Another two shots. Another Russian fell.
“Nice,” Lena breathed.
As she tore through the intersection, Dal got off one last shot. He missed the chest of the Soviet, but his bullet hit the guy in the leg. That would do. With any luck, he’d bleed out.
The Mustang rumbled loudly down the road. Dal felt like it was a giant beacon alerting everyone to their presence. He wished the could have stolen a quieter car. Not that VW Beetles were known for quiet engines.
They neared the building of the local radio station where Dal worked as a janitor at nights. As Lena raced toward the buildings, he felt as though he were moving through two realities.
There was the reality of this morning, where he’d been focused on his studies and determined to figure out a way to leverage his janitorial position into an internship at the radio station.
Then there was the reality of now, in which he was driving through a war zone. The sidewalks and road were littered with bodies and wrecked cars.
The two worlds meshed in his brain in a swirl of color. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.
Or maybe it was the sight of Leo’s blue truck lying on its side in the middle of the road that stole his breath away.
Lena slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the Mustang. Dal was right on her heels.
“Dad?” Lena tore around the side of the car with no thought of her own safety. Dal followed, machine gun braced against his shoulder. He scanned the surrounding buildings and cars much the way he would scan the forest for a moving animal.
The interior of the car was empty. Dal wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or panicked.
At least Mr. Cecchino is still alive, he told himself. Alive and missing was better than found and dead.
“We have to find him,” Lena said. “If he’s looking for me, he’ll head to the downtown plaza.”
“Okay.” He wanted to find Mr. Cecchino as much as Lena did. “We should go on foot. The Mustang draws too much attention.” Besides, it would make a better getaway vehicle if they didn’t crash it or get the tires shot out. Better to leave it behind for now.
Lena nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”
The street was quiet. A family of five scurried past them on the opposite side of the street. The father had a baby strapped to his chest. The mom had two toddlers in a stroller, pushing them at a slow run.
He and Lena stopped when they reached the next street corner. The plaza—where the nuke rally had been—was three blocks east of them. That’s where Mr. Cecchino would be headed.
Directly across the street from them was the radio station where Dal worked. Many of the windows had been shot out. It was eerie to think that he was scheduled to clean the building that evening.
They peeked around the corner. Soviets patrolled the street. Dal watched as more than a dozen people were herded into a tight group. As they watched, the Soviets fired darts into everyone. People screamed under the onslaught.
He dropped back behind the corner with Lena. When she pressed her back against him, he sensed her fear. He squeezed her shoulder with his free hand.
“I have an idea,” he whispered. “Think you can make it to the station over there?” He pointed across the street.
“To the radio station?”
“Yeah. I know my way around the building.” One of the perks of being a janitor. “I can get us through there. It will get us two blocks closer to the plaza without being in the open.”
Lena nodded eagerly. “Good idea.”
When they peered around the corner a second time, they were greeted with an odd sight: the group of people who had been shot with darts were now free. The raced down the street while the Soviets shouted after them and fired their weapons—into the air.
It made no sense. Why were they firing into the air? They could mow down that entire group with a few sprays of their machine guns.
The answer was simple. Whatever poison was in those darts was being dispersed throughout the city.
Dal decided he couldn’t worry about that right now. What mattered was the fact that he and Lena had a dozen people between them and the Russians. What mattered was the Mr. Cecchino was probably in the plaza looking for Lena.
Heart pounding, he grabbed Lena’s hand and sprinted in front of the fleeing people. As soon as they hit the sidewalk on the other side, Dal leapt through the shattered glass of the radio station’s front door. His grip on Lena’s hand never slacked. She jumped through after him.
As they landed inside the building, the group of terrified people raced past them. They split off in different directions.
Inside the station, the only sound was Dal and Lena’s harsh breathing. Dal dropped Lena’s hand and gripped his gun in both hands.
“This way.”
The door behind the reception desk was unlocked. Normally, a person needed an employee badge or an appointment to get through that door. Now, it was wide open.
“Stay behind me,” he said to Lena.
For once, she didn’t argue with him—although she did shoulder the machine gun like she meant to blast anything that so much as twitched.
All the lights were on, but the station was deserted. They entered an open-ceilinged area lined with office cubicles. In the middle of the floor was an overturned microwave lunch. He stepped over raviolis.
A chair sat in the middle of an aisle, tipped over on its side. Someone had left a purse with all its makeup sitting in the middle of a desk where anyone could go through it. There was a shattered glass of milk farther down the aisle.
Dal and Lena crept through the cubicle area and came to the hallway that led to the executive suites. The door was wide open.
A single high heel shoe lay in the
