21
Black Market
If the fall wasn’t enough to rob me of my breath, the impact of the springy mattress punched it right out of me. I bounced off across the floor and rolled over three times before I came to a stop. With no time to lick any wounds, I took the defector by the arm and ran us out of there, fuelled by pure adrenalin.
A spray of late bullets from the rooftop knocked the stuffing out of the mattress and chased us across the courtyard into a series of tight, winding side-streets between buildings.
We bumped in and out of corners; the sound and fury of Kalashnikovs not far behind. After a few more blind alleys, we came out in the middle of a packed, sweltering market; a snaking, buzzing line of blue and yellow tarpaulins sheltering all the counterfeit merch a girl could want.
We
