In his mind he saw Ellen and Annie over and over. He felt tied to them by something stronger than distance or pain. That bond kept him moving when his body should have quit.
Then the ugly buzz of a low-flying enemy drone cut across the night sky. A dark shape streaked overhead. Seconds later, an explosion blew apart a small bridge ahead, turning it into a pile of burning concrete.
Mike jerked the wheel and sent the Jeep down into a ditch choked with brush. The vehicle tilted hard but kept moving, clawing through mud and back up onto a rough service road around the destroyed bridge.
Only a few hours remained before dawn when the skyline of the city finally appeared in the distance. The fuel gauge had been sitting on empty for miles. The engine sputtered and coughed.
The Jeep died two blocks from Mike’s building. He opened the door and practically fell onto the wet sidewalk. His legs buckled immediately, and he dropped to his knees in a cold puddle.
He groaned as pain tore through his side again. But he had not come this far to stop now. He braced bloodied hands against the pavement and forced himself upright.
Every step cost him. He leaned against brick walls and parked cars, leaving dark handprints behind him. In the windows of his apartment on the fifth floor, a dim light still burned.
The front door to the building was unlocked. Inside, the stairwell was dark; the elevator was out, as usual. Mike would have to climb five flights.
He dragged himself up step by step, gripping the rusted rail. Blood seeped through his bandages and left a red trail behind him. When he was only a few steps from his floor, he heard it—a child’s cry, sharp with panic.
Annie’s voice, coming from behind his own apartment door, hit him harder than any bullet. Mike pulled a combat knife from his pocket, ready to stop whoever was hurting his daughter. Then he saw that the door was cracked slightly open…
