again. Do you hear me?”
hear you, Becca,” Thomas said, and his chest was on fire, just as the fire raged around them, it raged inside him. He knew he
couldn’t last much longer. He didn’t want to leave her, not yet,
please God, not yet.
“Just a little farther.”
They heard a whoosh of flames behind them. The smoke was
dense and black now. “We’ve got to hurry,” Adam said. He didn’t
ask, just picked up Thomas and eased him over his shoulder.
“Becca, get downstairs. I’m right behind you.”
A shot rang out in the thick smoke. Adam felt the punch in his
arm, sharp, hard. He didn’t loosen his hold. “Jesus, Becca, get down,
crawl. I don’t want him to shoot you.”
But Becca had her Coonan in her hand. She stepped behind
Adam and fired back through the smoke in the direction of the
shot. There were three more shots. Then silence.
“He must be back near the bedroom, Adam.” And she fired off
another shot. “That’ll keep him away. Get my father out of here.
Oh God, the walls are on fire. It’s bad, Adam. Hurry! Save my
father!”
Adam felt his arm pulsing with raw pain, weakening as he carried
Thomas down the front stairs. He felt an instant of dizziness,
then shook his head, coughed, and kept moving. He felt a strange
pulling in his back, weird, but nothing really. Thomas was now unconscious.
He prayed he wasn’t dead. He heard another shot, then
another, but nothing all that close.
“I’m right behind you, Adam. Go, quickly!”
He didn’t realize Becca wasn’t with him until he was out the
front door and two agents had lifted Thomas from his shoulder.
“Jesus, a chest wound. Get the the paramedics over here!”
“The fire department is on the way,” Gaylan Woodhouse said,
running up, his gun still at the ready. “My God, you’re shot, too,
Adam. Hey, Hawley, get over here. We need some help.” Adam
stood there holding his arm, his teeth gritted. And now, of all
things, that pulling in his back, it was bringing him down.
“Where the hell is Krimakov?” Savich shouted.
“Becca,” Adam said, looking around wildly. “Becca?”
“Jesus,” Hatch said, running to Adam. “He got you in the back,
boss. Did you know you got shot in the back? Oh God, hurry, let’s
get him down.”
“Becca,” Adam said, frantic now, and he knew he was barely
hanging on. “Where’s Becca?” He saw the flames billowing out of
the upstairs windows. The beautiful ivy that nearly covered that
side of the house was on fire.
“Thomas shot Krimakov,” Adam said to Gaylan Woodhouse and
Hawley, who were bending over him. “He’s got to still be inside.
Maybe he’s unconscious or dead. Jesus, where’s Becca? Please,
you’ve got to find her.”
The walkie-talkie boomed out, “No one has tried to come out
of any windows or the back of the house.”
“Get Krimakov,” Gaylan shouted. “Dammit. GET HIM!”
Becca, oh God, where was Becca? He wanted to go back into
that house to find her. He had to, had to, but he just couldn’t move.
The fire wasn’t only in the house now, it was inside him and it was
eating its way out. The pain in his back held him utterly locked in
place. He couldn’t move.
“Oh my God,” an agent shouted. “Up there!”
“It’s Becca,” Gaylan Woodhouse whispered. “Oh, no.”
Adam did move, suddenly, with a spurt of strength he didn’t
know he had. He roared to his feet. He followed everyone’s eyes to
the roof of the house and felt his heart drop to his feet. No, please
Jesus, no. But it was Becca, on the roof of the burning house.
“Becca!”
There were at least a dozen people standing in the front yard,
looking upward. Then everyone was silent, still.
There, highlighted in flames, stood Becca, in her white nightgown,
her bare feet spread, holding the Coonan between her hands.
“Becca,” Adam shouted,”shoot the fucker!”
But she didn’t. She just stood there, pointing the Coonan at
Mikhail Krimakov. He was holding his arm, blood dripping
through his fingers. Blood also dripped down his cheek from a