“They’re in here somewhere,” a voice says from the other side of the door. The sound of loose stones under their boots gives away their position.
I hear a door slam open, and my skin crawls as I listen to them clear a room not far away from where we hide. Bruno moves along the wall, using a hand to search for a way out.
“Hurry,” Grace whispers with a shaky voice.
Another door slamming open echoes from the turntable room. They’re coming closer. My stomach clenches into one big knot.
“Bingo,” Bruno says.
He turns a knob and a door in the back of the room swings open with a loud squealing noise, revealing a hallway. Behind us, the guards’ shadows stop outside our door to the turntable.
“Go, go, go,” Cole says.
We jump to our feet just as the door blasts open. Immediately, they begin firing at us. The sound of the bullets ricocheting off the metal surfaces echoes in my ears.
Bruno grabs Grace and shoves her into the hallway and then I follow, ducking low to protect myself. Cole commands Zeus to go with me, and then he returns fire until he and Bruno scramble through last.
Once in the hallway, Cole slams the door closed behind us. He clenches his jaw and breathes steady and calm. He ejects his magazine and slams in another, nodding his head when ready.
“Follow me,” Bruno says. He takes off, his boots clomping on the cement floor of the hallway.
We sprint past several doors. Fluorescent lights alternate with ceiling tiles like checkers on the ceiling. It casts an eerie pall over everyone’s faces. I’m breathing hard, feeling out of practice. Or maybe it’s just the dust. It seems to creep everywhere. Bruno reaches for a rusted door on the right and twists the handle. It doesn’t move.
The door to the room we just vacated slams open with gunfire and loud voices. Cole fires off a barrage of shots, attempting to hold them at bay. I look at Bruno. Sweat’s rolling down his face. His hands keep slipping off the knob.
“Come on! Open it!” I say.
“I’m trying! The piece of crap’s stuck,” he yells back.
He lowers his shoulder and barges into the door, but it doesn’t budge. The guards are coming down the hall. I hear the clicking of their boots. Their guns are raised. I make eye contact with one of them. He smiles and then lowers his gun.
“It’s her. Hold your fire,” he says.
Cole stands rigid, his gun pointed at them. Zeus is planted at his side, snarling. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. For a minute, everyone’s at a standstill.
Pop! I turn in the direction of the sound, then back to the guards. They won’t shoot us. Not like this. They aren’t animals.
Just like that, the door slides open, and Bruno disappears through it. Grace follows, light on her feet. Cole backs away, slowly, pushing me toward the open door. Already, I smell burning trash, salty, sweaty skin, and sulfur wafting into the hall. I keep my eyes focused on the guards, and I can tell by the way they look from Cole, to me, and then to the door, that they have no idea what do now.
“Don’t fire at her; we can’t take the risk. Wilson wants her alive.”
My shaky knees move me backward, one inch at a time, staying behind Cole. If they shoot him, they’ll hit me too, and I’m hoping they’ll judge it’s not worth the risk. Finally, I feel the edge where the hallway meets the outside. My fingers grasp the doorframe. I take one last look at the guard, whose lips are pressed together in a tight straight line. With a deep breath, I step through the door.
The minute Cole, Zeus, and I are through, we push the door closed, using our bodies to keep it that way. Then one of the guards says, “We can’t just let them go.”
There’s a brief silence before another says, “They won’t get far. We got them now.”
His chilling words echo in my ear and send a chill up my spine.
“Help me barricade the door,” Cole says. He uses his gun to point to a dumpster a few feet away, and Bruno nods. They grunt, sweat, and curse the entire time but manage to push the rancid-smelling orange dumpster in front of the door. “Just in case.” And for the first time in a long time, Cole’s words do not comfort me. But I don’t have too long to dwell on that.
Our ride screeches to a halt in front of us. I see the silhouette of a woman in the front seat. I feel her eyes on us. On me. The tinted window of the truck rolls down.
“Bruno, what the hell have you gotten me into?” she asks, her voice arching upward with every word. “You can’t pay me enough for this shit!”
“Oh, shut your lid, and put your big-girl panties on,” Bruno says.
When he gives us the nod to move, our feet make mini tornadoes in the dust as we run. I glance at the woman glaring at me. Ahead of her truck, in the distance, is a line of black vehicles making a neat, stately procession. A multitude of international flags sit at the corners of their hoods. Beyond that, the walls stand ominous in their majestic terror.
Bruno opens the tailgate. “Get in,” he commands.