The alley opened onto a side street, and Mike led them through it at a brisk walk, his eyes moving in the practiced, unhurried way of a man who had spent years paying attention to the spaces behind him.
"This way," he said. "Comes out two blocks over. They won't find us quickly, not through here."
The urgency of the last hour had begun to drain out of his posture, replaced by the particular alertness of someone who was no longer in immediate danger but hadn't yet decided to believe it. He kept glancing back at intervals, not from panic, just from habit, the kind that had been built over years and didn't switch off because the shooting had stopped.
Noah fell into step beside his father and waited until they had turned the corner before he spoke. "Where did you get the rifle? I've lived i
