they are in this large hotel.
A gunshot sounds above me, causing more hysteria, but it at least gives me a location to head toward as I move toward the stairs. I rush up them while others move down, bumping into me, but thankfully the crowd is thinning. The only issue is that I don’t know where the bad guys are among the innocents. Hell,one could lift a gun and shoot me in the head since I’m making it quite clear that I’m not a panicked guest. The seventh floor is the one I’d assassinated the guy on, so do I go there? But if Eddie said they were heading down the south side, I should go that way, right?
I slip into a hallway and run straight down it until I end up in the south stairwell. What if they’ve passed me? What if they’re already out and I’m risking my life running around here?
Fuck…
I pull out my phone and try Tate, even though I know he’s not going to answer since he has it turned off.
The call goes straight to voicemail, so I try Eddie. I don’t have Audrey’s number, but it’s evident none of them are going to answer. And if they make it to the car, then of course one would call me.
I pass hallway after hallway without seeing any of my people. And when I reach the seventh-floor landing, I rush onto it. Devon said they were already heading toward the south exit, so it’s useless to go farther… surely they wouldn’t go up, right?
That’s when I hear a raspy breath and I hesitate, hand on the stairwell railing. I turn toward the noise, gun held tightly in my hand as I move toward them in case it’s one of mine. I check my surroundings before slowly looking around the wall where I see Tate sitting.
“Tate,” I quietly call as I rush toward him.
His head jerks up and I see blood dripping from his mouth.
“C-Cal? Cal, I’m scared,” he whispers while he reaches for me and when he does, I realize he’s removed his hand from a wound on his chest. It hits me that the raspy sound he’s making is because he’s been shot in the chest and his lung has likely been punctured.
“Fuck, fuck,” I mutter as I use the knife in my pocket to tear my shirt, balling it up and pressing it against the wound.
