Another shot, and then another. I crashed into Tucker, and knocked him into the side of the building. We fell hard, a mess of arms, legs, and the hard metal angles of the chair.
“Help me up!” he shouted.
I was already scrambling toward the entrance on my hands and knees. A quick look over my shoulder revealed that he had yet to rise, and was thrashing around like a fish out of water. It was only then I saw that his hands were bound in front of him, and his waist and legs were fastened to the chair.
What remained of the glass double doors behind me shattered as a bullet screamed by my left ear. My ears rang, my heart hammered against my rib cage. I drew myself as close as I could to the building, feeling the shards of glass slash my thighs, and reached for the gun.
The trigger stuck.
An instant of frozen panic.
I released the safety, cocked the slide, and fired up at the roof. Once, twice. The kickback sent reverberations up my arms. I locked my elbows and fired again, straight into the metal overhead, watching the holes puncture through it like it was tin foil. There was a stunted cry, and then a crash as the awning gave way near my last shot, and a man fell through, landing ten feet away. There was blood on his face. It soaked through his open uniform jacket. He gripped his leg, screaming. It bent forward at the knee to the same degree that the other bent back.
I shoved myself up. In a surge of strength I grabbed Tucker’s shoulders and began to drag him backward through the front doors of the mini-mart. He twisted, trying to help me, and threw the chair onto its side.
My back strained. The muscles of my legs quaked. With a cry, I jerked us both through the entrance, landing on a warm, dusty floor.
Immediately I searched for more soldiers, any signs of movement. It wasn’t until that moment that I saw what filled the mini-mart.
Bodies. A dozen of them. Tossed over each other like dirty laundry. I smelled it then, the rotting flesh, the sharp tang of blood. Flies buzzed through the air, a thick black cloud over them.
The medic from Chicago leaned against an empty rack, his face white with death, a hole in the center of his forehead.
I stared at the gun in my hands needing something, anything, solid to hold on to. My vision shook, or maybe it was my grasp. Maybe it was my whole body.
We were too late. The MM had set an ambush and used Tucker as the bait. And DeWitt, who’d led us to believe he’d sent a team to help, had done nothing.
There was no time to think about it now.
I crouched behind the counter, locking my jaw as I removed an icicle-shaped piece of glass an inch wide from my side. My mouth opened in a silent scream, but though the beige tunic blossomed red, the pain numbed instantly. I pressed down on it to slow the bleeding.
“Chase,” I said between my teeth. “Do you see him?”
Tucker had managed to free his waist from the chair, though his ankles and wrists were still bound.
“Find something sharp!” he ordered.
I grabbed the closest thing I could, the piece of glass that had been embedded in my skin, and crawled over to him, keeping as low as I could. I sawed at the tight ropes around his hands.
“Don’t move!” I snapped at him when he strained against the ties.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he chanted.
The shots continued outside, and when I heard a grunt, and a drawn-out groan of pain, I dropped the glass and shoved past him, ducking low to see who had been hit.
A soldier kneeled out in the middle of the street. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder too slowly, and in the time before he fired he was hit three times across the chest. He fell back, motionless. I didn’t see the shooter until Jesse streaked by toward the cover of the shipyard.
Another window shattered. Tucker, hands now released, grabbed my arm and ripped me back. He returned to frantically trying to cut the rope around his ankles.
“They followed me,” he said. “I didn’t know. I swear.” His eyes, green and glassy, met mine. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
I believed him.
A groan behind me drew my attention, and both Tucker and I froze. Still with the gun aimed on the door I crawled backward, keeping my head low.
The first thing I saw was Jack, or what had once been Jack, his long body splayed out across the floor as if he’d been tossed there. Under his legs was someone else. Someone whose pale face was turned to the side, revealing a head of light brown hair, matted with blood.
“Sean?” I kept my eyes on the door but crouched low, close to his face. I gave his arm a firm shake and he groaned again. He’d been shot low in the shoulder, but from the looks of his shirt had bled significantly.
A bullet zipped overhead, implanting in the back wall. Tucker swore.
With one arm I shoved Jack’s legs off of Sean’s, and pinched him as hard as I could beneath one knee.
He gasped, coughed weakly. The tears burned my eyes. I was so overcome with relief I nearly broke down.
“Sean!” My voice cracked. “Get up right now!”
“Ember?”
“Up!” I ordered. He struggled to get to his elbows. His eyes found Jack and wandered around the rest of the room before falling out of focus.
“Three,” he said faintly. “They know where the doctor is. We’ve got to get back. Becca’s…”
The screech of metal behind me, and someone burst through the back door.
I jerked my gun around, and felt the sob strangle my breath when I saw Chase.
“Ember!”
“Here,” I said. He dodged between the bodies, eyes going wide with horror before stooping beside me.
“DeWitt didn’t send anyone,” I said.
“You sure about that?” His voice was cold, and his intention made my blood run cold. This couldn’t have been Three’s work. This had to be the MM.
“Good. You brought backup,” mumbled Sean. His eyes began to roll back.
I pinched him again, this time in the crook of his elbow.
“Ow!” Sean shook his head.
“Jesse?” Chase asked me.
“Last I saw he was running for the shipyard.”
His lip curled back as he saw the way my shirt was sticking to my side. “You’re hit.”
“Just glass,” I told him. “I’m fine.”
He looked as though he didn’t believe me, but nodded anyway. “I’ll clear the back for you. It’s a straight shot into the woods; we’ll meet back at the car.”
“You hear that Sean? We’re running,” I said. “Get ready.”
He groaned as Chase hoisted him to his feet.
“Wait,” I heard Tucker say from the other side of the counter. “Wait, I’m almost … wait, okay?”
Chase flinched, his eyes cold and hard.
“We can’t leave him,” I said.
“Once you’re clear, I’ll come back for him.”
“Chase…”
His hand cupped the back of my neck and drew me forward, smashing his lips against my brow. He was gone too soon; when I opened my eyes it was to see his back as he dodged toward the exit.
I ducked under Sean’s arm and we hobbled after Chase. When we were in the doorframe, I wiped the sweat off my hand and replaced the gun, then made sure my friend was tight against my side.
“Ready?” Chase asked.
I glanced to Sean. He inhaled through his nostrils, face beginning to flush in patches.
“Now or never,” he said.
I nodded.
Chase stepped out on the crumbling concrete step and aimed directly into the woods. Shots came from the roof, and then someone called, “Hey! They’re back here!”
Without hesitation, Chase ran to the side, spun, and fired up at the roof. Sean and I sprinted toward the tree line. We hit the bushes with a crash, barely staying upright. I told my feet to keep moving, and they pedaled on, tearing through the vines and flimsy roots. Sean stumbled, then regained his footing, shoving forward.