I smile at her. “Hi, Anh. I’m Rin.”
She nods, smiles tightly. Shifts her weight, yanks the door open and keeps her body out of the way of the opening. The stairs are empty.
With the door open, the noise outside is far louder.
The chatter of gunfire is constant, deafening even down the stairwell.
Crump….BOOOOM!
I creep up the stairs, aiming upward. The noise is louder as I go. I glance back—Apollo and Yelena are surrounded by a cluster of women, several of them armed. Yelena looks terrified, clinging to Apollo’s waist, burying her face against him at the bursts of gunfire.
Reach the landing at the top.
Beyond the doorway…is a war zone.
11
Reunited
Corinna is no longer the woman I knew.
The Corinna I know is sweet, if fiercely independent with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a mile deep, and a sometimes-fiery temper. But she’s…kind. Good. Loving. Affectionate.
This new version is none of that. She’s cold, calculating, efficient. She’s a killer.
Did she always have this inside her? Where did it come from?
She can be a ruthless businesswoman and a demanding boss—she expects results and efficiency, and holds herself to standards higher than anyone else. But that doesn’t explain the woman I’m with, currently.
I mean, I guess it makes a certain kind of sense. I suppose I knew, as an intellectual exercise, that Corinna was familiar with firearms and had been trained in room clearing and combat techniques. But I never really imagined exactly howgoodat it she is. And I doubt she ever expected to use those skills in real life. I think she always looked at the training she and Cal did with Sasha as just games, just for fun. Something to do to pass the time. Other kids play video games and hang out at malls and attend school, Corinna and Cal went through combat training with an elite black-ops expert.
I watch her at the top of the stairs, now. She’s crouched on the stairs, feet four steps down, rifle trained across the landing through the doorway. Her rifle cracks three times, pauses, cracks three more. Another long pause, and then she ascends the last few stairs to kneel in the doorway, sweeping the opening beyond. Glances down and waves for us to come up.
The Vietnamese woman, Anh, is first up the stairs, the rest of us behind her—I’m directly behind Anh, with Yelena clinging to my side. The Black woman with the triple piercings brings up the rear, backing up the stairs to keep a watch on our rear—I suspect Corinna took out all of the guards who were posted in the subterranean complex, but we can’t be sure, and I’m glad for the rearguard. I would do it myself, but Yelena’s protection is my sole duty, right now. She’s the reason I’m here—the reason Corinna is here.
There are too many of us to fit in the landing, so we spill down the stairs, waiting for Corinna’s orders.
“Anh, you see the Humvee out there, across the courtyard?”
Anh peers, nods. “With big giant in back?”
“Yes. The giant is my family. His name is Thresh. Take Apollo, Yelena, and two more and run as fast as you can for that truck.” She glances at me, expression shut down entirely. “Tell Thresh we have twenty-five women in need of evac.”
Anh nods. Gestures at me. “You come.” She points at a Middle Eastern woman with a bloodstained hijab, and an Indian woman in a traditional sari and head covering. “You come.”
“I’m not leaving without you, Corinna,” I say, not moving.
She glares at me, anger snapping in her blue eyes. “And I’m not leaving until these women have a ride out of here.” A bullet explodes against the rock above Corinna’s head and she drops to one knee, head ducking and shoulders hunching. “And the entire fucking reason we’re all here is you, soyes, Apollo, youaregoing.”
I glare back. I’m not going to argue with her, not here, not now. But if she thinks I’m going to get on a truck and drive away and leave her here to face danger caused by me? She doesn’t know me very well, if that’s what she thinks is going to happen.
The Humvee is over a hundred yards away, and the courtyard in between is a mess—several burning hulks of cars lay overturned, the massive transport truck partially blocking the exit; the truck is undamaged, miraculously. Overhead, a helicopter buzzes—Thresh, the one member of the A1S team I’ve never met in person, is firing at it from the Humvee with the gigantic bed-mounted .50-caliber machine gun. The distance is too great, however, and the helicopter banks low and zips away. Spaulding was on that helo, I’d wager.
I point at the truck. “Get the women on that,” I say to Rin. “Someone needs to drive it, though.”
Corinna eyes the truck, and I see the realization in her eyes that there’s no other real viable option for evacuating this many women. The Humvee can seat four or six at the most, in cramped quarters—I know, I’ve been in more than one.
She points at the truck. “Can anyone drive that?” She mimes moving a big steering wheel, and then pulling a shifter.
