“The transport’s delayed because of road closures. We’ll be there this evening,” a woman’s voice said. Boris cursed and tossed the cheap phone onto the couch. The delay irritated him. He wanted this finished.
He locked Annie’s bedroom door from the outside with a hard turn of the key. Annie ran to it and pounded with both fists, crying for help. Her voice disappeared into the apartment’s dead silence.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Mike Shaw was escaping the underground field hospital. He had taken an old volunteer Jeep and wrapped fresh bandages around wounds that had started bleeding again. Pain had become secondary. Rage was driving him now.
The engine strained as the vehicle ate up mile after mile of damaged road. Mike pushed through checkpoints on the strength of his uniform, his injuries, and the look in his eyes. Every minute mattered.
Back in the city, evening settled in. Boris switched on the hallway light when he heard the heavy sound of a van pulling up outside the building. He rubbed his hands together, ready to erase Annie from his life for good.
He walked to the bedroom door and turned the key. He swung it open, prepared to drag the resisting child out by force. But what he saw made him stop cold…
