Last flight. I bump down the stairs, clenching my jaw, and focus on the bottom. Bill flicks on a small light to break the darkness as they wait for us. When we’re assembled, we stop to catch our breath before moving on.
I glance at their sweaty, dusty faces. Tracks from tears stain everyone’s cheeks, whether from grief or from the thick particles in the air. Bruno’s eyes water as they meet mine. Still holding Grace, he looks away.
There will be time to mourn later, I hope.
“Move,” Cole says with impatience.
He takes lead and runs straight down a dim hallway. I glance up and see a camera mounted in the corner as we hook a right, so I shoot off a round at it, shattering the lens and hopefully disabling it.
Cole bangs open a door. I see the word Morgue in dark letters on the gray metal as we cross into the cool and eerie room. All of the supplies that were stored in here before have been stripped, leaving nothing but the metal tables. Bill’s flashlight hits the refrigerators, sending weird shadows flitting across the numbers. I don’t have time to look for the one Alyssa’s body was stored in, but I can’t escape the memory of zipping her body bag and saying goodbye to her. Just breathe and focus.
Cole pushes through the doorway at the opposite end of the room, and we’re back by the entrance to the unmonitored staircase. We pass the elevator and then shove through the basement door and into the room where we began our journey. Goose bumps raise on my arms in response to the cooler air. A small ray of sunshine spills through the window and across the room, giving me a clear path through the mess.
I cover Cole until we’re close to the window. Without asking, Bill pulls up a wooden table and moves it against the wall.
“Who’s first?” Roméo asks. I can tell from his white face that he doesn’t want to volunteer.
“Me,” Bill says.
“No, Bill, you don’t have to do that,” I say.
“If anyone’s going to get us out of here, it’ll be me.” He steps onto the table and turns back to look at me. “Cover me once you’re out.” With those words, Bill maneuvers through the shattered window.
More light filters in, and I squint. Particles float aimlessly through my vision. Then a rustle at the back of the room grabs my attention.
“Go, Roméo,” I say. I turn around, pointing my gun behind us, expecting to see guards already standing there. But to my surprise, no one has found us … yet.
Roméo doesn’t hesitate as he climbs up and disappears through the opening after Bill. Then Cole goes. Bruno lowers Grace’s body to help bolster Zeus through the window. Then Cole waits for Bruno to pass Grace’s body through next.
A crashing noise echoes through the room just as Bruno’s halfway through the window. They found us. Focusing my sights, I fire off a few rounds, sending the dark uniforms diving for cover. I keep shooting until I’ve got nothing left, forcing them to keep their heads down.
Then I jump onto the table and pull myself up onto the ledge. My hands are slippery, and Cole locks onto my wrists.
“You got this,” he says. “I got you.”
My foot slips. I hang for a split second. I hear footsteps gaining on me, and my mind fills with panic.
“Cole!” I scream. “They’re here.”
Cole’s hands keep slipping from my wrists because of our combined sweat. I’m desperate. Behind me, voices shout.
“Grab her!” Brusque hands wrap around my ankles, and I thrash my legs to catch them off guard.
“They have my legs.”
Cole’s eyes widen in his beet-red face. “Get your hands off her!” he yells.
“My hands are slipping.”
Then another pair of hands, strong and taut, latch on to my forearms and together, they yank hard. With a collective grunt, Cole and Bruno pull me through the window. I land on my stomach in the street beside the hospital, my hands grinding into shattered glass.
Bruno barely breaks stride before picking up Grace and taking off. I don’t know how he functions, but I’m thankful he does. I push myself up, grabbing a grenade from a pocket in my vest.
A guard’s fingers already grip the windowsill, attempting to follow me out. He stops when he sees me standing in front of him, my fingers grasping the frag. His eyes widen. Is that fear I see?
“Get back here,” another guard says. “Come with us, and it’ll all be over.” I shake my head, locking my jaw. One of them squints at me. “Fine, have it your way. But your precious Sutton will be punished for this one.”
I turn it over in my head, those words. They make me sick, and my stomach roils.
With quick hands, I toss the grenade in and run. Behind me, they scream. The grenade explodes, silencing their voices and blowing more glass into the street with a shattering sound. I don’t bother glancing back.
Up ahead, the others begin crossing the open street in front of the hospital. I pass the bodies of the guards in front of the main entrance and then freeze.