He ran in a low crouch along the base of a carnival ride’s platform and stopped at its entry stairs. He stole another look to the south, but again, saw no one. He studied his new surroundings for a few seconds. More crimson footprints led the way down the concrete walkway. From the spacing, it seemed like Montez was doing his best to run. The temptation to run after him had to be checked. That’s exactly what Montez wanted. Slow down. Think. Use the environment. What’s available? What’s the best way to advance deeper into the park without getting ambushed?

***

Satisfied, Montez ducked between a couple of souvenir kiosks in the middle of the park’s main walkway. McBride would have to expose himself to advance up the same route he’d just traversed. To his right, a concrete wall protected some sort of vomit-producing thrill ride. On his left, bumper cars. This location gave him a clear, uninterrupted view of the park’s main walk. Tactically sound. McBride would be an easy target.

His grimace from the mounting leg pain turned into a smile when he saw McBride dart from one side of the walkway to the other and duck behind a trash container.

Got you.

***

The trash bins.

They offered a solid tactical opportunity. Spaced every twenty to thirty feet and made of three-inch thick concrete, they created perfect leapfrog stations. He’d dash from trash bin to trash bin and work his way down the interior.

He looked over his shoulder the way he’d come. No one. But the approaching sirens grew louder, definitely closing from more than one direction. He couldn’t afford a prolonged chase in here. Time to up the stakes and force Montez’s hand.

Everything hinged on his belief that Montez felt more pressure than he did.

He sprinted forward to the opposite side of the walkway and ducked behind the next trash bin. The renewed pain under his feet caused by starting and stopping felt like running on a bed of nails, but it couldn’t be helped. Leaving himself exposed for more than a few seconds, especially in this well-lit area, invited a bullet. He saw Montez’s bloody footprints continue down the concrete, but lost sight of them fifteen yards further on. He peered over the top of the trash bin. All clear. The park remained deserted. Where were the security guards?

A split second before making his next move, his answer arrived. A security guard rounded the corner at the south entrance of the park and jogged directly toward him.

He couldn’t stay in his current position without a high risk of being seen, but ducking into the courtyard to his right meant losing sight of the main walkway and potentially losing Montez for good. Not an option.