“Where are we?”
“Barneys New York.”
Tim paused, then nodded, as if that was the most normal thing he could have heard.
“Good, good,” Tim said. “I was looking for a sale on Manolos. Size eight, if you please.” He looked at the fur coats covering him, then at the one around Paulius’s shoulders.
“Nice,” Tim said. “Did you bring your pimp cane and my chalice?”
He was joking. That was a good sign. “How do you feel?”
Tim didn’t answer. He lifted his leg, looked at the blood-spotted bandage on his calf. “St.i.tches?”
Paulius nodded. “Yep. Seven, I think.”
“Blue Cross should cover that. Can I a.s.sume that your st.i.tches are all nice and neat?”
“Probably not,” Paulius said. “But they tell me scars are a mark of character.”
“Gosh, lucky me. I’ll have so much to talk about at my next book club meeting.”
Paulius subtly pointed at Ramierez. “He’s gut-shot, fading fast. Need you to fix him up.”
Tim stood. He pulled on one of the fur coats and limped over to Ramierez.
Paulius watched. Tim pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, then gently looked inside Ramierez’s fatigues, which Paulius had left open.
Tim hobbled back, spoke quietly enough that Ramierez couldn’t hear.
“I don’t have anything to work with,” Tim said. “Even if I did, I doubt I could save him. He’s lost too much blood. As he is now, he’s got maybe a few hours. Can we get a helicopter in here, get him back to the Coronado?”
“No, we can’t take that chance. We’re still too close to where the Converted have probably deployed their Stingers. We have to get farther north. Can we carry him?”
Tim pursed his lips, let out a long breath. “He wouldn’t last a half mile. He’s not the only one. I can barely move, hoss. Could we drive out?”
“Not without a tank. You saw the roads — too many cars blocking the way. We need something big, and I didn’t see any semis out there.”
Tim pulled at his lower lip as he thought.
Ramierez gave a halfhearted wave. “Commander, it’s Bosh. He’s got Roth. Coming in now.”
Paulius’s chest swelled with relief, but he tempered the emotion, pushed it down. Bosh could have made that call under duress.
“Otto, get up,” he said. “Come with me.” Paulius gripped Tim’s shoulder, turned him toward Ramierez.
“Ram, you need something to do. Show this man how to use your M4.”
Tim’s eyes went wide? “Me? I’m no good with guns.”
“Yes, you,” Paulius said. “And you’ll learn, right now. Go.”
Tim moved to Ramierez just as Otto walked up, Glock in hand.
“With me,” Paulius said, then walked to the top of the wide stairs.
One flight down, he saw Bosh quietly enter the store along with a big man wearing sweatpants, a red Chicago Bulls knit hat and a white-sleeved Chicago Bears letterman’s jacket. The man might have pa.s.sed for a civilian were it not for the SCAR-FN rifle in his trembling hands. Roth. The clothes looked cleaner than he did.
Bosh threw a quick salute, then turned back to guard the front doors.
Roth trudged up the stairs, each step an effort.
“Jesus H,” Paulius said. “You look like a pile of spilt f.u.c.k.”
Roth nodded. “At least I’m still ticking.”
“And Harrison?”
Roth shook his head. “We tried to hide in an office building. We stumbled onto a bunch of them camping out. It got crazy, sir. One of those giant f.u.c.king things threw a file cabinet at him. He went down, they swarmed on him, I … I couldn’t … I should have—”
“Forget it,” Paulius said, perhaps a little too sharply. “Just forget it. He died doing his job.”
Roth looked cashed out, mentally, physically and emotionally.
Paulius tugged the letterman jacket’s faux leather sleeve.
“Thought you were a Bengals fan.”
Roth patted the embroidered orange “C” on his left breast. “This thing kept me alive, sir. From now on, go Bears. Ramierez had the right idea — the bad guys were hunting us based on our uniforms. First store I found after I got away from that office was a fan shop. These clothes made it easier to blend in a little. From a distance, none of them gave me a second glance.”
Paulius slapped the bigger man on the shoulder. “Grab some sack time. We might have to move quick.”
Roth didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded and walked to a rack of sweaters. He didn’t even bother taking the sweaters down for padding, just crawled beneath them, lay on his back, and was out in seconds.
Margaret Montoya coughed, a lung-rattling sound that echoed through the cold store.
Clarence turned and walked toward her.
Paulius wondered what it was like to love a woman so much that you’d abandon reason and logic, let your heart blind you to what your eyes could plainly see. For the first time, he found himself feeling sorry for Clarence Otto.
Tim came at a fast hobble, his face lit up with excitement.
“Klimas, holy s.h.i.+t,” he said. “Remember that firehouse we saw on the way in?”
Where I shot two brave men in cold blood?
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I saw those cops,” Tim said. “I’m not pa.s.sing judgment, okay? Whatever had to be done had to be done, but I gathered they were guarding the firehouse. Were they?”
