Page 43 of Enemy Within

Bullets spat past his cheek. Milos was on the ground, just beneath them, firing upward.

“Jack!Go!”

Go where? He rolled back, escaping Milos’s burst of fire, and scrambled on his belly, heading to the side of the roof. He peered down again.

The fire was worse on this side, flames licking out of broken windows. But deep snowdrifts lay against the building, blown by the winds. He could jump. Maybe.

“Jack!”

Hehadto jump.Now.

God, Ethan would throw a fit if he saw this. Taking a deep breath, Jack hauled himself up and over the side, sliding on his belly until he rolled over the edge. He clung to his rifle as he fell.

Freefall grabbed him, flinging him toward the ground. He thought he left his stomach on the roof. Primal thoughts screamed in his mind, desperate pleas that the snow be soft enough, deep enough, that he lived through the next moment. Ethan’s face hung in his mind, Ethan’s smile, the warmth of his arms.

Whomp.He landed on his chest, face-first in the drift. Snow puffed around him, like a snow globe gone crazy. He couldn’t breathe; his lungs wouldn’t work, wouldn’t drag air into his body. He rolled, slowly, his arms fishtailing through the air as he struggled to physically drag oxygen into his mouth. Time slowed. The world lengthened, sounds distorted and stretched, like a rubber band pulled and pulled.

And then snapped. He sat up, gasping, heaving in breath after breath, his hands reaching for his throat, his chest, patting down his snow-covered jacket. He was alive. Somehow, he was alive.

Sergey. What about Sergey?

Jack stood, slipped, and trudged his way through the snow drifts. The fires still raged in the cellblock, licking through the windows. Black burns coated the concrete. Even in the snow, sweat started to prick at Jack’s skin.

Had the grenades detonated? Was Milos still out there, just around the corner?

He kept going, pushing through waist-deep snow.

Ratatatat.Gunshots. A burst of fire, from the front of the building. He froze.

Twin booms sounded, blasts that exploded from the rooftop. Concrete and snow sprayed through the air, arching high before raining down on Jack, the yard, and into the center of the prison. He ducked as the cellblock groaned, burned concrete and metal moaning, the sound setting his teeth on edge. A moment later, the roof caved in, snow and broken, rusted iron crashing through the second story and into the flames. The fire hissed as snow from the roof collapsed into the center, flames twisting and trying to survive, and burn higher.

He rose slowly, peering through the broken windows. He could see the sky and shattered concrete, twisted bits of iron. The roof was gone.

Where was Sergey? What were those shots?

Damn it, running through snow was worse than running through a dream. He couldn’t move any faster than a crawl, and his legs screamed, a burn that went from his hips to his toes. He tried to climb on top of the drift, but fell through, stuck with his fractional progress.Damn it!

Finally, he made it to the end of the building. The snow tapered out, and he stumbled the last few steps through ankle-deep powder. He leaned against the building, catching his breath, and then peeked around the corner.

In the center of the yard, Sergey was crawling on his side, a line of blood trailing him in the snow.

Milos stalked him slowly, a long, brutal-looking knife in one hand.

Jack raced across the packed snow. He slid on a patch of ice, but kept running, gripping his rifle tight. As he got to the edge of the yard, he bellowed, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Hey! Asshole! Over here!”

Milos turned and pulled a pistol from his waistband.

Jack, rifle already raised, fired.

The old Russian rifle kicked back against his shoulder and his shot went wide. Milos’s shot was better, whizzing past him close enough to hum.

Jack ducked, running for the base of a guard tower at the corner of the yard. Rotten wooden posts held the tower aloft, a crisscross of old timbers. He crouched low, peeking through the beams as Milos turned back to Sergey.

He lifted his rifle and took aim, closing one eye as he rested his cheek against the stock.

Sergey stopped crawling. He looked up at Milos and snarled. Jack was too far to hear what Sergey spat, but he watched his lips move.

Milos laughed. He grabbed Sergey by the collar of his sweater. Leaned in, and lifted the knife.