A spray of ammunition, shouting, and furniture being moved—likely as a barricade—continued below me as I snaked through the narrow box. I wouldn’t be able to back out, and that was fine. Greg and I wouldn’t be leaving via the vent.
What Greg apparently didn’t know, but what Dan and I could see from the building schematics, was that there was a dumb waiter—a hauling manual elevator—just ten feet from where he was trapped. It led to the first floor, close to where Dan and I had entered the building.
Dan would continue drawing fire. Meanwhile, I would drop from the ceiling. Greg and I would escape via the chute just as Dan tossed tear gas into the holding room. Greg and I would provide cover for Dan as he descended the stairs. We would all leave together.
Easy-peasy.
“Almost there,” I whispered, catching sight of the top of Greg’s head through the slats of the vent; the rest of him was hidden behind a pallet of stacked cardboard boxes. A few more feet and I’d be able to drop through the next vent.
“Fiona, I hear footsteps approaching from behind.” Dan’s voice was strained and interrupted by continuing gunfire. “I need to throw the tear gas in now. It’s now or never.”
“Fine. Do it.” I pulled myself forward with my aching arms, then punched the vent open with the butt of my gun. “I’m dropping in now.”
I had a mere moment to aim my drop, falling head first, flipping, and landing on my feet on top of the pallet—well, mostly on my feet. I stumbled one step back and failed my dismount.
Greg’s face shot up and so did his weapon just as the first clanging, rolling tear gas cans sounded from behind me.
Our eyes met.
His registered shock.
I leapt off the pallet.
This time I landed the dismount.
I turned to him.
He faced me with wide eyes and an open mouth.
I wanted to kiss him.
And place him in a chokehold.
And wrap my arms around him.
And never let him go.
. . . but also place him in a chokehold.
Instead, I whispered harshly, “I need you.”
He continued to stare at me, dumbfounded, as though trying to makes sense of my words. “What?”
“Follow me!”
His hand shot out to my wrist and he pulled me back and against him. “Bloody hell,” he growled against my ear, crouching us both to the ground. “I’m going to murder you, Fe. What the fuck were you thinking?”
I turned in his grasp, grabbing the front of his shirt with my free hand and bringing his mouth within an inch of mine. His eyes were flashing fire down at me, his jaw working, and I saw that he was both panicked and irate.
“I know the way out,” I shouted to be heard, because our assailants were now also shouting, and tear gas was filling the room. “You have to trust me, Greg.”
Without waiting to gauge his reaction, I twisted my wrist such that I held his hand in mine and pulled him forward toward the chute.
This time he didn’t stop me.
He followed where I led.
Granted, it was only ten feet and away from bullets and tear gas, but he still followed.
So, progress.
We made it to where the manual elevator should have been, but encountered several large empty pallets set on one end and leaning against the wall.
“Help me move these.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Just away from the wall.”
With one fierce push, Greg shoved them forward, revealing the hatch for the chute. I glanced down the vertical tunnel, estimated the drop to be sixty or more feet, concrete floor at the bottom. We’d confirmed earlier it was wide enough for Greg’s large frame.
“You’ll have to brace yourself against the sides and crawl down. It’s concrete floor at the bottom, so be careful.”
“You should go first—” he started to say, but then thought better of it, shaking his head. He stepped forward, dropped his semiautomatic down the chute, and leveraged himself inside. He used his hands and feet to brace himself and slide slowly toward the bottom floor. Once his head cleared the opening, I climbed in after him; the acrid smell of tear gas faint but growing stronger.
I slid down the walls, using my rubber soles and the palms of my hands to slow my descent. Even so, my arms were shaking and my legs were on fire. I was losing my grip. The weight of the day and week was pulling me under. I didn’t have enough strength left to scale the inside of the chute and soon I wouldn’t be able to hold on.
“Drop and I’ll catch you.” I heard Greg’s voice call from below.
I glanced down just as my arms gave way, sucking in a bracing breath. I had to trust him to catch me, because I was falling and couldn’t stop myself.
And he did.
He caught me with an “Oomph!” but his arms were strong and sure, and he recovered quickly.
I twisted out of his grip, my legs feeling like lead as my feet hit the ground. “This way. Dan should be on his way down.”
“I’m here.” I heard Dan’s voice through my earpiece. “I’m by the entrance and I’ve got you both covered. You’re clear to the door.”