Crimson rising

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A sideways hailstorm of bullets sliced through the air. Cassius Stevenson had only a split second to jump from the rooftop before being hit.

No time for hesitation.

Bounding onto the outside ledge, he pushed forward and leapt.

Mid-air, one of the bullets ripped through the shoulder of his jacket, nicking his skin and forcing his left side forward at an awkward diagonal. A sharp pain tensed his arm. It wasn’t enough to fracture his concentration.

The second rooftop approached quickly, nine yards below the first. He tucked his legs and prepared for impact.

The moment he hit the ground, the entire surface caved in.

Planks of rotten, damp wood cracked and exploded, sending a cascade of splinters into the air. Slum rooftops. Some were reinforced, some were as thin as cardboard. He should have known.

The building’s top floor was sturdier. His thigh smashed into the ground first, followed by the rest of him. A jolt of unfettered pain spread through his body, meeting the sharp throb of his shoulder. It was all he could do to keep from shouting.

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