Flee Read Free Page B

back.
    My
breath came fast, my heart pumping like a cardio workout, but my mind was
focused and clear. The time between shots told me the sniper was using a bolt
action rifle. Calculating the hypotenuse of the trajectory told me he was in
the apartment building to the west, roughly one floor above me. He'd either been
on the fire escape facing my apartment, or in one of the rooms. When the police
arrived, he must have deduced my only way out was the roof, so he'd gone up as
well. His building was seven stories taller than mine. The higher the sniper ascended,
the better his angle, the easier his shot.
    I
needed to get off the roof.
    Since
the sniper was in motion, I assumed he hadn't any time to secure his mount.
That meant each time he fired, he'd have to load another bullet, which would
cause an unmoored rifle to jiggle a bit. On a telescopic lens, the slightest
jiggle would force him to readjust after every shot. The high wind would make
hitting a moving target even tougher.
    "This
is the Chicago Police Department! Put down your weapon and put your hands above
your head!"
    I
glanced back at the doorway, saw the cops standing there like paper targets, and
yelled, "There's a sniper on the opposite building!"
    They
followed my voice, training their guns my way. I got up on my fingers and toes,
hopped to get my feet under me, and sprinted east.
    I
registered my mistake immediately, when the tar paper around my feet erupted in
weapon fire. The sniper had a fully automatic rifle, not a bolt action as I'd
assumed. He was a pro, and he'd played me.
    But
he underestimated how fast I could move, and where I would go. I didn't bother
zig-zagging or back-tracking, which were standard sniper counter-measures. I
beelined for the roof's edge, feet slapping hard for maximum traction.
    Ready
or not…
    Stretching
out my hands, I dove off the side of the building.
    I
soared through the air, bullets cracking the sound barrier all around me. Heights
weren't my strongest suit, and as I caught a glimpse of the street ten stories
below—the cars and trees and people looking like toys—every part of me wanted
to scream.
    Use
the adrenaline. Use the adrenaline.
    Arms
open and reaching, I waited for the fire escape I prayed was still there, the
fire escape I hadn't checked since my long-ago roof reconnaissance when I first
moved into the apartment.
    My
memory was a bit off.
    The
fire escape was still on the side of the building, but my angle was wrong by
about a foot. The railing blurred as I passed over it and out into open sky.
    Shit
shit shit.
    I
adjusted, bending into a pike, reaching back around. My elbow hooked onto the
iron railing, jerking me backward. I felt sharp pain and heard a pop —my
shoulder had dislocated or broken. I clung to the side of the fire escape, my
feet dangling above the alley two hundred feet below.
    Pain
ripped through my arm and down my side. No time to dwell on it now. I had
precious few seconds to get my footing and get down to the ground level before
the various people after me figured out where to look. I'd have to file the
pain away, deal with it later. I reached up with my good hand, did a one-armed
pull-up to disengage my elbow, and sought out the rusty iron grating with my
toes. Then I flipped myself over the railing and scurried to the first ladder,
trying to process my situation.
    The
sniper would be vacating. He'd seen the cops and given away his position. I had
a whole building between him and me, so he was off my worry list for the moment.
The cops were another story. The ones on the roof would take cover, radio for
back up. Any units on the ground would be moving into position beneath me.
    The
breeze was considerable. I had to use my injured arm just to make sure I didn't
blow off the ladder. My muscles screamed at me for relief, but I made them work
anyway, pushing my way down the first three floors fast as I could. I chanced a
look down, my mind swirling, vertigo tugging at me. A quick flash of