WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) by Vanessa Kier Page A

kerosene.
    She rocked forward, prepared to bolt. If the bar went up in flames, she wasn’t going to stay here to be roasted alive.
    “Hey! Are you trying to burn down my bar?” The bartender’s angry voice was followed by the sound of cloth slapping concrete. The rebels laughed, covering up the slight sound of Kirra’s cough as smoke seeped into her hiding place. She pulled the corner of her headscarf free and held it over her nose and mouth as a filter.
    Boots stomped away, then Kirra heard the muted sound of furniture being overturned as the rebels moved inside.
    “Where is she?” the leader demanded.
    “I don’t know who you’re talking about. The white man is my only customer.”
    “We saw the white woman take the road into town. This man swears he saw her enter your gate.”
    “Perhaps she slipped around the side of the building. I have not seen her.” Damn, the bartender was an excellent liar. Even knowing differently, Kirra wanted to believe him.
    A rebel entered the room on the other side of Kirra’s hidden door.
    Kirra focused on keeping her breathing even and quiet. The man stomped around, but his angry mutters proved that he had no idea this secret room existed. When at last he moved away, she sagged in relief.
    “Anything?” the leader barked.
    “No, sir.”
    “That is a pity, is it not?” the leader commented. “Maybe we should help ourselves to some of this fine alcohol as compensation for not finding the white lady.”
    “Take as much as you like,” the bartender said tightly.
    Kirra hoped the rebels would take the alcohol and leave. Her legs were starting to cramp painfully from being in such an awkward position. She was out of practice for holding still, but was too terrified of drawing the attention of the rebels to move.
    The squawk of a radio drowned out the sound of clinking glass from the main room. The rebel leader responded in the local dialect. Judging by his tone, he did not agree with whatever orders he’d received. Glass crashed against the floor and this time Kirra smelled alcohol.
    The leader snapped off a series of commands in the local language. Several minutes later, doors slammed shut on the Jeep and the rebels drove away.
    Shutting her eyes in relief, Kirra sagged against her pack. That had been close. Too close. And what really ticked her off was that she had no idea what the rebels wanted. They were clearly searching for something they hadn’t found on any of the bus passengers, but what? And why did they think she had it?
    It took another ten minutes before the bartender opened the door. “Well done,” he said, giving her his hand so she could climb awkwardly to her feet.
    “Are they gone?”
    “Yes. Their commander has sent them somewhere else for now.”
    Kirra set her pack in front of the little room, stretched her arms overhead, then sighed and followed the man into the main room. Oh, God. The rebels had broken every glass and bottle in the place, turning the floor into a glittering carpet of multicolored shards. The scent of alcohol and spilled gaz coldrinks hit her. She reeled back, coughed, and pulled her scarf back over her nose and mouth. The bartender opened several windows, and in a few moments the air became tolerable.
    “I’m so sorry,” Kirra said, dropping the scarf. “I had no idea the rebels were so close behind me. I thought I’d moved out of their sight before I turned down this road.” She rummaged in her backpack for one of her business cards. “If you’ll send me a bill, I’ll make sure to pay for the damage.”
    The bartender shook his head. “It is not your fault. The rebels are the ones who did the harm. They are the ones who must pay.”
    Kirra shoved her card at him. “But they won’t pay, will they? It might take a bit of time, but I promise I’ll send you the money.”
    The bartender ignored her outstretched hand. “Keep your card. I don’t want your money. This is a dangerous world we live in. I would be no kind of