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53

Nikolai

I spring into action before the sound of the explosion fades.

“Cover me,” I hiss into the radio and sprint for the burning hole in the garage, ignoring the high-pitched ringing in my ears.

I have to get to the garage before the attacker recovers from the blast.

I have to intercept him before he gets inside and finds the safe room.

As I run, bullets strike the ground around me, kicking up chunks of grass and dirt, but Pavel’s machine gun keeps the shooters sufficiently far away to interfere with their aim.

The closer I get to the garage, the more the extent of the damage becomes apparent. The fucker must’ve glued explosives directly to the bottom of the door, as the force of the blast not only tore apart the heavy metal but left a blackened hole in the floor around it too. And—fuck. Those are indeed exposed wires.

The explosion must’ve knocked out power to the safe room too.

It won’t stay out; in a few minutes, the second backup generator will kick in, but I can only imagine how scared Chloe and Slava must be right now. As thick as the ceiling and the walls of the safe room are, there’s no way they didn’t hear this explosion—or, come to think of it, the bomb I set off nearby.

No matter. I’ll comfort them as soon as we’re all safe.

Speaking of which, where is the bomb-setting fucker? Is it too much to hope the bastard didn’t survive his own blast?

My heart pumps pure adrenaline, my nerves thrumming with heightened awareness as I step through the burning opening into the dark garage, holding my breath to avoid inhaling smoke. It’s futile; as I advance deeper, I realize the smoke has filled every crevice of the space, so thick in places it dims the red glow of the flames.

Swearing silently, I tear a chunk of material off the bottom of my shirt and press the makeshift handkerchief to my face to avoid coughing as I step around one of our SUVs, scanning the hazy darkness for signs of movement… listening for someone else’s cough.

And then I hear it.

A single cough, followed by a full-blown coughing fit—only it’s not a man’s deep-throated hacking but a small, high-pitched one.

The cough of a young child.

54

Chloe

“Slava? Slava, where are you?” I grope around me in the darkness, my heart pounding sickeningly fast as I stuff the gun into my bodice. “Alina, Lyudmila, you there? Where is he? I can’t find Slava.”

“He was right next to you.” Alina’s tone is as tense as mine. “Slava! Slavochka, ti gdye?”

No reply.

I whirl around, arms outstretched. “Slava! This isn’t a game. We’re not playing hide-and-seek. Lyudmila, do you see him?”

“No.” She sounds equally worried. “Maybe he hurt. I search now for light.”

Right. There have to be some flashlights around here. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, trying to get my vision to adjust to the darkness—and to my surprise, it works.

It’s not pitch-black around me now. In fact, there’s faint light coming from the other side of the room.

The side where the ladder is.

My heartbeat speeds up further as I head toward it, doing my best not to trip. “Slava? Slava, come here!” My panic is growing by the second. Not only is the child missing, but I’m beginning to smell something sharp and acrid.

Smoke.

“Slava!” My voice rises in pitch and volume as more light reaches my eyeballs, filling my stomach with cold terror.

There’s no longer any doubt where Slava has gone.

The ceiling door at the top of the ladder is propped open.

55

Nikolai

The terror that seizes me is so absolute that for a moment, I’m certain I misheard, that the child’s cough was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by all the smoke.

It can’t be my son. He’s down in the safe room, where it’s fucking safe. Where he’s supposed to be with Chloe and my sister.

But no. There’s that cough again, followed by an achingly familiar, “Papa? Daddy?”

My stomach is a ball of ice, but I retain enough presence of mind not to yell out that I’m here, in case the enemy is also inside. Instead, I get down and crouch-walk over to where I heard Slava’s voice—a move that has the benefit of helping me breathe cleaner air, as there’s more smoke higher up.

Still, the urge to cough is growing, the toxic particles filling up my lungs. My chest heaves convulsively, my eyes watering from the effort of suppressing the reflex, and I know I will betray myself before long.

I have to locate Slava ASAP.

“Papa? Where are you?”

Fuck. His voice sounds farther away.

He’s heading for the garage door, seeking to escape the smoke.

How the fuck is he by himself? Has something happened to Chloe and Alina?

Staying low to the floor, I hurry after him, my heart thudding heavily as my lungs continue screaming that I need to cough, to expel the contaminated air.