Chapter Eight
We stand there in the entranceway as one minute ticks by. Then two. No one speaks and no one moves. All eyes are on me, like they’re waiting for me to try to sprint after the two soldiers or, more likely, burst into tears. I feel like it. They’re there, lurking just beneath the surface.
Something I’ve learned from living with soldiers for two years: use any weapon at your disposal.
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I let my eyes glisten until fat droplets threaten to spill over. Hauling in a ragged gasp, I turn towards the stairway.
“I’m going to my room,” I sob. No one moves to stop me as I sprint up towards the balcony. More importantly: no one follows.
I jog my way along the wide balcony, hugging the wall so I’m unlikely to be visible from below. When I reach my door I fling it open, then yank it back. The resounding bang fills in ears, making my heart jump even though I know it’s coming. I wait a moment, listen to the echoes and then the silence, but there are no sounds of feet on stair-treads. They’ve decided to leave me alone to my grief, like I’d hoped they would. Lt. Graham’s reaction was up for debate but it appears he, too, is going to give me time to calm down. Perfect. I waste a precious few seconds locking the door – hopefully if anyone comes up in the near future they’ll think I’ve shut myself away and am giving them the silent treatment. It’s not exactly out of character.
Job done, I ghost towards the back, opening the door into the narrower corridor oh so carefully, oh so quietly. Easing it shut behind me, I bolt. Along the corridor, past the lift, taking the right angle and following the long, long corridor that will lead me to the stairs that will spit me out… in next door’s casino. This is my only idea: to sneak through O’Reilly’s and out its revolving door, then make a run for it. My tracking skills aren’t up to much, but if I make it to the street I’m fairly certain I can work out which way north is. Maybe I’ll get really lucky and there will be footsteps in the sand of me to follow. Doubtful, though. Kyle and Lopez are the type of soldiers who could cross a field of pristine snow and leave no trail.
Clopping down the stairs at last, I slow my pace. My heart is drumming in my ears, deafening me, and I’m not sure how far sound carries. If any of the soldiers hear sounds coming through the archway, they’ll be on to me before I can so much as put my hand to the revolving door at the exit.
Crossing the gambling floor is the trickiest part. I’m half-tempted just to trust to fate and run for it, but that’ll be loud and clumsy, and if it comes to a race I know hands down I’ll lose. I cross, cautiously and carefully, along the farthest wall from the archway, using the banks of machines to hide my presence. I can’t resist a peek through, though. And there they are, huddled in a group. All one, two, three, four, five of them. Even as I’m sliding past I know there’s something wrong with that picture. Five? There should be six. Who’s missing, and where are they? There’s no time or sense stopping to investigate, though, and there are any number of things the mysterious missing member could be up to that don’t involve stalking me.
I reach the revolving door without incident and quickly scan what I can see of the street. Empty. My view is blocked and there are numerous little alleys and shadowed doorways that could conceal someone, but that’s just a risk I’m going to have to take. Pressing gently, I try to encourage the door to shift. I know it opens – I almost fell through it the other day after all – but what I don’t know is if it squeaks. It hasn’t exactly been in regular use over the past while. God seems to be on my side, though, because once I get it shifting, the thing swings smoothly. There’s a little grating noise which is probably sand and dust stuck in the mechanism, but I don’t think it’s loud enough to draw anyone’s attention. I keep going until there’s a big enough gap for me to step through, then I shimmy my way outside.
