WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) (11 page)

K
irra paused
a moment at the edge of the shadows and studied the people on the street. A group of four businessmen in western-style suits argued good-naturedly in the middle of the street. A man in a paint-stained tunic and trousers carried a clay pot into a shop three doors down on the left. Two sets of white people—two men wearing hiking gear and carrying backpacks, and two women in local skirts and blouses who exclaimed enthusiastically over batik cloth—would provide a bit of camouflage. An older woman in an elaborate tribal costume haggled with the proprietor over a cloth wall-hanging in the shop across the street from Kirra, while two teenagers looked on with a mix of amusement and annoyance. Three women strolled down the street. Their carelessly held purses would be easy to—

No. Fingering the guitar pick in her pocket, she took a deep breath.

According to Seth, aside from the rebels chasing her, this area had been free of rebel activity. Tourists who enjoyed a bit of risk often mingled with buyers hunting for authentic African art. With her hair completely wrapped in a scarf in the local style and dark glasses from Seth’s emergency backpack, Kirra felt marginally anonymous.

All she had to do was work her way casually to the shop four doors down on the left, so that no one watching would suspect the shop as being her intended destination. Inside the low walls surrounding the front yard, stacks of brightly colored, handwoven baskets were displayed on benches and tables. Both the front gate and the front door to the building were open in welcome. She plotted various approaches before finally deciding on one that would provide the least amount of exposure to the stark sunlight in the middle of the street.

She had the pass phrase and Seth had assured her that whenever the shop was open, at least one employee on duty would be a volunteer with the underground network. It intrigued her that he worked for violent psychopaths like Natchaba, but also had contacts with those working against the rebels. Yet another facet in a complicated man.

A man who claimed to be responsible for hundreds of deaths. She knew he’d been attempting to drive her away, yet the anguish in his eyes had given him away. Whatever had happened, he wasn’t a stone-cold killer.

Or maybe you’re just seeing there what you need to. As you did with Franz.

No. Seth was different. Franz would never have insisted on hooking her up with this underground network so she’d be safe. Franz had never done anything that hadn’t directly benefited him.

Focus.

Kirra shook her head, then scanned the street once more. No signs of danger.

Sauntering out from the shadow of the trees, she made a show of browsing through the jewelry displayed outside the first shop. Training kept her body loose despite the itchy feeling at the back of her neck that screamed she was being watched. Aware that any of the passersby or vendors could be spying for the rebels, she stayed at the shop long enough for her interest in the jewelry to appear genuine, then moved on before the merchant came outside to greet her.

“If someone spots you, be boring. Normal,” Aaron, the head thief told her. “Give them reason to doubt their suspicion.”

At the next shop she waited while the two male backpackers bought local tunics, then followed them out. Given her backpack, a casual observer would assume the men were her companions. The corner of her mouth twitched. It was a bit alarming how easily she slipped into the role of a clueless tourist. She’d played dozens of roles during her time as a thief, from guileless starving artist to spoiled rich girl. But the stakes had never been as high.

She’d be lying if she said that the buzz in her veins wasn’t mostly excitement.
I miss this.

No. She had a good life. Her music mattered to her and to her fans. She would not risk her career because she missed the thrill of pitting her wits against others. Yes, she’d taken secret pleasure in breaking the law and getting away with it, but that life had nearly killed her.

Nonetheless, as she stopped behind the two men at a shop displaying wooden statues, her fingers itched to slip a palm-sized antelope into her pocket. Just to prove she hadn’t lost her touch.

Do it, and you’ll be little better than the rebels, breaking laws for no other reason than because you can.

Sighing, she stuck her hand in her pocket, edged away from the table, and trailed the two men onto the street.

Her shoulders suddenly tensed as instincts that had saved her from arrest more than once warned her of an imminent threat. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black Land Rover glide into sight at the end of the street. The driver’s door displayed the same insignia as the rebels who’d captured her.

Pass on by. There’s nothing to see here.

The vehicle turned down the street.

It was possible the rebels intended to cause trouble for all the foreigners present, but Kirra couldn’t take that chance. She squeezed into the narrow space between two shops and hurried toward the back of the buildings where a wide strip of dirt ran along an uncovered drainage ditch. Spurred on by the sound of men’s shouts and the squeal of rubber, as if a vehicle had just taken off at great speed, she sprinted past a woman shaking out a rug and raced across the concrete slab serving as a footbridge.

Kirra ducked into the trees on the other side.

“There she is!”

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Two rebels were running across the dirt behind the nearest building. The one in the lead raised his rifle and fired.

A bullet tore into the tree to her right. Kirra zig-zagged through the grove until the trees ended and she spilled onto a concrete lane barely wide enough for a car. Her professional calmness settled into place, allowing her to assess the situation without being hampered by fear.

She had to stay among the relative protection of the houses until she reached the street where Seth had parked the car.

Bullets hit the concrete around her as she dashed across the lane. Shards hit her legs, but not hard enough to penetrate her trousers. Barely slowing, she squeezed between two large houses set apart by tall security walls. Once she reached the other end of the narrow alley, she ran full tilt across the lawn, urged on by the pounding feet of the rebels behind her. She didn’t dare look back to see how close they were. It might cost her precious time. And she needed every second.

She burst onto the street. Tires squealed. She glanced right and saw the rebels’ Land Rover screech around the corner of the street and barrel toward her.

Kirra swerved left and bolted up a driveway of a house surrounded by an adobe wall with a barred gate. On this side of the wall there were only a few decorative trees that offered no place to hide. Wishing she was back on the beach with its numerous hiding places, she skidded around the corner of the wall and pelted along a dirt footpath that led to the back.

Only a few more streets to go.

And if Seth’s already driven away?

No. She refused to believe that. He’d promised to watch until she’d reached safety. He must have seen the rebels. He wouldn’t leave her.

She heard the Land Rover slam to a halt back on the street. Doors opened. Men shouted.

Kirra sprinted along the footpath as it turned right across another drainage ditch, then wound through another thin grove of trees. The trees ended at an access lane between a row of modest houses on her left and an overgrown canal on her right. Without breaking stride, she ran down the lane, then turned between two houses sharing a shade tree that would hide her momentarily from her pursuers.

Her peripheral vision caught movement to her left a moment before someone grabbed her. A strong male hand covered her mouth while an arm snaked around her torso, trapping her arms against her sides. She was lifted off her feet, turned, and hustled into a dark place.

She shook her head and fought frantically.

Darkness…Pain…Being dragged over a rough surface then dumped onto cold, hard concrete.

“Die, bitch,” Franz whispered to her, his voice so laden with hatred that she almost didn’t recognize it. “Die!”

She couldn’t breathe. Panic froze her limbs as the familiar pain burrowed into her skull.

“Shh,” a male voice whispered in her ear. “Don’t scream, Kirra. It’s Seth.”

Recognizing only that her captor was male, she lashed out with elbows and fists.

Her captor wrapped his second arm around her torso and trapped her legs with his. Blood pounded furiously in her head. Her vision tunneled. She struggled to breathe.

Finally the softly murmured words of encouragement and safety, combined with the absence of pain, broke through her panic.

“S-Seth?”

“Yeah.”

She sagged against his hold. As panic receded, dots danced across her vision and her legs turned to jelly.

“Are you okay?” Seth spoke so quietly she barely heard him over the rapid pounding of her heart. She nodded and he released her. When she wobbled, he took her hand and placed her palm flat against the wall. “We’re in the garage. I’m going to move over to the window to stand guard. Keep quiet and stay here.”

Not trusting her voice, Kirra nodded again. She let her backpack slide gently to the floor, then crossed her arms against the wall and pressed her forehead to the back of her hands while she struggled to catch her breath. She didn’t know how long it took for her heartbeat to slow and her ears to register anything beside the rush of her blood through her veins. Finally, she turned around. Sunlight shone through a small window in the opposite wall, illuminating a patch of the concrete floor while leaving Seth in shadow. He stood beside the window, pistol in hand, watching the rebels run past.

Kirra squeezed her eyes shut. She knew they weren’t safe yet, but the sharp transition from panic to relief had left her weak. She focused on her breathing and getting her equilibrium back so that she’d be ready to run if they were found. Yet she couldn’t stop shaking. She was so cold.

She tried to warm herself up by rubbing her arms with her hands, but that didn’t help. Afraid of giving their position away, she clenched her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.

All she had to do was hold on and this reaction would pass.

“I am safe. I am in control,” she murmured. But she wasn’t safe yet. The rebels were too close. Repeating the mantra didn’t help.

Eyes still closed, she tried to find happy memories to warm her. But part of her mind remained trapped in that darkness where Franz and his friends had left her to die. The only sound had been her own labored breathing. The only sensations had been pain and the slow chill of death taking her over.

Her headache intensified. She shuddered and sank to the floor.

“Hey,” Seth murmured.

Kirra opened her eyes and saw him crouched in front of her, worry on his face.

“It’s okay,” he said. He stood and pulled her into his arms. Then he ran his hands up and down her back.

She snuggled against his warmth. Here was safety. Here was strength.

“Are you ready to move out?” he whispered against her ear once her tremors had stopped.

She nodded.

“Give me your backpack.”

Knowing she was still too shaky to carry the extra weight, she handed it over.

Seth shrugged into the shoulder straps and adjusted the backpack for his larger frame. Then he nodded toward the door he’d pulled her through. “We’re going out that way. Follow my lead and we’ll be back at the Land Cruiser in five minutes.” He nodded to his left. “I moved it, trying to get close enough to find you before the rebels did.”

She’d been heading in the wrong direction. She swallowed back a surge of fear at how close she’d come to missing him.
Don’t think about maybes and what-ifs.

Taking a deep breath, she followed him outside. The sunlight assaulted her eyes after the darkness of the garage. Seth bent down. When he straightened, he held out the sunglasses she’d been wearing. She must have lost them when he grabbed her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He led her behind the house, through a thicker stand of trees, and into knee-high grass. A few times they flattened themselves on the ground or in the narrow space between buildings while rebels walked past. Where had all these men come from? They wouldn’t all have fit in that Land Rover.

She followed Seth across yet another drainage ditch and alongside a smaller house. At the corner of the garage he put his arm out to signal for her to stop, then pointed. His Land Cruiser was parked in the driveway. He turned to her. “I’m going to remotely unlock the vehicle.” Seth slid her backpack off his shoulders and held it in his left hand. “Get in as fast as you can. The vehicle isn’t armored, but once we’re behind the tinted glass, the rebels won’t know who we are.”

“Okay.”

Seth moved behind Kirra. The lights on the Land Cruiser flashed.

“Go!”

Kirra ran toward the vehicle, yanked open the door, and leapt in.

A man yelled. Kirra turned her head to peer out Seth’s door. Four rebels burst into view four houses down.

Seth swore, jumped behind the wheel, and jerked the door shut. He jammed the key into the ignition, shoved the vehicle into reverse, and sped down the driveway as the rebels opened fire. The side window behind his seat shattered under a hail of bullets. Kirra screamed and ducked, hugging her knees.

The vehicle lurched onto the street and kept going in reverse. What was Seth doing? Didn’t he know that—

The vehicle spun so sharply, the tires squealed and the momentum flung Kirra against her door.

Seth shifted out of reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The back window splintered.

He cursed. The Land Cruiser shot forward. Seth spun the wheel and they rocketed onto an intersecting street.

More bullets hit the back windscreen. Pieces of glass turned into shrapnel, peppering the passenger area.

The Land Cruiser leapt forward with a powerful growl. Kirra lifted her head. “Exactly how much horsepower does this thing have?”

Seth gave her a pirate’s grin. “She’s a getaway vehicle.” He patted the dash. “In the U.S. she wouldn’t be street legal.” He flicked a glance at the only intact sideview mirror, the one on Kirra’s side. “We’re losing them.”