Wyland sneezed, wet and loud.
May tightened her grip on him.“What should we do?”
Christian checked the math.“Is anybody hit inside?”he yelled.
“No,” Daisy called out.“We’re all behind the bar now.”
He extended his hand to May.“You keep Wyland down as close to that tire as you can.Give me the Ruger.”
May passed it to him, wet and slippery.It was double-action and already chambered.He checked anyway.Six rounds.Compact frame, short barrel, nothing fancy.
He handed the gun to Amka.“Position the weapon on the hood.Keep your head and shoulders down.Aim straight up at the roof of the Moosejaw.Make sure you aim up there and keep down.Got it?”
She nodded.Her hair was soaked, plastered to her cheeks.Her hands shook as she took the pistol, but she held it like she’d used one before.
“Whatever you do, don’t aim lower,” Christian said.
“What are you going to do?”she asked.
“Run across the street.You’re covering me.”
Her eyes widened.“Christian, that’s not?—”
“Amka.”His tone stopped her cold.
She swallowed.“Okay.And…if I miss?”
“You don’t have to hit anything but the building, baby.You’re just providing cover.”
She swallowed.“Okay.”She turned on her knees, staying under the cover of the hood, and positioned herself with care.The Ruger rested against the metal, angled up.Her arms braced.The gun trembled slightly, but her aim was true.“Tell me when,” she whispered.
Christian inhaled, gaze fixed on the theater roof.He took a deep breath, glancing at her and then reaching over and covering her hands with his, nudging the barrel up half an inch.The angle had to be right.The last thing he needed was a bullet in the ribs from the only person trying to help.
“I can do this,” she whispered.
“I know.”He slid forward to the front of the Jeep, boots sloshing through water pooling in the dip beside the curb.The hood rattled under the rain, sheet after sheet pouring over it.“Fire slow.Count it out.One.Two.Three.You have six bullets.Use them all.”
“Okay,” Amka whispered.
“Now.”
She fired.
He moved.
Rain came sideways, sharp and cold, battering his face as he broke cover.He sprinted across the open street, not looking back.Another shot.Then another.Her timing was good.Each one gave him a second more.
He hit the far sidewalk, turned, and slammed his back against the building.The concrete was wet and cold, but it gave him cover.
Two more rounds.Then nothing.
She ducked.
He rounded the corner, jumped for the fire escape, and caught the lowest rung.The metal was slick, so he tightened his grip and kept climbing.He passed the second floor, and then the third, rolling onto the roof and staying low.
Wind ripped across the building.Rain came harder up here, straight across from what felt like every direction.He crawled toward the far corner.No movement.But this was the spot.It was the only place that gave a straight shot across the intersection.
He found the shell casings by touch before he saw them.Still warm.Just a few.No scatter.The shooter had control.That told him something.
