Page 4

CHAPTER 3

SHIT! WHAT NOW?

We staggered through the back corridor together and headed down the back staircase. Fire alarms were blaring. Residents from the lower floors poured out of the doorways onto every landing. People were shouting, crying, asking what the hell happened. Gas explosion? Terrorists? Earthquake? Nobody knew.

I knew. So did Kira. But we didn’t say a word.

We elbowed our way through the crowd and hurried down to the basement level. We pushed through the loading bay doors. My ears were still ringing. Fire trucks were rolling up out front, but the sirens barely registered.

I looked at Kira. I knew we were both thinking the exact same thing. The assassins thought we were already in the loft. And we almost were. If we’d gotten there just ten seconds sooner…

All we had now were the clothes on our backs. We were covered in dust. Our shoes and pants were still crusted with tunnel slime. We reeked of smoke and sewage. But we were still breathing.

Kira pulled out her cell phone and tapped out a quick text.

“We need to change,” she said.

“Clothes?”

“Everything.”

I followed her down the alley behind the building and across an empty parking lot. We worked our way past dumpsters and loading docks, staying off the main streets as she led me on another rat’s-eye-level tour of the city.

After about twenty minutes, we stopped across from a small commercial block near Douglas Park. I saw two hole-in-the-wall bars, a pizza shop, and a small beauty salon. The other businesses were buzzing, but the salon was dark. A CLOSED sign hung on the inside of the glass door.

Kira led the way across the street. The salon was named Diva. Kira rang the bell twice. A few seconds later, a light came on inside. A lanky Black woman made her way from the back toward the door. Early thirties. About Kira’s age. Thick, beaded dreadlocks dangled around her shoulders. She flicked the lock and pulled the door open. When she saw Kira, she rocked back.

“Whoa, honey!” she said. “How many lives you got left?”