The rain comes down like a waterfall, washing out the rest of the world. Mandy is soaked through in minutes; the sharp shift from the earlier afternoon heat leaves her shivering and miserable. (The grief and guilt and abject terror probably don't help.)
The storm makes it hard to see and even harder to hear. Being surrounded by an opaque curtain of rain gives Mandy a sense of isolation and aloneness in the midst of the silent city. She knows it's a mirage, that she could turn any corner and come face to face with a bullet, but she keeps going anyway. Forces herself to focus, to pay attention, to see details, catalog them, evaluate them for relevance.
That's likely the only reason she notices the window.
It's hardly a window at all, really just a dingy sliver of glass, barely visible in a wall just above street level. When Mandy spots it, the rain has just started to slow, and the sun is threatening to poke through a thin spot in the clouds. The growing brightness glints off the wet, dirty glass, and Mandy stops in her tracks.
Why is there a window in the wall at street level?
Basements are uncommon in this part of the world - nearly unheard of, in fact. Maybe a small root cellar for storing food?
She circles around the silent, empty building. There, hidden behind a tangle of trees and vines: a small, rusty door leading belowground.
It's either an excellent hiding spot, or a trap from which there would be no escape if found.
Mandy hesitates. She's so close to the jungle where Sonny told her to hide. The smartest thing to do, probably, would be to keep going.
Thanks to the caution with which Mandy was moving through the heavy rain, she hasn't yet made it that far from where she left Sonny. He's just a couple alleys and a street away. If he's still there … if they haven't found him yet …
In the concealment of the thick foliage, she runs her fingers through her soaked, matted hair and swears quietly.
Beyond the obvious not-wanting-to-die-horribly aspect of this situation, there's also the fact that Mandy isn't just a person, she's an asset. In cartel hands, she would be used as a weapon - against the other cartels, against the U.S. government, against everyone who isn't them.
She guesses Sonny would tell her it's her responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen. He would tell her to keep going.
Well, screw that. Sonny Quinn isn't the boss of her.
She straightens her shoulders and heads back the way she came.
In the quiet that follows the storm, all is still but for the steady drip of rainwater off leaves and the edges of roofs. Mandy hugs close to buildings, slides into the spaces beneath hanging vines, listens but hears nothing. No voices. No engines. Just dripping and the soft shush of her own feet against stone.
With the curtain of rain now drawn back, she makes better time back to where she left Sonny. He's there, silent and still, hidden in the shadow of the dumpster. Mandy watches the faint rise and fall of his chest and is left dizzy by a wave of relief that she hasn't risked it all for nothing.
Sonny's bleeding appears to have slowed. Mandy doesn't have enough medical knowledge to guess at what that means, but she hopes it's a good sign rather than a bad one.
She tucks the Glock Quinn gave her into the back of her waistband and kneels at his side. "Sonny. I found a place to hide, but you have to get up so I can get you there."
Nothing.
"Sonny," she hisses, rubbing her knuckles hard over his sternum. He groans, a sad, slurred sound, and his eyelids flutter briefly before closing again.
Afraid to get too loud, but needing him to hear, she leans in close. "Sonny. Get up."
He mumbles something incomprehensible and manages to get his hand up enough to try to push her away. She makes out, "Told you to…" before his voice dissolves back into unintelligible slurring.
"Well, I came back, and now I'm not going anywhere unless you get up." She leans in until her lips are inches from his ear, and then she pours every ounce of her terror and exhaustion and frustration into making her voice as vicious as possible. "I didn't take you for a coward, Sonny Quinn. I thought Texans were better than this. Your mama would be ashamed of you."
That gets his eyes open, and the look he gives her would frighten her very much indeed if he weren't currently too weak to do anything about it.
Do what's necessary. Apologize later. She plows ahead. "You said keeping me alive was your job. Well, if you stay here, you're as good as killing me, so get off your ass and do your job, Bravo Three."
After a few more seconds of glaring at her with an expression that somehow manages to be both furious and listless, Sonny starts trying to push himself up. His legs are obviously weak and unsteady. Sliding beneath his arm, Mandy manages to support him enough for them to stagger along together, mostly without even falling.
Progress is agonizingly slow. Mandy feels the weight of phantom gazes crawling over her skin, the unrelenting tension burning through her bones and leaving her exhausted. Her legs shake with the strain of supporting most of Quinn's weight. She's never previously minded being more willowy than strong, but now swears to herself that if she survives, there will be more frequent gym visits in her future.
She expects shouts, gunfire, vehicular pursuit, but it never comes. After what feels like an eternity, she finally shakily lowers Sonny down, behind the curtain of vines and leaves, to sit beside the door that leads belowground. His eyes immediately slide closed.
Mandy opens the rusty door as quietly as she can, but the creak of it still makes her wince. The post-storm sunshine reveals damp concrete stairs descending to a wet floor surrounded by the dark shapes of untidy shelves. It will be crowded, but she and Sonny should have enough room - if she can just get them both down there.
She looks at Sonny, who appears well and truly unconscious again. She sighs.
In the end, she manages to drag him over and maneuver him through the door first, lowering him down ahead of her. She hooks her elbows under his armpits and keeps her weight back, sliding on her butt from one step down to the next until they reach the bottom.
By then, Mandy is shaking, her head is pounding, and she's so nauseated that she immediately has to find a corner to throw up in. That done, she checks to make sure Sonny is propped up and won't drown in the couple inches of water on the floor. Then she crawls back up the stairs and shuts the door behind them, plunging the small space into almost complete darkness.
The cellar smells like mold and spoiled food. Mandy has never really been claustrophobic or afraid of the dark, but now she feels horribly, unbearably trapped. Sliding back down the stairs, she feels her way back over to Sonny, sits down in the putrid water beside him, and forces herself to breathe, to clear her mind of everything except where she is right now and what she needs to do next.
No thinking of possibilities, what-ifs, fears. Jason wouldn't let any of those things interfere with his focus in the field, so she won't either. She'll do what needs to be done. Like she did to get Sonny on his feet.
Think: What does she need? A way to contact Blackburn, tell him where they are, ask for help.
What does she have? A gun, an unconscious (possibly dying) Navy SEAL, and a broken phone.
How broken?
She digs the flip phone out of her damp front pocket and opens it. The screen lights up in its blotchy, damaged way, and it occurs to her that the fact that she can't see the phone working doesn't necessarily mean it isn't.
She pushes a number button, listens, hears nothing. Her heart sinks into her stomach until she thinks to turn the volume at the side all the way up. This time when she pushes the 1, a beep sounds through the speaker, soft but unmistakable.
Pulse racing with desperate, dangerous hope, Mandy hits the red 'end call' button to hopefully erase the numbers she's already entered, dials Blackburn's local number, and pushes the green button that should (please please please) put the call through.
It rings. And then he answers.
Mandy very much wants to burst into tears. Instead she takes a deep breath and says, in a surprisingly even tone, "Hi, Eric. I think we might need a little help here."