Sloan crouched on her belly, instinctively holding her hands over her head and closing her eyes at the onslaught of at least a half-dozen metahumans firing directly at their group.
She was sure she was going to die right there on the floor and experienced her life flashing before her eyes.
She was just a little girl, a baby, when she solved the complex puzzle before her, then she was strapped down to a bed, face-down, and she saw a wicked-faced man come toward her with a syringe dripping with some unknown fluid. He yanked her elastic pants down, exposing her left hip and jabbed her with the needle. He giggled horribly as the pressure and fullness billowed beneath her skin.
Sloan had screamed; screamed until she was hoarse.
Then she saw a notebook under her wrist, notations written in her hand as she pressed her face harder into the eyepieces of the microscope. She saw Dr. Williams smile as she presented her first case study and findings. He was nodding in approval. Then his face morphed into a bloody mass. His lips cracking as he spoke. Bloody liquids oozed down his skinless face… slipping down his jaw and raw neck.
Sloan shivered.
The deafening sound of bullets blazed above her as she felt reality slip aside.
Just then a warm, strong hand gripped her waist and pulled her aside.
Her eyes closed, she felt the hand release, but the heat of a body beside her remained as a shield between her and the attackers. The gunfire intensified, if that was possible. The echoes of bullets ricocheting off the cement walls were deafening, but she had to see who was beside her; who pulled her to safety. She willed her eyes open just wide enough to look. Beside her, crouched defensively around her, was the boy no older than she. He glanced back, over his shoulder as though checking on her and she found herself lost in his hazel eyes.
Even when he looked away to reload his gun, the image of his golden-green, worried eyes were imprinted in Sloan’s mind. She tried to watch his hands as he smoothly slipped the used magazine free, reached into a pocket, retrieved a fresh cartridge and slammed it into place, but all she could see was the look in his eyes. He protected her with his body; pulled her aside and shielded her from the gunfire flying inches above their heads.
“RUN!” yelled a familiar voice.
Without thinking, Sloan followed the movements of the boy beside her. He leaped to his feet, and though she felt his hand pull her up, she didn’t need the encouragement. She wasn’t leaving his side.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor as everybody ran for their lives. Alik and Farrow vaulted over fallen bodies and burst through the front doors of the Research Hospital with such strength, both doors hung wide on shattered hinges. Their soldiers’ eyes scanned the shadows for threats, even as their legs carried them directly toward the van glowing white in the moonlight.
Chapter 8 Down and Out
Three of the four metahumans running toward the elevator kept their guns at the ready. Sloan was unarmed.
Meg reached to press the button that would open the elevator doors. Even as she futilely jabbed the unlit button, she realized the problem.
“Oh, God! The electricity’s out, so the elevator won’t work!” Her voice sounded shrill with desperation.
“How are we going to get to the children?” Sloan gasped.
Evan and Creed frowned deeply, feeling responsible. “Maybe I could rig it to work. It is probably a standard hydraulic or cable mechanism. If it’s hydraulic I could jimmy it to lower, but…”
“But what?” Meg snapped impatiently.
“But I wouldn’t be able to make it lift back up without electricity.”
“Shit!” Creed cursed under his breath. His eyes darted frantically around the corridor and in the dim red light a metallic box hanging on the wall glinted. Rushing to it he used the butt of his gun to break the glass. Shoving the gun in his holster to free his hands, he reached in and grabbed the emergency axe stowed there next to a fire hose.
Meg locked her jaw in single-minded approval.
“Back up!”
Creed ran to the closed doors of the elevator and crammed the blade of the axe into the seam before yanking the handle up and to the left, twisting an opening wide enough to fit his strong fingers. With tendons stretching beautifully, he forced one side of the elevator door wide. Then he braced his back against that opening and used his powerful leg to kick the other side of the door open. He did the same to the second set of doors, forcing his way into the elevator car.
Creed and Meg stepped into the silent cube and scanned it only to see an emergency rooftop exit. “That won’t help,” Meg seethed, but Creed wasn’t looking up. His crisp blue eyes were studying the elevator’s flooring.
Without a word, he leaned down to pick up the axe and held it like a lumberjack.
“Evan, there was a ladder in the facilities closet. We’re going to need it.” Creed’s voice was calm, calculating.