Part 10 (1/2)

I poked my head out of the window, looked both ways like a first-grader crossing the street, and started wiggling back outside again. I was about two-thirds out-hanging at my hips, working up the momentum to flip myself forward with enough leverage for a smooth landing-when I heard it.

Somewhere nearby.

The crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch, of someone walking briskly through the snow. Nay, not walking briskly. More like...sneaking. Or marching. Sneak-marching. And absolutely nothing about that sound warmed my heart in any fas.h.i.+on whatsoever.

I didn't quite manage the landing I'd wanted-I toppled forward out the window and fell with more of a ”splat” than with tidy cat feet en pointe en pointe-but it got me to the ground. Funny, I didn't remember the snow under the window being quite so deep on the way in. I sank into snow that came up over my knees, and I tramped around in it, both trying to be quiet and trying to figure out which direction to run, if any.

I held still for a few seconds and listened hard, hoping to better pinpoint the noise, which had now been joined by more crunch-crunch crunch-crunches and seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

Stupid woods. Stupid snow. Stupid silent night.

It was coming from the left-no, the right. No, both.

s.h.i.+t.

I didn't panic. Yet.

Perhaps forty yards of open snow stood between me and the big barn, and the side I faced, but I didn't see any easy point of entry. I could make a run for it, but I'd only be running straight at a blank wall-with no way up it, through it, or inside it. Obviously the thing had to have a door somewhere. I fought to remember: When I'd approached under the fence, down into the main compound...had I seen it?

Yes. It was around on the left side, I remembered now.

But someone was closing in on me by the moment. The crunch-crunch crunch-crunch was close enough that I could hear the faint, low buzz of electronic communication. It was probably moving through earbuds or very small radios; the sound wasn't perfectly clear, but it was distinct. was close enough that I could hear the faint, low buzz of electronic communication. It was probably moving through earbuds or very small radios; the sound wasn't perfectly clear, but it was distinct.

I'd been spotted. And I had nowhere to go.

Across the yard-around the right side of the barn-something glinted quickly and vanished. It could've been anything. Probably moonlight off a b.u.t.ton, or a pair of gla.s.ses.

I was not frozen, not paralyzed. Just pinned by indecision. I looked up and saw the shed's gutter above me, and I thought: What the h.e.l.l? Might as well try going up What the h.e.l.l? Might as well try going up. They already knew where I was; I could sense that much from the way they were closing in. They weren't hunting, they were coming right for me.

I didn't see them yet, so they had a leg up on me. They'd see me if I jumped up on top of the shed, maybe; and more likely than not, they'd hear me regardless.

I stretched to reach the overhang, but couldn't quite make it. The snow felt like quicksand, and even though it wasn't, I couldn't help but feel that it was holding me down. I picked up my left leg, covered in snow as it was, and braced it against the side of the building, using it to give myself a boost. I hoisted myself up out of the snow and latched both hands around the gutter. The d.a.m.n thing squealed as if it'd been shot.

Too late to double-think. With a pop of my arms and a fling to toss my weight up onto the gently peaked surface, I was up.

No time for a false sense of security, either. As I scrambled to find a good foothold that wouldn't leave me sliding right back into the snowdrifts, somebody below opened fire.

Bullets sprayed toward me and I ducked, flattening myself on the roof-which had a good foot of snow on it, thank you very much. I wondered if they could see me, if I just went facedown in it, wearing my white suit and everything. It would've been nice if I could hide there, smushed into the snow. I'd freeze my t.i.ts off, but if they couldn't see me, they couldn't shoot at me, right?

Boy, howdy. The bulls.h.i.+t I'll tell myself when I'm completely out of ideas.

Then somebody below barked an order and all bets were off. Two more people were shooting from the other side of the shed. They didn't know exactly where I was, thank G.o.d, so the snow was good for something after all, and the peaked roof threw off their angles. It's hard to shoot something that's above you, and reclined on a plane.

But it wouldn't stop them for long.

I blew a frantic second or two wondering how many bullets I could take before going down. In a moment of crisis? I mean, absolute and pure desperation-still having the stamina to run like h.e.l.l? Maybe three or four to the torso, more if they just winged me. But man, that kind of worst-case-scenario thinking wasn't going to help me. Not then. Not when it was far too late for any preventive measures.

Right. No time to wish for what I didn't have (solitude) and think instead about what I did have (a .38 Special inside my Useful Things Bag).

I didn't want to open fire back. Not immediately. Not while they still were foggy on precisely where I was, apart from ”up there someplace.” Any gunfire would tell them my exact location immediately and with great clarity.

So I left it stashed for the moment, and writhed around in the snow until I had my bag slung across my chest, leaving both hands fully free and maneuverable. I tightened its strap to keep it close-I didn't want it flopping around during any of the acrobatics I was about to try-and I kept my head low while the bullets clipped s.h.i.+ngles closer and closer to where I was hunkering.

This sucked sucked. How had they found me? Had I missed a camera? Had they found my car? What easy f.u.c.kup had I committed this time? Jesus.

I guess they could've been expecting me. After all, someone, somewhere knew what was in that PDF and knew what it'd tell me. All I could do was hope they didn't know what what, exactly, they were dealing with.

Me.

I couldn't make a forty-yard hop to the barn. It wasn't going to happen. But I could make it in three or four good hops, especially if the first hop came from an elevated position-or that was my reasoning, anyway. Maybe starting from a rooftop only made me feel better. I couldn't say, and it didn't matter, because I was going to have to make a run for it.

And people were still shooting at me.

They weren't shooting a lot, at least. n.o.body was wasting much ammo. Mostly they were taking potshots. I could hear them below, splitting up and surrounding my hiding spot-at least it was a big big little building-and closing off my avenues of escape. Or so they thought. little building-and closing off my avenues of escape. Or so they thought.

I rolled over flat, facedown in the snow, and lifted my head enough to peer out over the compound. The crew that'd surrounded the shed...I couldn't see those guys. They were too close, and I'd earn myself a bullet up the nose if I looked over the edge to get a gander at them.

Pulling myself up to the lowest of all possible crouches, I took a deep breath. I braced myself. I dug my boots deep into the packed snow and ice, and I jammed my knees down into it, and my hands as well. I needed traction. I needed to jump.

s.h.i.+t, what I really needed was to leap a tall building in a single bound. But since we all knew that wasn't in the cards, I'd settle for a good launch and a mad dash. If I moved fast enough, and if they didn't know to expect a vampire, I might surprise the h.e.l.l out of them.

They might not even see me. I might appear as nothing more than a streak, and those very far-s.p.a.ced footprints over there someplace.

Below I heard them talking into tiny microphones, and receiving instruction through their tiny earbuds. They were close enough that I could hear whoever the honcho was. He was giving hand signals, and I could hear the rustle of his clothes as he fired them off.

Someone was forcing the shed door.

They were going to come inside and shoot through the ceiling to get me if they had to, and that meant I'd officially hit the ”now or never” moment.

One more deep breath. I tensed. I held my head low, checked my bag one more time, then shoved myself off with such force that half the snow slid off the roof...collapsing onto the guys who'd been lurking underneath it.

I'm going to go ahead and pretend I knew that would happen, and I totally meant to do it.

The victims of the impromptu avalanche cried out in surprise, but it was m.u.f.fled by a few hundred pounds of snow. And then it was far behind me.

The frigid air stung my ears as I ran, leaping so fast and so far that I might as well have been flying for all any of the mere mortals could have seen. I hoped.

The largest building, the one I'd mentally denoted as a ”barn,” was close enough that I reached it in the span of a couple of leaps and a couple of seconds. I skidded around its side, clamoring up to the door. It was locked, no big surprise there. It only took one hard shove for me to figure out that I could open it, yes-but it'd take more time than I wanted to invest in the endeavor. More time than I could afford afford to invest. to invest.

My pursuers were running in circles, shouting and trying to reorganize. And I guess someone might've gotten busy trying to dig those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out from under all the snow I'd kicked off the roof. But they'd be on my tail again before long.

How long did I have? Maybe seconds. Maybe minutes. No longer than that-no way, no how.

Like the storage shed, the barn's only windows were high up and designed for pa.s.sage by few things larger than a leprechaun-which is not to say that they thwarted me, but I'll confess to being inconvenienced. But while I still had the benefit of uncertainty on my side, I jumped, hopped, and scrambled into position, popped out some gla.s.s, and skooched my way into the interior.

My shoulders and hip bones ached from the sc.r.a.ping press of forcing my body into what was, essentially, a ventilation portal, but my first glance around the interior suggested it might have been worth it.

It'd better be. And it'd better be worth it fast fast.

I knew this, because my first glance also told me that there were cameras inside this big-a.s.s information dump. If they didn't know where I'd gone yet, they'd figure it out before long.