Page 42 of Enemy Within

“Yes,” Sergey breathed. “If you don’t mind a climb.”

They scrambled back through the admin building. Smoke from the burning cellblocks, connected through a dark, collapsed gantry, stung their eyes. Jack coughed and pulled Ethan’s sweatshirt up over his nose, trying to filter the worst of the smoke. The sweatshirt was still damp and cold, but he’d layered it over the sweater and clothes he’d taken from the prison officers’ closet. His eyes watered, going hazy.

Sergey hauled open a side door after kicking apart the rusted lock. It opened to a narrow walkway, a tiny space cut into the rocky cliffs facing the prison. Hard, packed snow rose to their thighs, and they climbed up onto the walkway one at a time.

Halfway through the passage, a rusted ladder hung down the side of the prison, outside the burning cellblocks. Concrete walls kept the blaze inside, for now. Everything on the first floor was already in flames. Sergey pointed to the ladder. “That is your way up.”

Jack eyed it. Black paint had chipped and flaked, revealing pockmarked metal and rust. Some parts had rotted almost completely through. “Will it hold?”

“One way to find out.” Sergey grabbed the ladder and hefted himself up.

It creaked—metal groaning, rivets screaming—but held.

“Is good,” Sergey grunted. He started to climb.

Jack glared up at him, but followed.

Ten feet above, Sergey placed his foot on one of the metal rungs and went right through it. The rung disintegrated, metal flakes and rust dust spraying down on Jack. He hugged the ladder, sputtering, as Sergey grabbed hold of the next rung, quickly pulling himself higher. “That one is bad,” he called. “Watch out.”

“Right.”

They made it to the roof, Jack cracking through one rung after it strained under Sergey’s weight. He slipped, but held fast with his thighs and his hands. He was near the top of the ladder when the rung went, and Sergey managed to reach over and haul him up the last few feet. They came over the roof’s edge and landed in deep snow, rising to their shins, and beneath that, a packed ice layer that kept them from sinking all the way through.

Ducking low, they pulled out their rifles and made their way across. “Any idea where he is?” Jack whispered.

Sergey shook his head. He scanned the rooftop, his head on a swivel. Jack fought back a tiny smile. Sergey was back, finally. Back to being the FSB agent he was. They’d need that if they were going to get out of there.

The rooftop was covered in snow and ice, sunken in the middle and with deep drifts piled high on the corners. From there, they’d have a view of the entire yard, the front gate, and the fence line. If Milos was out there, they’d be able to find him. Take him out.

Like Ethan would do.

“You take that corner.” Jack pointed to the south. “I’ll take the other.”

They moved slowly, keeping low. Snow tumbled beneath Jack’s jacket, down his sweatshirt. His fingers stung, shocked by the cold of the rooftop and the chill of the metal on the rifle in his hands. Decades old, it had been practically an antique when the prison was still operational.

Finally, they arrived at their corners. Sergey lay down in the snow, propping his rifle on the lip of the roof’s edge. Jack did the same, hissing as the cold hit his belly when his layers rode up.

He scanned the yard, the fence line. Peered into the guard shacks. Everything was quiet. Eerily so. The snow had stopped falling, but the world was still preternaturally silent. There was almost an expectant hush, waiting. Each breath seemed as loud as a gunshot. He wanted to wait to breathe, hold his breath forever.

At some point, breathing would become an issue. Smoke kept climbing from the first floor, belching skyward. His nose twitched and tickled. They had time, for now. But not forever. Milos had better make his move soon.

Milos was a hunter, Sergey had said. Stalked his victims. Weakened them, and then went in for the kill. Jack wished he’d paid attention, all those years ago, when his dad was trying to teach him about hunting. He’d never cared for it, and what little knowledge his dad had passed on had long since been replaced with song lyrics and congressional minutiae. What was the next move? What did they do now?

At the very least, he remembered being bored while hunting with his dad. Waiting for what felt like an eternity.

They’d stay put. Take their time. As much as they could.

He glanced down the roof, toward Sergey. Sergey glanced back.

Thump.Below them, something hollow sounded, like a soup can fired out of a tube. A dull whump, and a near-silent hiss.

Two dark canisters arced into the air, sailing over the edge of the roof. They landed in the snow, gentle puffs billowing out from where they lay.

“Go!” Sergey hollered. He waved at Jack, already scrambling to his feet. “Go! Grenades!” Panic lay in his gaze, and even from across the roof, Jack could see the whites around his eyes.

He couldn’t run back to the ladder. He wouldn’t make it.

Jack looked over the edge of the roof, toward the prison yard.