18
Azadah felt as if she was being sucked along by a whirlwind.
Not once did Chris run. Instead he crouched slightly and flowed down the hall, gliding up the stairs as fast as rising smoke. By her hand wrapped hard around his belt, she could feel the perfect steadiness of his torso despite how fast his legs were moving.
In the front of the house, a raging fire shone in through the windows. Then they would plunge into an interior room and she’d be blind in the darkness except for the bright flashes from Chris’ or another’s weapons.
This must be how a child feels in the womb. Safe, unaware. Following in the wake of the mother/protector’s every move.
It was as if she and Chris had become one. He would pause, step, turn, fire, move. She would pause, step, turn, watch another fall, move.
