The Fifth Doctrine The Guardian 3 - Chapter 9 Part 2

Negotiating the places where the beams connected was the hardest part. Her fingers grew cold and stiff from hanging on so tightly. Her clothing was, she discovered, all wrong for the occasion. The wind bit through the thin knit of her dress. The short hemline left most of her legs exposed, and her stockings were soon in tatters and provided no protection whatsoever for her skin. Edging around a vertical post in her figure-hugging skirt was awkward—and dangerous. Put a foot wrong, and she was dead. She tried not to watch Colin. He was much bigger than she was, clearly lacked her gymnastics training and, despite the fact that he was at least wearing pants, several times seemed like a prime candidate for escapee most likely to plunge to his death. Since there was nothing she could do to help him—not that she particularly wanted to help him, she reminded herself severely—she did her best to keep her focus on their surroundings.
Screaming sirens approached at speed. She had little doubt that they belonged to first responders racing to the scene, which made it even more imperative that they get out of there fast. Now that it appeared she had a reasonable chance of escaping the kill team, she had no intention of complicating the situation by bringing in the local PD, some of whom she knew and all of whom would ask endless questions.

What scared her most was imagining what the kill team must be doing right at that moment. Unless the takeover of the Jeep had been via satellite or drone from some distant location, they were on the scene. By now at least some of them should have found a boat and be heading for where the Jeep Negotiating the places where the beams connected was the hardest part. Her fingers grew cold and stiff from hanging on so tightly. Her clothing was, she discovered, all wrong for the occasion. The wind bit through the thin knit of her dress. The short hemline left most of her legs exposed, and her stockings were soon in tatters and provided no protection whatsoever for her skin. Edging around a vertical post in her figure-hugging skirt was awkward—and dangerous. Put a foot wrong, and she was dead. She tried not to watch Colin. He was much bigger than she was, clearly lacked her gymnastics training and, despite the fact that he was at least wearing pants, several times seemed like a prime candidate for escapee most likely to plunge to his death. Since there was nothing she could do to help him—not that she particularly wanted to help him, she reminded herself severely—she did her best to keep her focus on their surroundings.
Screaming sirens approached at speed. She had little doubt that they belonged to first responders racing to the scene, which made it even more imperative that they get out of there fast. Now that it appeared she had a reasonable chance of escaping the kill team, she had no intention of complicating the situation by bringing in the local PD, some of whom she knew and all of whom would ask endless questions.
What scared her most was imagining what the kill team must be doing right at that moment. Unless the takeover of the Jeep had been via satellite or drone from some distant location, they were on the scene. By now at least some of them should have found a boat and be heading for where the Jeep

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