On the side of the cleaning cart was the apron he wore. Inside was a slender MagLite. He grabbed it and switched it on as he opened the access panel.
He gestured to the black hole in the floor. Lena set her lips and dropped through the opening.
Dal had to hand it to her. She didn’t balk or flutter like most girls would. She went right in and disappeared from sight.
Shouting sounded from the hall, followed by footsteps. Dal jumped into the hole and pulled the cart back to block it from sight. He dropped the panel into place just as the door to the closet burst open.
The flashlight illuminated Lena’s wide eyes. Her hands shook. The sight made his stomach clench. Here he had set out to protect her, then he’d gone and made that broadcast. He’d pretty much let all the invaders know where they were. He’d put her smack in the middle of danger. Stupid, stupid.
Now he had to get her the hell out of here. He shifted the flashlight, aiming it toward the east side of the building. The plaza was east. That’s where they’d find Mr. Cecchino.
A loud bang sounded above him, followed by Russian cursing. Someone had overturned one of the supply racks.
He started to crawl when Lena gripped his shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on the floor above them.
Two or more Russians spoke rapidly. Lena cocked her head. It took Dal a moment to realize she was listening to them.
No, it was more than that. She was translating them.
The Russians left, the janitorial closet banging shut behind them.
“Could you understand what they were saying?” Dal was doubtful as to how much Russian military jargon Lena might have picked up on her mom’s tapes.
She pursed her lips. “They said they’re taking over all communication buildings. They plan to control all TV and radio channels.”
“Really?” He was impressed despite himself. “You really heard that?”
She poked him in the ribs. “Duh. You see me listening to those tapes. Did you think I was zoning out when I had my headphones on?”
He thought she was hanging on to the memory of her mom, though he didn’t say that. “What else did they say?”
She shook her head. “That’s all I heard.”
They army crawled their way through the subfloor. It was dry and musty. Occasionally, dust and grit showered down anytime someone above them moved. Cobwebs clung to the wood support beams.
Lena wasn’t a fan of spiders, but she showed no sign of distress as they crawled past them. Maybe coming face to face with Russian invaders was enough to cure a person of spider phobia. Maybe—
Snap.
Dal bit down on a howl of pain. He writhed on the ground, the flashlight rolling from his hand.
A mousetrap. He’s put his hand in a fucking mousetrap. A mousetrap he had set.
Lena scrambled toward his flopping hand. Relief flooded his body as she pulled it free. He lay limp on the ground, panting from the pain.
“Are you okay?” Lena’s words were the softest whisper.
He nodded, taking in big gulps of air. He was wasting time. They had to keep moving. They had to find Mr. Cecchino.
They resumed their crawl. Lena carried the flashlight this time. She swept it back and forth over the ground, the narrow beam picking out the mousetraps. A few of them had carcasses in them. It had been Dal’s plan to clean the traps next week.
They reached the end of the studio building. All told, the studio itself was two blocks long. The meant the plaza was only one block away.
He and Lena lay side by side, staring through the small grill that led out into an alleyway. It was a small opening. Lena would be able to shimmy through it, but Dal wasn’t sure he could.
“Look over there.” She pointed.
On the other side of the alleyway was the Cantina, a Mexican restaurant that bordered the plaza. His eyes picked out the grate that led to the subfloor of the restaurant.
“If we can get under the Cantina, we’ll have a clear view of the plaza,” Lena whispered.
Dal wasn’t sure he’d fit through the grate under the radio station, let alone the one under the Cantina.
As he lay there, considering their options, a flood of black boots and fatigues streamed past them. All headed in the direction of the plaza. Dal and Lena instinctively backed away from the grill. There were dozens upon dozens of Russians.
And they weren’t alone. They herded dozens and dozens of Americans along at gunpoint, shouting at them in their rough language.
Dal angled his head, trying to get a better look at the people who were forced by them. He recognized a few kids he’d seen around the junior college. He even spotted Sue, the executive assistant to the KZSQ studio president. She limped along with only one heeled shoe, her other foot bare on the pavement. And there was the station president, dragging an injured leg as the Russians prodded him forward.
Lena sucked in a breath. He knew from the sound what she had seen. Or rather, who she had seen.
His eyes sorted through the many feet streaming past the grill, searching for the familiar pair of brown leather work boots. He knew those shoes as well as he knew his own.
There. The worn leather boots with a piece of rotted apple clinging to the side of the sole.
Mr. Cecchino.
Under Soviet gunpoint, he disappeared around the corner into the plaza.
Chapter 11Inoculation
“DAD.” LENA’S AGONIZED whisper washed over him.
Dal felt panic overtake him. He waited for the flood of footsteps to pass. As soon as the Russians and their captives disappeared around the street corner, he counted to twenty. When no one else appeared in the alley, he yanked off the grate.
Lena tried to wriggle past him, but he refused to let her pass. He attempted to angle his body into the opening, but it was no use. His shoulders
