I fell in behind him without a word; he matched my pace at my side. We moved, hunched, slipping past the parked cars.
I took a careful look around; I was pretty sure the street was under surveillance.
A little way from the building, we tucked in behind a black van. I lifted my head, peered across the road—and held my breath as a black people carrier with tinted windows rolled to a stop outside the entrance. The sliding doors hissed open and more than six armed men in black spilled out.
Ashur crouched beside me, eyes locked on them. At the same time, he fished something from his trouser pocket, bent, and started working the car door. I shot a glance around and growled, tense, 'Come on.'
I kept my gaze forward. They were hard to see in the gloom, but they all filed into the building; a few in plain clothes remained outside. I glared at them—hot, hateful—wishing I were in better shape so I could butcher the lot of them. I still had unfinished business with that bastard doctor.
A soft click. The door popped. At Ashur's nod I ducked, squeezed through the half-open door, and slid into the passenger seat. He got in and immediately started hot-wiring.
I reclined the seat and narrowed my eyes at the building. Union agents paced the perimeter, scanning.
'They're looking for us,' I breathed. 'Give it a minute and they'll realise we've given them the slip. We need to move.'
Ashur didn't look up from the wires. 'Got a better route?'
The engine coughed to life and I opened my mouth. 'I still don't get why the Organisation didn't send any backup—'
A black van slammed into our side. My head smacked the window; the car jumped the kerb, skidded onto the pavement, and crunched into a wall. The horn screamed in my skull.
I blinked through the blur. Ashur's voice cut in: 'Viuna… hey…'
A steel bar smashed the side window; glass went everywhere. I doubled over, but rough hands hooked round my neck to drag me out through the gap. Panic jolted me awake. I locked eyes with Ashur—my brain snapping back online—as he reached for my waist, hauled me in with one arm and, with the other, drew his pistol and fired right past my ear. The hands at my throat flinched away with a scream; the man staggered back from the window.
I twisted to Ashur, stunned. His stare had turned feral, fixed ahead. He stamped on the accelerator. The stink of burning brake pads and rubber rose as the car tore free and lunged forward. My back slammed into the seat.
Gunfire cracked over us—they were shooting at the car. 'They've found us!' I shouted.
Ashur lifted his gun, dropped the man sprinting alongside with his weapon raised, and at the same time wrenched the wheel one-handed. 'Th… thanks for the tip,' he said, voice cold as ice.
He slammed it into reverse and ploughed into the agents firing from behind. I ducked, snatched my own gun from the floor, smashed the crazed glass on my side with my elbow, levelled at the Triune Union, and fired.
And that's when it hit me:
Maybe we'd crawled out of hell, but hell was going to chase us for ever.