Eve is cowering behind me, her fingers digging into my arms, and I shield her with my body and crouch low. The minister is cowering behind a wooden podium. I half-expect him to pull out a gun, as well, but his eyes are wide and terrified, and he is mumbling prayers under his breath.
“Stay here,” I say, pushing Eve to the ground next to the minister. She opens her mouth to argue, but there is no time.
I spin around, knock a lantern hanging from a pole to the ground, and yank the pole free of the ground. The end is sharpened into a stake, and I sprint forward with the point out as if I’m jousting on a horse. The metal finds purchase between the ribs of the photographer. He manages one more shot at a Volkov soldier before the pole runs clean through his chest and the gun falls from his hand
