It was a quiet urban morning. Adam was hidden from view by an oak tree whose leaves were rustled by a light wind. He looked up and down the street one last time. It was deserted.
Unaware of the life-or-death situations unfolding in this quiet neighborhood, the world continued to sleep. He moved after lowering the baseball cap over his eyes.
He did not move. He took off running. A blur of movement carried him to the side of his own house, followed by a silent run across the street. With quick simplicity, he jumped over the wooden fence that surrounded the property.
His movements were precise and economical as he landed gently on the grass. In his own backyard, he was a ghost.
He touched the rusted and cold drainpipe. He placed his weight on it, and it protested with a groan. He ignored the noise. He began to climb. The rough metal supports holding the pipe to the wall provided a firm grip for his hands. The brickwork provided a toehold for his feet. It was a long, slow climb.
