He shouts, but I’m already across the back seat and out the other side of the car before he’s gotten around the open door.
“Run, Bianca. Run!” I push her ahead of me and we take off across the parking garage.
Our heeled boots make a racket on the hard floor, the heavy sound of the gunman’s steps getting closer together as he catches up. He’s faster, but we’re smaller. I push us into a tiny gap between a support pillar and another delivery van parked near the exit ramp.
A bullet bites into the concrete just above our heads and I muffle a scream as we careen around the van. It’s one of a fleet of delivery vehicles all parked in a row. Just past them on the right is the ramp leading to the top floor of the garage. On the left is a sign for a different pedestrian exit to the street.
“That way!” I hiss in Bianca’s ear, pointing at the pedestrian exit. If we’re able to make it there, we should end up in a vestibule that has elevators up to the ground level. Not ideal, but at least it puts several commercial-strength doors between us and the man with the gun.
Behind us, our attacker’s footsteps slow. He’s trying to figure out which van we’re hiding behind. The more shots he fires without hitting his target, the more likely it is the cops show up before the job’s done. It’s the only reason I can think of for why he’s holding fire.
I’m about to nudge Bianca forward, wild with fear that he’s going to find us at any second, when she points down at her boots. “Off,” she mouths.
She’s not wrong. Our footsteps give us away. But we lose seconds slipping the zippers down and sliding the boots off our feet. I’m still holding one of mine when I give her a little shove. “We have to move.”
Bianca nods, her jaw set with determination. We slide along the wall, keeping to the shadows as best we can. The vans are large, parked with their rears to the wall. The sideview mirrors all point away from the gunman so he can’t catch our reflection.
Only a small mercy, it turns out. Bianca and I have snuck past the third van, just halfway to where we need to escape to the left, when I hear a curse and a loudthud.
The vehicle we’ve just passed shakes. Metal crunches. Boots crack on glass.
“He’s climbing to the top of the vans,” I whisper in Bianca’s ear. “We have to run, go!”
We run as fast and as quietly as possible. Sweat is pouring down my spine, pain jarring through my heels as my stocking feet slam into the pavement.
Bianca is quick. She clears the corner to the left, vanishing behind the wall just as the gunman jumps to the roof of the final van.
I’m two steps behind her. He shouts. I duck, covering my head with my hands, my boot hitting the back of my neck as I hear the gun cock behind me.
I make the hard left, skimming my shoulder against the concrete corner just as a bullet whizzes over my head. I swear I can smell gunpowder as I chase Bianca through the glass doors into the vestibule.
My feet hit cold marble. Bianca grabs my arm and hauls me through. I trip, my knees crashing into the ground as Bianca slams the door shut behind us.
From the corner of my eye, I see the flash of metal. The glass door shakes and Bianca curses.
“What—?” I’m panting, terrified, out of breath.
“Shhh,” she says, voice tense. She’s holding something in her hand. It’s a…knife. Small, but the point is wicked looking. She jams it into the door’s lock then twists. I hear the deadbolt slam home. “Your boot!”
I don’t think, I just throw. Bianca grabs it out of the air and brings it down on the knife as hard as she can.
The gunman appears on the other side of the glass. Even through the barrier we can hear the click of the hammer.
“Lena! The elevator!” Bianca’s screaming, all reason to be quiet gone.
I scramble forward, reach up and hit the elevator button as Bianca slams my boot into the knife again.
She gets in one more strike before the bullet cracks the window.
She jumps back, dropping my boot. But she’s done it. The knife blade is bent, jamming the door locked.
“Go, go!” she screams, pointing at the elevator as the doors slide open.
The gunman is slamming the butt of his gun into the door. The bullet made a crack and it’s getting bigger and bigger with every hit.
I hear glass hit the floor just as the doors of the elevator close behind us.
Bianca presses the street level button repeatedly. We kneel beneath the control panel, as tucked into the corner of the elevator as we can get. Arms wrapped around each other, we keep the other upright.