I want to burst into tears, but I can’t—there’s no time for panic. There’s not even time to vomit, though my stomach is heaving. Even Ruslan is tense as a wire by my heels. Only Adrik remains oblivious, still fast asleep against my chest.
“Come on,” Dom urges me.
“What about Ruslan?” I say.
Dom presses his lips together, shaking his head. “I can’t carry him, too,” he says.
Because I said his name, Ruslan looks up at me, whining softly.
I feel like my heart will break.
I give him one pat on the head, then I take Dom’s hand.
Dom is already halfway out the window, the rain pouring down on his head. I wrap my arms around his neck, careful not to crush Adrik between us.
As soon as I climb out the window, I’m soaked. The rain is coming down much heavier than I thought, hard and almost frozen. I can barely hold on to Dom’s neck. The idea of him carrying us anywhere is madness.
The monastery is made of stone—every bit of it. The stones are rough and tightly stacked. But time has worn down the mortar between them. There are crevices, into which you can jam your fingers.
Dom hangs down from the windowsill with me on his back and Adrik on my chest. Adrik stirs, the cold and the stray raindrops finally waking him up. But he doesn’t cry because he can smell my skin and knows that I’m holding him.
I close my eyes as Dom begins to descend the stone wall.
I’m clinging to his neck as tightly as I can, without crushing the baby or strangling Dom. I can feel the muscles of his back and shoulders straining to hold us all up. The stone is wet. The crevices are small.
But inch by inch, he’s taking us down.
I can’t look. I can’t see how far we’ll fall if he loses his grip. I don’t know if Dom can see in the dark with all this rain falling. He might only be finding his way down by touch.
I can feel his body shaking. I know how heavy I must be—heavier by the second as my hoodie gets more and more soaked.
Then above us, through the open window, I hear the pounding sound of someone trying to break through the door. Blow after blow, and the sound of splintering wood. Ruslan barks with fury.
Dom climbs down even faster.
Ruslan barks again. As the door bursts open, I hear my dog give a ferocious snarl, like no noise I’ve heard him make before.
I hear a shout of pain and two gunshots—not popping anymore, but loud and sharp through the open window. Then silence.
At the same moment Dom’s body jerks. I think he’s lost his grip and we’re falling down. Then I realize he’s landed on the ground. We’ve made it. I slip off his back, my feet sinking in the wet grass.
I can’t see anything in the yard. Usually the grounds are illuminated by perimeter lights, but all those lights are out. In the dark and rain, I can only barely make out the distant shapes of the greenhouse and the stables.
I hear more shooting from the opposite side of the yard, where the front gates are located. There’s only one way in or out of the monastery walls, and it’s through those gates.
I can see Dom deliberating. He’s wondering if we should try to get to the garage to get a car. But the garage is on the opposite side of the monastery. Instead, he looks toward the stables.
“That’s where we’re going,” he murmurs in my ear.
We’re pressed up against the monastery wall. To get to the stables, we’ll have to cross the open ground.
“Now,” Dom says.
We start to run, Dom holding tight to my arm because his legs are longer and he’s much faster, especially since I have to support Adrik’s head with my free hand.
We make it only thirty yards.
Then I hear the crack of a rifle. Dom crumbles, dragging me down to the ground.
I tumble over on the grass, falling awkwardly on my side to protect the baby, my hands cradling his head and neck. Adrik starts crying in earnest, wailing from the jolt.
But it’s Dom I’m trying to get to as I scramble back over the muddy ground. He’s been shot, I don’t know where.
Dom shoves the Glock into my hand.
“Run!” he hisses at me.
“Dom, are you—“
“RUN!” he shouts.
He shoves me, pushing me back up to my feet.
I’m running, sprinting across the grass, trying to get to the stables. I’m terrified that any minute I’ll hear another crack, signaling another bullet in my husband’s body, or one headed for my back.
I pass a crumpled mass of fur, wet and bloody. I realize it’s Grigia, another of the dogs. I see two more, shot outside the stables. I wish I could check on them, but I’ve got to get inside.
When I slip through the stable doors it’s silent inside—no dogs that I can see, and no humans either.
The stable contains six horse stalls, as well as stairs leading to an upper loft. I climb those stairs, trying to hide as far away as possible, but terrified that I might only be putting myself in the most remote and inescapable position.
I have the Glock at least. If anyone comes up those steps, I’ll shoot them without hesitation. I’m not the marksman that Dom is, but I can hit a man in center mass—my husband taught me that at least.
Adrik is still crying, not loudly, but in an irritated and confused manner. I unzip the hoodie and pull down the neck of my shirt enough to give him the breast. Never one to refuse food, he’s soon gulping away happily. I use the sleeve of my sweatshirt to dry the rain from his face.
Then I sit back against the wall, watching the stairs. Praying that it’s Dom who will come up them.
But I’m afraid he’s dying in the yard.
33
Dom
I’m lying in the wet grass, my leg on fire.
I’ve been shot through the thigh. I’ve never actually been shot before. It feels like someone doused my leg in gasoline and set it ablaze. The whole limb is rigid and useless. I don’t think I could even drag it, let alone stand.
It amazes me how fast and hard I fell. As soon as the bullet hit me, it was like an electric shock that short-circuited every neuron in my body. From a clinical perspective, it’s fascinating.
The problem is that someone is probably coming to finish the job. Any second, I expect to feel the kill shot to my head or chest. It’s not me I’m thinking of, but Lara and my son. I can’t die like this, leaving them to the mercy of those animals. Worse than animals because animals aren’t cruel.
I hear boots thudding across the grass and I try to hold as still as possible, to look like I’m already dead. In the shelter of my body, my hand scrabbles in the grass, searching for whatever I can find.
Whoever is approaching wasn’t well-trained. You never come so close. You double-tap the body from a distance to confirm the kill.
But this idiot comes and stands right over me. He even tries to roll me over with the toe of his boot.
I let my body flop over bonelessly.
Then I grip the rock I found tight in my fist and I fling it directly into his face.
It’s a beautiful shot. Like David and Goliath. His face is comically shocked, before he topples over backward.
My celebration lasts about five seconds. Then more bullets rip through the grass.
I grab that idiot’s limp body and I roll it over on top of me. His arms jerk as bullets hit his chest and belly, thankfully imploding in his flesh and not carrying through into mine.