Free Capture Me by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales Page A

distant, giving me a grain of hope. Maybe I’ll be able to outrun him. I’ve always been fast, my long legs giving me an advantage over shorter people.
    A shot rings out, the bullet whizzing past me and plowing into the building ahead.
    Shit. He is shooting. I don’t know why that surprises me. The Moscow police aren’t exactly known for caring about the citizens they’re supposed to be protecting. They’re tools of their corrupt government, nothing more. It shouldn’t shock me that they’d risk the welfare of innocent citizens to catch me.
    Another shot, and the snow explodes off the ground a few feet ahead of me. I hear terrified screams and see people diving for cover on the sidewalk.
    Ignoring the commotion, I sprint into the alley. Straight ahead are two large dumpsters, and behind them, a metal fire ladder going up the side of the building.
    A third shot, and the bullet ricochets off the dumpster, narrowly missing me. The cop, or whoever’s chasing me, has good aim.
    I’m almost at the ladder, and I jump up as high as I can, managing to catch the bottom rung of the ladder with my hands. Then, using the momentum of my jump, I swing my legs up and catch the metal bar with my feet. Hooking my knees over the metal bar, I use all my strength to pull myself up high enough to grab the next rung of the ladder with my left hand. It works, and I pull myself up into a sitting position before starting to climb.
    Another shot, and the wall in front of me explodes, shards of brick flying everywhere.
    Shit, shit, shit. I scramble up the ladder as fast as I can without slipping on the icy metal bars. There are shouts and curses below me, and then I feel the ladder shaking as another person jumps on it.
    I guess they decided to try capturing me alive.
    I don’t look down as I continue my perilous climb. I’ve never liked heights, so I pretend it’s a training exercise and a thickly padded mat is waiting for me below. Even if I fall, I’ll be okay. It’s a complete lie, of course, but it serves to keep me going despite my heart trying to leap out of my throat.
    Before I know it, I’m at the roof, and I jump off the ladder onto the flat surface. The building I’m on is shaped like a square with a hole for a large yard in the middle—a typical Soviet-era structure that occupies an entire block. I pause just long enough to spot another ladder on the other side of the square, and then I start running again, heading toward that ladder.
    “Stop!” someone yells again, and I realize with a jolt of fear that they’re already up here, right on my heels. Unable to resist, I cast a frantic glance behind me and see two men running after me. They’re wearing police uniforms, and one of them is holding a gun. They’re both big men, seemingly fast and strong. I won’t be able to outrun them for long.
    Changing my strategy, I put on a burst of speed and use the two-second lead I gain to zip behind a concrete smoke stack. Leaning against it, I gasp for air, desperately trying not to make any noise as I catch my breath.
    Three seconds later, I hear the men’s footsteps.
    Time to go on the offensive.
    As the first cop barrels past me, I stick my foot out. He trips, falling with a loud curse, and I hear the gun sliding across the icy roof.
    The shooter’s down and disarmed.
    Before his partner has a chance to react, I jump out in front of him, my right hand balled into a fist. He automatically ducks to the left as I swing it at him, and I use the momentum of his movement to punch upward with my left hand.
    My left fist slams into his chin, and he stumbles back, grunting. Without pausing, I dive for the gun, and see the other policeman doing the same.
    We collide, rolling, and for a second, my fingers brush against the weapon.
    Yes! I grab it, and as the cop attempts to pin me down, I pull the trigger.
    He screams, clutching his shoulder, and I push him off me, the adrenaline giving me almost superhuman strength. I’m already up on