Chapter 5 - The Rooftop Escape
Mercer grabbed Alara by the collar of her jacket, pulling her down behind a heavy industrial HVAC unit just as a hail of bullets tore through the air where they had been standing a second before.
The metallic impact of bullets against the steel air-conditioning housing sounded like a jackhammer popping inches from their ears. Sparks flew into the dark, rain-soaked night.
"They brought a marksman!" Alara screamed over the roaring wind, hugging the slick gravel roof. "We’re trapped!"
Mercer checked the magazine on his captured rifle. "They won't risk shooting the center of my chest because of the infants, but they’ll take out my legs or shoot you to stop us. We have to jump."
Alara stared at him in sheer terror. "Jump?! To where?!"
Mercer pointed through the blinding rain toward an adjoining building four feet lower, separated by an eight-foot-wide alley gap. In the dark, the drop between the two structures looked like an abyss of pitch-black death.
"It’s an eight-foot leap," Mercer said, his voice deadly steady. "You can make that easily."
"I can't! I’m a nurse, not an acrobat!"
"You jump, or you die here, Alara," Mercer said, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look into his icy eyes. "I will catch you on the other side. Trust me."
He didn't wait for her consent. Mercer stood up, stepping out from behind the cover. He fired a rapid, six-round burst down toward the spotlight on the street below. The beam exploded in a shower of white sparks, plunging the alley back into darkness.
"RUN!" Mercer roared.
Alara sprinted across the slick gravel, her shoes slipping on the wet surface. She didn't look down at the gap. She didn't think about her life insurance or her diner job. She reached the edge of the parapet, planted her left foot, and threw herself into the open air.
For a terrifying second, she was suspended over nothingness, the rain rushing past her face.
Then her boots slammed into the gravel of the lower roof, her momentum pitching her forward. She skidded across the rough surface, scraping her hands and knees violently. Before she could regain her footing, Mercer landed beside her with a heavy, thudding impact. He absorbed the jump flawlessly, rolling onto his shoulder to protect the twins strapped to his chest.
He rose instantly, sweeping his weapon around. "Move! Roof access is right there!"
They sprinted toward a rusted iron door leading down into the neighboring residential building. Mercer kicked the lock out, pulling Alara inside just as another burst of gunfire chipped the brickwork around the doorframe.
They tumbled down the dry, warm interior stairwell of an apartment complex. The contrast was jarring—the quiet hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and air freshener, completely oblivious to the war being waged on the roof above.
Mercer didn't stop. He led her down three flights of stairs to the basement level, busting through a boiler room exit that opened into a narrow, covered alleyway behind a commercial bakery.
Parked in the alley was a faded white delivery van with Golden Crust Bakery painted on the side.
Mercer approached the driver’s side window, raised the butt of his gun, and shattered the glass. He reached inside, unlocked the door, and hotwired the ignition beneath the steering column in less than ten seconds. The engine roared to life with a sputtering cough.
"Get in!" Mercer barked, throwing open the passenger door.
Alara scrambled into the passenger seat, gasping for breath, her clothes dripping wet, her hands bleeding from the roof fall. Mercer climbed into the driver's seat, resting the rifle across his lap as he slammed the vehicle into reverse, backing out of the alley at high speed.
As the van swung into the main street, Alara saw three dark SUVs speeding down Oglethorpe Avenue toward the diner she had worked at for six years. A plume of black smoke was already rising from the second-floor window of her apartment.
They were burning her home. Everything she owned—her clothes, her nursing certificates, her mother’s old photo albums—was going up in flames.
Tears welled in Alara’s eyes, hot and bitter. She turned to Mercer, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief.
"My life is gone," she whispered. "Everything I had is gone."
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Mercer kept his eyes glued to the rain-slicked road as he accelerated onto the highway ramp, leaving the city lights behind.
"Your old life is gone, Alara," Mercer said, his voice solemn and heavy with regret. "I’m sorry. But as long as you're with me, you're alive. And I promise you... Victor Vane will pay for every single thing he took from you tonight."
