“Where are you hit?” Con asked as Miki appeared again out of the smoke. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“My leg.” Damien scrambled to grab his phone. Tilting it, he showed Connor the wet spreading over his calf. His jeans were soaked through with blood, and the fabric was torn. “Tried walking, but….”
“No, let me see if I can’t get that door open more. If not, we’ll have to squeeze you through.” Connor looked around for something heavy to shove against the door, but nothing stood out to him in the cloudy darkness. He needed to force it open another few feet, just enough to be able to carry Damien through. “Maybe if Miki and I both shoved. Fire department’ll have spreaders, but they’d have to call them down. You can’t sit here in this shit that long.”
“Yeah.” Damien coughed. “Dunno how the fuck Sinjun got it open to begin with.”
Miki was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, a hot crackle of energy fueled by temper and fear. Even in the dim light of his phone, Connor could see the anguish in the man’s eyes when he looked down at Damien. He reached for Miki, gripping his shoulder in a tight clench to reassure him.
“He’ll be okay. Let’s just get this door open,” Connor said firmly. “Then you head out for air.”
The guy was strong. Connor had to give Miki that. Leaning on the door, Connor tested its give and was disappointed to find it practically wedged in place. They couldn’t do much. Too much exertion would strain their already compromised lungs, but he didn’t want to do any more damage to Damien’s leg. Miki came up with another thick metal barstool and wedged it between the door and the frame, nodding at Connor once.
“You push, I’ll pry,” Miki suggested. “Maybe we can move this thing.”
His shoulders picked up the strain when Connor laid into the door. Miki wedged the heavy-legged stool into the opening and began to count. When he hit three, Connor threw his weight into shoving the door open. For a second, it didn’t seem like the door was going to budge. Then they heard a satisfying crash as the lodged mechanism gave way. The door flew forward, unhindered by its hydraulics, and slammed into the outer wall, rattling on its hinges.
“Go,” Connor ordered. “Take my phone and get out. We’ll be right behind you. D, get ready to light our way out. We’re going to be moving fast.”
By this time, his voice was a mess and the edges of his eyes were swelling shut, but Connor made it over to Damien’s side, tapping the man on the shoulder. Hitching his arms under Damie’s legs, Connor lifted him up. His arms smarted a bit, especially the one Miki’d struck, but he cradled Damie’s heavy body as well as he could.
“Just get me out the door, and I can lean on you. I’m too heavy,” Damie said.
“Hold on.” Connor hoisted him closer and led with his shoulder out of the room.
If anything, the smoke seemed to be spreading through the studio, reaching into the far recesses of the hallway and outer reception area. The busted-out window was hard to make out, but when Connor got Damien out from around the front counter, sunlight brightened up the space, outlining the punched-in opening. Shouts were coming from beyond the window, but Connor couldn’t make out who was talking to him. His knee hit the wall, and suddenly there were hands reaching for Damien, and someone took the man from him.
A gruff-voiced woman grabbed Connor’s arm and guided his leg over the edge of the broken window, gently encouraging him to lift his leg up a bit farther. He pulled himself out, cold air hitting his bare chest and back. At some point, he must have hurt himself, because a spot on his shoulder blade seemed raw, and Connor felt the sticky tack of blood clinging to his skin. Once fully outside, he blinked, startled by the sudden flare of light in his eyes, but the rush of cold air in his lungs felt good, and he inhaled hard, coughing out as much of the smoke as he could.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” the woman ordered. “I’m going to wash your eyes out. From what we can tell, there’s only a bit of capsaicin in the smoke solution, but it’s enough to sting. I’m going to run a flush and check you over. When I’m done, I’m going to give you some electrolytes in some water, and I want you to drink it. It’ll help your throat.”
The flush was cold, or at least felt cold, and Connor sighed at the relief, trying to keep his eyes open under the rush. She repeated the flush twice, then handed him a towel to pat away the moisture. A bottle of water was shoved into his hand, and Con thanked the woman before sipping it. Wiping away the wash coming from his smarting face, he looked around him and grinned when he spotted Miki sitting a few feet away.
“Hey, St. John!” Con caught the man’s attention. “Do me a favor.”