Nearing him, her stomach writhed—the smell of gunpowder—the smell of iron from his blood. With her pistol aimed squarely at his chest, she fished for the revolver with her foot. There we go! She slid it away, stepping backwards with her muzzle steady on him. Quickly, she scooped it from the floor along with her shirt, coat, and boots. She dressed, eyeballing Griffin the entire time. Is he dead yet? She needed to be sure. Before leaving, Jenny dared a touch on the side of his neck—his skin cold with a sickly pallor. No pulse. Dead. Gone, but it didn’t make up for Danny. Closure would come later. Now, she had to focus on getting her friends back.
“Hier!” With haste, she and Sherman tore through the back corridor to the office where she’d seen Matt and Grant earlier. There’s probably not much time left. At some point, someone would be there to investigate the gunfire. The rooftop guards had to have heard it. Perhaps, the crowd outside by the burn barrel hadn’t. That must have been the holdup—not that she was complaining. Jenny needed the delay.
If found, the Depot guards might hold her, question her. It wasn’t like she could say she hadn’t seen anything. With blood on her pants. Danny’s gun. Sherman. She’d be interrogated for hours—their interest fixated on what happened—the loss of two leaders. Matt and Grant would shift to the back burner. It was best no one saw her. The Second Alliance would only get further and further away. Her friends disappearing with them.
Damn… The door to the room stood open. No one inside. The chairs overturned, but the ropes and gags gone, more than likely still binding them, keeping them from calling for help. They had to sneak out the back with them. There’s no way they’d just walk out the front with Grant and Matt tied up or whatever. People would wonder what the hell was going on. She eyed both ends of the corridor. But which way did they go? Probably not that way. Danny’s room was only a few feet away. That fact gave her pause. Wait, why…? She searched herself, trying to deny dangerous thoughts before they soiled Danny’s reputation. But she couldn’t think beyond them. Danny… Why didn’t you stop them? When Griffin sent you here with that letter, you could’ve freed them. Don’t you have a key to that room? What the hell…? “Now they’re gone,” she said under her breath.
No… There’s no way Danny would’ve just let them be taken without a fight. There has to be a reason why. But what? She began toward his room. He knew what was about to happen with the S.A. He told me to find them. It’s the last thing he asked me to do. He gave me a frickin’ knife because he knew the risk. Danny’s door sat open slightly. She creaked it further in, then shut it behind her, turning the lock. Okay… Beside her, two rifles, a pistol, and an array of knives lay out on his bed. A box of ammunition spilled across the floor. Must’ve been in a hurry to leave his—” She exhaled. Her shoulders sank. “That’s why… He heard me scream. All these weapons right here. He was planning on fighting back, but he heard me. And, he stopped. He let the S.A. get away, so he could help me, hoping he could save them later. But, obviously that can’t happen now. It’s on me. I’ve gotta do it.
Jenny pitched Danny’s rucksack onto the bed and began stuffing it. Ammunition. A few knives. One of the pistols. His flashlight and fire kit. Bottles of water. Cans of food. (Some for Sherman.) This might only be a day or two. Taking too much would only slow her down, and the houses along the way could still provide her with the basics if she found herself in need. She threw on Danny’s harness strap with binocular case and popped it open—binocs inside—now extremely accessible from around her torso. Almost ready. Her choice of rifles from the bed didn’t include her familiar M1A Scout. Instead, she took Danny’s favorite, his M4 carbine.
Finally it came, what she had been expecting since the gunshots rang out—the heavy clopping of boots down the hall. Here we go… She dropped to the ground, her back against the door, curling up as closely to it as she could to prevent anyone’s quick peek through the window from seeing her.
The footfalls slowed to a stop just outside the door.
“It’s got to be back here.” A man said, speaking as if he were in charge of the patrol.
“Who was shooting?”
“Not sure, but I know it has something to do with that group in black,” a woman spoke up. “Who else? Shit like this doesn’t happen, but then all of a sudden they show up. Come on, man, put it together.”
“Alright, quiet down you two. Keep your damn eyes peeled. Let’s go.”
Jenny listened for the sound of the patrol’s footsteps to disappear. Once they did, she inched the door open. Just a peek. No one to either side. Time to move. She hoisted the rucksack onto her back and brought the rifle’s sling over her head. A quick once over. Everything in place. Everything loaded. She crept a foot forward into the hallway. A scream. Jenny grimaced. They found them…
“High alert!” the man’s voice thundered down the hall. “Get the message to the roof!” Boots pounded back her way, and his orders echoed along with them. “If they see any of the men in black, shoot first! No questions!”
They think the S.A. did this. That couldn’t be any better. “We gotta go, boy.” She attached Sherman’s lead, and without a second to spare, they curled right, beelining straight for the exit to the loading docks. Not certain she’d be alone out there, she drew the pistol from the holster. A deep breath, then she elbowed the push bar to the door and slipped through, gun up and ready, Sherman at her side.
Outside, Jenny winced in the direct sunlight. Damn! Struggling to see across her pistol sights, she shifted her angle, but Sherman took advantage of her adjustment and broke left from the door. “Platz.” His tugging at the lead ceased. She took her pistol across the loading dock, keeping the large, metal door against her back to guard her six. From where she stood, a distinct line of footprints made across the landing, down the stairs, and then up the ramp toward the woods. I wonder how far the S.A. has gotten.
She flashed her pistol behind the door—only a few feet of landing before a dead end into the wall—then eased the heavy door back into place. Listening, she took a moment to ensure there’d be no surprises coming at her through the door. The patrol that had discovered the bodies were still tearing down the long hallway, yelling. Jenny and Sherman withdrew into the dead end of the landing, hoping that if the patrol opened the door to warn the guards on the roof, it would be a simple shout and nothing more. Luckily for her, the patrol continued down the corridor past her position.
The landing’s metal grating clanked beneath her feet as she walked. Nervous she’d alert one of the guards on the roof, she slowed her steps, heel to toe, lightly crunching through what snow hadn’t fallen to the ground. About halfway across the landing, they came to a flight of stairs. Two lines of footprints split from the bottom—one out into the open toward the woods—the other hidden between a couple of semi-trailers.