52
R obert ran hard down a dark, narrow street, bullets cascading past his head like angry bees. Thorne, right at his side, turned around and dropped to one knee. On cue, Robert stood above her and both fired at the crowd, killing a few and wounding several.
“Break!” Robert yelled, and they both took off and bolted into an alley, a stampede of footsteps right behind them.
When they reached the middle of the alley, they each fell to one side.
Robert saw at least eight armed men running hard. He signaled Thorne with a finger up. Wait. Just a little closer. “Now!” They pointed, fired, and sent several men to heaven or hell, and the others diving for cover.
Those still alive shot back, but Robert and Thorne had the advantage and kept them pinned down.
“We can’t stay here!” shouted Robert, checking the alley for an exit.
When he turned around, he spotted more men coming up behind them.
Several stories up, fingers pointed down amid loud Italian chatter.
“Let’s get back out into the street!” screamed Thorne.
Robert reloaded. “Forward or back!”
Thorne reloaded. “To the front!”
On three, they both ran forward, bullets streaming past their heads, firing non-stop, screaming warriors, mowing down everybody in sight, as the men in front of them cried out in terror.
Robert picked up the rumble of car engines and sirens in the distance. “On my mark, let’s break to the right,” he told Thorne. “Three, two, one.” With one big hail of gunfire they sent a stream of bullets behind them and made a break down the right side of the street.
Halfway down two vehicles, one a police car, spun around the corner. Robert and Thorne kept advancing, firing, reloading, then firing some more. One of the cars swerved to avoid the gunfire, smashed into the side of a building and burst into flames.
A man leaned out of the police car, machine gun in hand. He fired a short burst, but Thorne was more accurate, killing the driver, who hit a parked car and launched his passenger, like a missile, through the windshield and a bakery’s front window.
Robert and Thorne kept running. The men behind them continued to chase. When Robert turned to fire, only three men remained. Thorne killed one, then another.
“Let’s go!” she yelled.
They turned a corner, the sound of more screeching tires and police sirens heading their way. Robert spotted an open door to an apartment building. “Thorne, over there!” he barked, pointing.
They both ran into the building and bounded up the stairs to the roof.
They looked down. Five cars parked and more armed men hopped out, searching every crack and crevice. Robert tapped Thorne on the shoulder. They sprinted to the edge of the roof and jumped to the next building. Five buildings down, they reached the end of the block and hid in the stairwell, listening closely to the commotion on the street.
“We can’t go back out there right now,” whispered Robert. “We’ll have to stay here for the night.”
Thorne agreed.
Robert pulled out his cell phone, but hesitated at the sound of voices on a rooftop three buildings over. Both of them reloaded. Robert peeked out and watched three men coming their way.
“We could head downstairs,” whispered Thorne.
“No, not yet, they’ve probably got it covered,” said Robert.
The men reached the building next to theirs. He and Thorne readied for another fight. One of the men jumped over to their roof, machine gun ready, laser sight beaming. Robert pulled the door shut, and they waited.
A loud voice called out in Italian.
“They’re pulling back,” whispered Thorne. “The real police are on their way.”
“Let’s stay put a little longer,” whispered Robert.
He dialed Father Kong and explained their situation. The priest suggested they sit tight for the night. “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he said.
53
W eary from the bumpy ride inside the large trunk, Samuel fell asleep an hour after leaving the castle, only to be awakened by a sudden stop, and the sound of rapid-fire Italian. He heard the vehicle doors slide open, and minutes later, he was slammed around and moved to another vehicle, this time flat on his back. Whatever he was being hauled in was speeding down a smooth road faster than before, but Samuel, knowing it was useless to fret, closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep, the smell of his own sweat, and musk from the trunk filling his nostrils.
The sight of the two boys, his age, with his face, played over and over again in his dreams. Sister Bravo offered no information, but Samuel didn’t dwell on it long, hoping he’d get an explanation soon, but not sure he wanted to hear it.
Being moved from the castle disturbed Samuel. He wondered if whoever was hiding in the grass knew he’d been carted away. Knowing that he might be close to being rescued had buoyed the ten year old, and renewed his strength. He wondered if the gunshots he heard on the way out meant somebody was trying to get to him, and if so, he hoped they’d keep looking.
The thought shook Samuel awake. If nobody knows where I am, what am I suppose to do? For the first time in weeks, his eyes welled up with tears, but he fought them back. Whoever it was will keep looking. I know they will.
He thought about his mother and wondered if she was okay. He gritted his teeth. No, I won’t give up! I won’t let them break me! A strange strength washed over him again. A sense that he would not, could not die.
After what seemed like hours, the vehicle stopped. Samuel heard doors open and shut, and the sound of hustling feet rushing his way. The trunk lifted in the air, followed by grunts and groans from men struggling with it. Samuel heard a door creak open.
“Upstairs,” said an unfamiliar voice, “second floor, last room on the left.”
Samuel immediately fell back against the back of the trunk as it tilted upward and he was hauled up some stairs. The trunk leveled off, but whoever handled the front end must have lost his grip, because it banged on the hard floor, and sent Samuel crashing face first.
“Pardon, pardon,” the man gushed through a crack in the side of the trunk.
“Watch what you’re doing,” Samuel ordered, not caring what happened.
They moved again, this time faster. Another door opened. The trunk eased down to the floor with a gentle thud, and shuffling feet scurried out of the room. Once again, all was quiet. Samuel sat knees to chest, and listened. The longer he sat, his patience thinned, and soon faded to nothing. He kicked hard at the trunk’s door. It didn’t budge, so he kicked harder. He heard the lock unlatch, but the door stayed shut. Angry, he pushed it open and stepped out, his legs knotted up and stiff.
Sister Bravo looked down at him, but Samuel wasn’t concerned.
“I’m sorry you had to endure such a long, uncomfortable ride,” she said, wearing a genuine look of concern. “My apologies.” The nun’s sudden change of attitude caught him off guard, but somehow Samuel felt it was the way things should be, and acknowledged her act of contrition with a slight tilt of his head. Sister Bravo unlocked the other two trunks, and Samuel’s lookalikes uneasily edged their way out, shaken and nervous. They stood in front of Sister Bravo, unsure of themselves.
“Where are we?” asked Samuel.
“You’re safe, my son. In a place made just for you and your brothers,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
