"I know," he murmurs, nodding. His mouth feels numb. "I know." He turns to Florence, and her face is still set and grave, her eyes dark. He doesn't need to tell her what to do. He never did.
"Just get as many out as you can," he says. "If you see this skinny kid, dark hair... get him out too. If you can."
She nods, shoulders her gun, but her eyes are questioning him. Not directly, not asking it, but the question is there. What is this really about?
"Look," he says, and he looks down at his boots, scuffing in the rubble. The words are hard to say, and he already feels exposed, like she can see everything in him. "Look, when this is all over... I'll tell you. I'll at least tell you as much as I can. That's a promise."
She looks at him for a long moment. Finally she nods again, turns and slips into the shadows, heading down the street for place to cross that's safely out of anyone's line of sight.
* * *
There's a side entrance. It's small, barely a crack in the wall, but she sees it as she sidles around the side of the building, and she edges up to it, gun drawn. Five feet from it, she can see a man inside, standing watch, but from the set of his shoulders and the bored sag to his face she can tell that his mind isn't on his job. She crouches down below his sightline and moves slowly along the wall. Once she's right under the opening she pauses--and her foot slips and breaks a twig with a sharp crack.
"Who's there?" he asks sharply, and she doesn't hesitate; she straightens up in a single smooth movement and rams the butt of her rifle under the man's jaw. He goes down without another sound and she steps over his body and into the building. It's dark. It stinks. Somewhere, she can hear sobbing.
She steels herself and moves silently into the shadows of the hallway.
no subject
"Just get as many out as you can," he says. "If you see this skinny kid, dark hair... get him out too. If you can."
She nods, shoulders her gun, but her eyes are questioning him. Not directly, not asking it, but the question is there. What is this really about?
"Look," he says, and he looks down at his boots, scuffing in the rubble. The words are hard to say, and he already feels exposed, like she can see everything in him. "Look, when this is all over... I'll tell you. I'll at least tell you as much as I can. That's a promise."
She looks at him for a long moment. Finally she nods again, turns and slips into the shadows, heading down the street for place to cross that's safely out of anyone's line of sight.
* * *
There's a side entrance. It's small, barely a crack in the wall, but she sees it as she sidles around the side of the building, and she edges up to it, gun drawn. Five feet from it, she can see a man inside, standing watch, but from the set of his shoulders and the bored sag to his face she can tell that his mind isn't on his job. She crouches down below his sightline and moves slowly along the wall. Once she's right under the opening she pauses--and her foot slips and breaks a twig with a sharp crack.
"Who's there?" he asks sharply, and she doesn't hesitate; she straightens up in a single smooth movement and rams the butt of her rifle under the man's jaw. He goes down without another sound and she steps over his body and into the building. It's dark. It stinks. Somewhere, she can hear sobbing.
She steels herself and moves silently into the shadows of the hallway.