Page 54 of Ravens
“Mm.” He slides the bag down the crawlspace. “It will only go off if the tension on the wires changes.”
We crawl a few yards, and then he pushes a grate open and climbs through it. I stuff the bag out and follow, finding York’s hand helping me up on the other side. Looking out over a town I don’t recognize from a grated catwalk at the edge of the roof, the only thought that passes through my head is,Great, another fire escape.
“We don’t want to be up here if they trigger that device,” he says in passing, moving around me. “It’s incendiary.”
“For the love of God, blowing them up wasn’t enough?”
He leads me down the catwalk, but instead of following it down to the fire escape, he goes over the rail, and we dart across the tar paper roof. On the other side, we peer over the edge of the roof and find two black vehicles, one parked across the back of York’s car and the other parked in the alley in front of it, boxing us in.
Great.
“This way,” he says, unfazed.
I follow him around a vent stack and across the roof where he hops down onto a ledge that can’t be more than a foot wide. The black duffel is tossed, and I watch it sail through the air, tracking it until it lands on the roof of the building beside us.
The alleyway where the car is parked is ten or twelve feet wide, but on this side it’s much less, permitting just foot traffic. Theproblem is the building is shorter than this one, requiring us to make what looks like a five- or six-foot drop.
“I got shot less than six hours ago,” I point out.
“Want to get shot again?”
He jumps across.
Motherfucker. I slip down onto the ledge and tell myself it will be fine. Am I going to hit hard and roll? Probably. Am I going to roll right over this bullet wound? Most definitely.
I jump across the narrow alley and drop to the roof with York stepping in front of me to catch me around the waist as I pitch forward.
We don’t make it off the second roof before the bomb goes off, and I drop, covering my ears as I twist back. The entire corner of the building where the catwalk and crawlspace were is now just a flaming hole.
We scramble down a ladder and an old pipe that takes us down the last story to the ground. York pulls out a phone, makes a hushed call, and throws the bag down and pulls stuff out.
He stands, fixing a ballcap on his head while palming a metal disk in one hand. “Stay here.”
Sirens sound in the distance as he walks around the corner, and a couple of cars pull over on the side of the nearby road. My thumb is bouncing rapidly on my thigh as I wait for him. The sound of anotherboommakes me jump out of my skin before I run around the corner without a second thought.
I bounce right off him.
“Worried?”
I brush off the self-satisfaction in his tone. “What else did you blow up?”
“My car.” He scoops up the bag and starts walking.
No car and nowhere to sleep. This night took a turn very quickly. A firetruck screams by us as we round the corner and head up the street. Looking back, the fire is lighting up the block, and the smoke is billowing heavily. This will be visible at quite a distance.
A police car flies by next, with a second close on its tail. We cross the street and cut down another alley.
“Did anyone else live in that building?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“No, just another warehouse.”
“What was stored there?”
“Mostly flammable shit.”
There is a concussive blast, and we both stop to glance back, catching a massive new plume of smoke rising like a mushroom cloud over the shops that now block our view. We share a quick look and pick up our pace, coming out of the alley and crossing another road before we slow again to head up a sidewalk.
Twisting and turning through the town, we reach the edge where the businesses stop, and a long road leads up to what appears to be a school alongside a large park.
