Chapter 4 : The Ghost
"We can't stay here," Davis hissed, running back to Maya.
The garage was a death trap. There was only one way in and one way out, and Vance’s men had it covered. But Davis was a survivor. He looked up. The roof.
There was a rusted maintenance ladder leading up to a skylight.
"Can you climb?" Davis asked Maya.
She nodded bravely.
CRASH!
The front door of the garage buckled as a battering ram hit it.
"Breaching!" a voice yelled from outside.
"Go, go, go!" Davis hoisted Maya up the first few rungs of the ladder. "Don't look down!"
CRASH!
The heavy metal door burst open, falling off its hinges. Flashlights cut through the darkness, sweeping across the abandoned cars and toolbenches.
"Clear the floor!" Vance yelled. "Find them!"
Davis pushed Maya out onto the wet, slippery roof. He climbed out after her. But Rico was still on the ground floor. A dog couldn't climb a vertical ladder.
"Rico!" Davis whispered fiercely down the hatch.
The tactical team swept into the room. One of the men spotted the K9.
"Got the dog!" the man yelled, raising his rifle.
"No!" Maya screamed from the roof.
Rico didn't run. He didn't cower. The training of Detective John Miller kicked in. Rico became a ghost in the shadows. He darted under a rusted pickup truck just as a burst of gunfire tore up the concrete where he had stood.
"Flank him!" Vance ordered.
But Rico was already moving. He flanked them. Coming out from behind a stack of oil drums, Rico launched himself at the nearest tactical officer, his jaws locking onto the man's weapon arm. The officer screamed, dropping his rifle.
In the chaos, Davis pulled out his sidearm and fired three warning shots through the skylight, shattering the glass and sending shards raining down on the corrupt cops.
"Up there!" Vance roared.
"Rico, out!" Davis screamed the command.
Hearing his master's voice, Rico released the officer, bolted across the garage floor, and leaped onto the hood of a wrecked car. From there, he sprang onto a stack of wooden crates, his powerful hind legs propelling him upward.
With a desperate leap, Rico soared toward the skylight.
Davis reached down, grabbing the heavy leather collar, and hauled the massive dog onto the roof just as a flurry of bullets ripped through the air beneath them.
"Move!" Davis yelled.
They scrambled across the slippery tar roof, the rain lashing against their faces. They leaped from the garage roof to the adjacent building, a flat-topped textile factory.
Below them, they could hear Vance screaming orders. Dogs were barking in the distance. They were calling in the bloodhounds.
"Davis," Maya gasped, out of breath. "Where are we going?"
Davis thought back to Maya's story. Miller came to her window three nights ago. If Miller was alive, he would be watching his family. He would have a vantage point.
"Where did you live before this?" Davis asked. "Before you went to foster care?"
"The Heights," Maya said. "Apartment 4B."
"Is there an abandoned building near it? Somewhere high?"
Maya thought for a second. "The old water tower. My dad used to say it was his fortress."
Davis nodded. "Then that's where we're going. We're going to find your dad."
The journey through the city was a nightmare. Every wailing siren made them freeze. Every passing headlight forced them into the mud. But Rico led the way, his keen senses alerting them to patrols long before Davis could see them.
By the time they reached the rusted fences of the old water tower in The Heights, the sun was beginning to threaten the horizon. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
Davis kicked open the chain-link gate. The massive tower loomed above them, a relic of a bygone era.
"Hello?" Davis called out softly, keeping his gun raised.
Nothing but the wind.
Suddenly, Rico let out a sharp, high-pitched whine. His tail began to wag furiously. He sprinted toward the base of the tower, pawing at a heavy metal access door.
The door slowly creaked open.
A man stepped out into the grey morning light. He was gaunt, unshaven, and leaning heavily on a crutch. His left arm was in a sling. But his eyes were sharp.
"Dad!" Maya screamed.
She let go of Davis's hand and sprinted across the wet grass. The man dropped his crutch and fell to his knees, catching the little girl in his good arm, burying his face in her hair. He sobbed openly, rocking her back and forth.
Rico practically tackled the man, licking his face frantically, whining and crying.
John Miller looked up at Davis.
"You brought them back to me," Miller choked out. "Thank you."
"You're Miller," Davis breathed, lowering his weapon.
May you like
"I am," Miller said, standing up with wincing effort. "But we can't celebrate yet. If you made it here, they aren't far behind."
As if on cue, the distant sound of helicopter blades began to chop through the morning air.
