"No! Oh, no! A Mac-10!" Paul said, his voice a whisper. "Up. But slowly, Tanya, and stay low. Don't let him see you. We have to get out of this building. We're sitting ducks up here."
Paul guided her from the room, dodged into a stairwell, and then outside. Across a narrow alley stood the storehouse for the firefighting equipment. Paul pulled Tanya into it.
Tanya's breath came in short hitches like a child who has nearly cried herself to sleep. "I don't think I can take it anymore, Paul," she said and whimpered like a frightened puppy. "Too much, too much… It just keeps on going, no matter what I try…what I do…" She sobbed. "Deadly explosions…murderous bodyguards…I solve one problem, another pops up." Tears ran down her cheeks in a salty river. She swiped her sleeve across her face and stumbled into Paul.
"Look, we have to hide from him. It's our only chance. Don't fall apart on me now, Tanya. Tanya!" He shook her shoulders. "Charles will be on our trail in no time." Paul glanced at her, steadied her, then looked around the shed. "Grab those two jackets and I'll look around for an axe," he said, pushing her towards a pair of heavy quilted fire fighters' jackets. "My semiautomatic pistol can't compare to his fire power," he said in a wavering voice.
"Maybe I should just give up," Tanya said. She hadn't moved. "He wants me, not you. If I just give in, it will all be over, and I won't have to fight anymore."
Paul straightened. "Tanya. We have to hide in the forest. Don't quit on me now." He stepped toward her. "We don't have the time for this, not now. Look, you have to know he'll hunt me down and kill me, too. He can't have a witness. You know that." He grabbed one of the jackets and tossed it to her. "If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me. I'm not ready to die yet." She caught the jacket and Paul tossed her the second, then pushed her toward the exit.
They skirted the second shed and slipped into the forest behind the buildings. "It will be dark soon," Paul said. "We need to find a good spot to hide, and fast."
After nearly fifteen minutes of pushing through the underbrush, Paul stopped. "We'll settle in here," he said. "Charles won't make a move until daylight, and we won't be able to see for much longer, at any rate. Let me clear some of the brush, and we'll have a place to rest." He used the machete he'd found in the shed to cut down the brush, and piled some of it on the ground. "There you go, your green bower, my lady." He gestured at the pile of brush. "Better than nothing. Lay the jacket on top, and you'll be comfortable enough."