'If you hit a key, it comes on again.' Marta pulled out a chair near the laptop and grabbed her purse from it as if she were making room for him. No telling if she'd need it later. 'Here, sit down,' she said. 'If you don't trust me, stay here while I work.'
'Fuck you.'
Suddenly Marta heard a noise behind her. The rattle of the elevators. The
'HELP!' Marta screamed as she bolted from the conference room. 'HE HAS A GUN!' She dashed past the shocked faces of the guards toward the exit stairway. Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Her ribs hurt so much it brought tears to her eyes. She flew down the hall and behind her heard the crack of gunfire. One, two, three shots. An anguished moan. Oh God. Marta hoped it wasn't the guards.
'HELP!' she screamed again as she pushed open the door to the stairway. She pitched down a set of concrete stairs, then another. Her pumps clattered on the steel edge of the steps. She panted from exertion and terror. No sound came from the top of the stair. There was no pursuit. Could Bogosian be dead? An alarm went off in the building and clamored in the concrete stairwell. Thank God. More guards would come. 'HELP!'
Marta kept running. She hurtled down the stairs, leaping, nearly falling from landing to landing. A painted 10 on the wall told her there were ten floors to street level. She got dizzy as the tight stair twisted around. The alarm bell clanged in her ears. Her screams joined the cacophony. Six floors to the bottom. Go! Faster and faster, pitching forward. Flying down the stairs despite the pain and fear. Four floors left.
Bogosian wasn't chasing her. Maybe the guards killed him. Maybe she was free. Marta reached the bottom floor and threw herself against the exit door. It banged open into the lobby just as the elevator doors opened across the white marble floor.
It was a horrible sight. The elevator was an abattoir. Blood dripped from a huge splotch down its white walls. The two guards lay dead, crumpled in seeping heaps on the elevator floor. One had his face blown completely away. Between their bodies stood Bogosian.
Taking aim at Marta.
17
Marta ran, breathless, for her life. She streaked for the building's entrance, skidding on the slick marble floor, and burst through the glass double doors. She hit the street. Frigid air blasted her face and chest.
'HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY!' she screamed, though the snow-covered street was deserted. There were no cops around and no help. The security alarm was muffled outside the building. The guards were dead. The poor men. Bogosian was a killer.
'HELP!' Marta tore down the sidewalk in the deep snow, her purse flying from her shoulder. Icy flakes stung her face and lashed through her wool suit. She stumbled and her hand went elbow high into a snowdrift.
CRRACKK! Marta heard a gunshot behind her, echoing in the silence.
Oh God. Bogosian was going to shoot her down. Terror jolted her senses alive. She heard herself cry out as she half stumbled, half sprinted through the freezing snow. She dashed past darkened stores and swerved around the corner so he couldn't get a clear shot. Her legs were soaked and her feet numb, but she kept running. She couldn't hide because she'd leave footprints in the snow. Tears streamed down her face. 'HELP!' she screamed futilely.
CRRAACCKK! Another gunshot.
Marta ducked, panic-stricken. Bogosian was going to kill her. His aim was off, but not for long. One of those bullets would find its target. Her spine. Her heart. Her head. She was going to die. She spotted the lights of Chestnut Street and raced across the street to them. There'd be people there.
'HELP!' Her leg muscles were tiring. Her chest felt like it would explode. She could feel blood running warm down the back of her neck; her wounds must have reopened. She didn't know how much longer she could run. Bogosian was strong. He would catch her and kill her like a dog. She couldn't let him.
Marta dashed around the corner onto Chestnut Street. A huge white pickup truck with a plow mounted on its front bumper churned down the street, pushing a heap of snow and ice in its path. Gargantuan tires jacked it up obscenely and ground snow into deep ruts in its wake. The pickup looked like it belonged at a monster truck rally. Its vanity plate read ELVIS.
Marta sped up, almost hysterical with relief. She would be safe. Alive. She had to get the driver's attention. She scissored her arms frantically, but the truck didn't stop. The cab was too high and dark to see in.
'HELP!' she screamed, but the plow still didn't stop. She couldn't hear herself over the roar of its engine. She had to get in front of the truck. Get the driver to see her.
Marta ran faster to catch up with the snowplow. Clouds of hot exhaust burned her eyes. Soot flew into her mouth. The truck's gigantic wheels powered through the snow, spraying splinters of ice. She had to stop the plow. She didn't have enough energy to keep running forever. She kept waving and it took almost all her wind. She ran as hard as she could, then harder. A few more steps and she'd be there.
One, two, three. Yes! Marta caught up with the plow and ran parallel to it. She waved her arms, frantic this time, but the plow still didn't stop. Fuck! Marta glanced wild-eyed over her shoulder.
Bogosian was running after her, closing in. A deadly figure charging into the storm. His gun was drawn.
Oh, God. Marta was out of choices. Only one way to go. She hoped it wasn't suicide. She darted in front of the massive snowplow. The driver honked loudly but he didn't stop rolling. What? Was he crazy? He'd run her over.
Marta bolted ahead to the middle of the street and ran down the street between the truck's headlights, waving, screaming. The driver honked again and kept coming. Why didn't he stop? Maybe he thought she was a nut or a drunk. The plow was moving so fast Marta didn't risk turning around or slowing down. A mountain of packed snow rolled at her heels, threatening to engulf her.
She burst forward in fear. Her breath came in ragged bursts that tore at her ribs. Her head felt light. Her legs buckled as she ran. Her pumps skidded with each stride. She raced into the snow and dark, momentum hurling her forward.
Marta checked behind her. A giant wall of snow chased her up the street, so close she could feel its chill. But she couldn't see anything behind the snow-plow. If she couldn't see Bogosian, he couldn't see her. Marta had lost
