10.
At the bottom of the landing, my
gun gripped in my left hand, I open the front door, stick my head out like a
rabbit peeking out of its hole. Look both ways down and up the Via Guelfa. No
one in either direction. No one who appears to be an immediate threat anyway.
But this ancient street is bordered
on both sides by four and five-story brick and plaster buildings with shuttered
windows every few feet. The street fighting here during World War Two was
ferocious since it was so easy to hide and find cover behind those five-hundred-year-old
walls. If you were caught by the enemy alone and unprotected in the street
unawares, you were dead.
I take Anya by the hand, lead her
out onto the street. Just a couple of sitting ducks looking for a safe haven.
“Where are we going?” she
