They’d neared the parking lot and could make out the looming silhouettes of two heavy duty trucks parked near the garage. “Where are the keys?” Andrew asked.
“By my desk,” Dani replied. “Inside the garage.”
They both spared a long moment to study the garage door, which unfortunately for them, was closed.
“The power’s out,” Dani said, breaking away from Andrew and squatting in front of it. “But I think there’s enough room to get our fingers beneath the bottom, try to raise it by hand.”
“Okay.” Andrew crouched beside her, wedging his fingertips between edge of the door and the pavement. “On three?”
She nodded and he counted out. At three, they both furrowed their brows and dug in their heels, grunting as they strained to pry the enormous door up on its tracks. With a grating squall of metal against metal, it lurched and rumbled slowly, begrudgingly up a few inches. It was all they could manage before the strain grew too much, and they both released their grips, resting for a moment.
“If we can get it up a little more, I can crawl underneath,” Dani said.
“Let’s try again, then.” Andrew slid his hands beneath the metal rim. “One, two…three!”
Again, he gritted his teeth as he and Dani both heaved against the door. This time, the scraping as it rolled up the tracks sounded agonized and shrill. It moved slightly higher, no more than a few centimeters and exhausted, they had to fall back.
“Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “Back inside the lab, when I was still locked inside Moore’s office. You told me I was your reason. Did you mean that?”
He looked at her for a long moment, holding her gaze, unable to turn his eyes from her. Yes, he wanted to tell her. Yes, I meant it, each and every word.
“Dani,” he said softly, reaching for her. He let his fingers brush lightly against her face. She smiled at his touch, turned her face toward the caress.
He was so distracted that at first, he thought the sharp ratcheting sound he heard was the door lifting in the overhead tracks, that somehow the power had come back on and its motor was raising it once more toward the ceiling. It wasn’t until he felt bright, searing pain lance through his right ankle and his entire leg abruptly gave out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground, that he realized.
Gunshots. I’ve been shot!
“Andrew!” Dani cried, then more shots rang out, the rapid patta-pat-PATTA of an M16 assault rifle set to burst mode, allowing a torrent of rounds to fly from behind them. They clanged in a noisy, staccato burst against the metal garage door, leaving dented craters with each resounding impact, sending a spray of sparks as they struck.
“Run,” he yelled, scrambling forward, ducking his head and forcing his shoulders beneath the thick lip of the garage door. “Dani, take cover!”
She dove for the garage door, smaller than he was, wriggling beneath more easily. His waist had cleared, his ass nearly so, but when she reached to help him, getting her feet beneath her again, more bullets punched into the slick concrete floor between them, forcing her to dance back.
“Stop shooting,” she screamed, even as more rounds pelted into the garage door, an overlapping barrage of drum-like pounding. “Whoever’s out there shooting, stop,” she yelled again. “It’s Specialist Santoro and Andrew Braddock. We’re friendlies! We’re friendlies!”
Andrew had made it into the garage and crawled on his belly away from the threshold, trying to get out of the line of fire, dragging his injured leg uselessly behind him. Reaching the side of the nearest truck, he sat up against the front wheel and jerked up the cuff of his pants. The bullet had sheared away a hefty chunk of flesh from the back of his ankle. Shit, he thought, clapping his hand against the wound. Blood had soaked his sock and pooled in his boot. He could feel it there, squishing and hot beneath his heel.
“Andrew,” he heard Dani call out. He risked a peek around the truck’s front bumper and saw her crouched against the wall by the partially opened door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m hit,” he called back. Using the fender to brace himself, he tried to get to his feet. Each time he’d settle his weight against his injured leg, however, it would abruptly fail him, sending him crashing to his knees with a frustrated, hurting cry. “I can’t stand up.”
“Hang on. I’m coming,” Dani said. But as soon as she ventured a cautious step forward , new rounds burst out, plowing chunks out of the concrete near her feet and she scrambled back again, yelping in fright.
“Who’s out there, goddamn it?” she shouted. “We’re friendly, I said. Friendly!”
The shots stopped. As the resonant echoes subsided, a heavy silence fell upon the dark garage. Then, from outside, a soft but steady sound, the crunch of thick boot treads against concrete. Footsteps.
“I would have thought you’d be dead by now, Mister Braddock,” a voice called as a pair of legs stepped into view beneath the edge of the door. “I’ve given you plenty of opportunities.”
A familiar voice.
“Prendick,” Andrew seethed. When the bullets had flown again, he’d shrunk behind the truck’s tire, but raised himself enough now to look beyond the grill. As he watched, Major Prendick crouched down and entered the garage, crawling the way he’d undoubtedly learned in basic training ages earlier: on his belly, his rifle in his hands, his head raised so he could keep a wary eye ahead of him. Once inside, he stood again, sweeping his gaze cautiously around, waiting for his field of vision to adjust to gloom. Cocking the M16, he chambered a round, then clasped the gun at the ready.
“And you, Specialist Santoro,” he said. “I’m extremely disappointed in this gross dereliction of duty. This is going to go down in my report, I’m afraid, along with a recommendation you be brought up on official charges. You’re looking at a bad-conduct discharge, young lady, along with forfeiture of pay and jail time. All mandatory. I hope aiding and abetting Mister Braddock in the undermining of this facility and its operations has been worth it.”
Past the older man’s shoulder, Andrew saw Dani, even though Prendick hadn’t yet. She’d been crouching, motionless, in the shadows by the doorway, but moved her hand now, reaching for something lying on the floor. Andrew couldn’t make out what it was until she picked it up and it caught a wink of dim light—a monkey wrench. Looking across the garage, she met Andrew’s gaze, her eyes round and imperative.
He read her loud and clear.
“The only one guilty of anything around here, Prendick, is you,” he snapped, watching the man’s face whip in the direction of his voice. Prendick swung the gun toward him as well, his finger folding against the trigger, and with a yelp, Andrew scrambled back on his hands and knees as bullets peppered the front end of the truck. Within the confines of the garage’s interior, the sound was deafening, like overlapping rounds of cannon fire.
“You missed me,” Andrew yelled, once the echoes faded and the pungent stink of scorched gunpowder began to dissipate.
He heard the faint squeak of rubber against the floor as Prendick stepped toward him, then the older man chuckled. Andrew pressed himself onto his belly so he could look beneath the truck. He could see Prendick from the knees down, as well as Dani as she peeled herself away from her corner by the doorway and began inching along behind the Major, the wrench raised in her fist.
“You’re a good one to talk about dereliction of duty, you son of a bitch,” Andrew called out, baiting Prendick. “Since it’s your fault those guys in Alpha squad ended up monsters. Moore tried to tell you what would happen if you gave them the virus too fast, but you wouldn’t listen.”