Page 53 of Ravens
Twenty-Seven
Iwake in the night with a start, but it’s dark and quiet as I look around the room. York is beside me, still dressed and on top of the blanket, sleeping soundly.
Cradling my arm, I slip from the bed and stretch my legs before heading down the stairs. This building isn’t very tall, a few stories, but we’re at the top. The alleyway we parked in is below the living room windows, and I can see out across most of the buildings around us, which appear to be mostly commercial. The orange glow of a streetlamp casts shadows across the living room as I make my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
A dull thud makes me pause, and I push my ear up against the freight elevator and wait.
Nothing.
I drink an entire glass of water and pour a second before I hear the sound again. It doesn’t seem to be coming from inside, so I float back over to the window and look out at the otherbuildings. When it sounds again, it’s a bit clearer, and I peer down at the alley below, but the angle is extreme, and I can’t even see the car parked in it.
These windows don’t seem to open, but I press and attempt to slide them anyway. They don’t budge.
Another thud, but this time louder . . . It echoes slightly. It has to be coming from the alley. I press my cheek to the window and look down, but it’s no use.
I hurry up the stairs and grab his arm. “York.”
He jolts beneath my touch. “What?”
“I keep hearing something outside.”
When he sits up, he draws a gun out from under his pillow and slips off the bed. Tensing, I head back down the stairs behind him, ripping open his bag and shuffling through the contents.
The clothing I bought is there, so I pull out the pair of black pants, a shirt and sweater, and get dressed as quickly as I can without aggravating my arm too much. He hasn’t said anything, so I just keep going, pulling out another gun, checking it, and then getting my shoes on.
“I don’t hear anything,” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” I look around, spooked. “Any other way out of here?”
“You need to rest.” He crosses the room and tilts my head back. “Paranoia is normal after something like this.”
“After something like what? Seeing a bunch of people get their heads blown off, being used as a human shield, and thenbeing shot by someone I was dumb enough to put even the slightest amount of trust in?”
“Theresa—”
“I think—”
There is a slight creak from the elevator, and I turn my head.
“I think they're already in the building,” I whisper.
York gets his shoes on, then closes the bag and throws it onto his back. Calmly, he leads us back up to the bedroom and down the hall toward the bathroom.
At the end of it, he stops and laces his fingers together. “Up.”
I look at his hands and up at the ceiling where there is a two-by-two-foot inset square that resembles an attic opening. Nodding, I step onto his hands and place my knee on his shoulder as I reach up and pop the entrance open.
Getting myself up hurts, even with York pressing half my weight for me.
“Shit,” I gasp out as I pull my legs up behind me.
The bag comes up next, and I yank it through the opening, my arm protesting the entire time. As I push the bag aside, I look around. It’s not an attic but rather a crawlspace specifically designed for exactly this—escape.
Before I can look back down to the apartment, hands appear on the lip of the opening, and he muscles himself up and slides the cover back in place. It’s already rigged with something, and I watch him stretch out retractable wires from a box fastened to the backside of the cover. He hooks them to the lip of the opening and flips a switch.
A screen glows, and he backs away from it.
“Is that a bomb?”
