Bodie bolted over, Tierney covering their six as Rowan pushed her father in the wheelchair. Bodie wasn’t sure if the aggressive display earlier was a sign the man had started to rebound, or if the accumulative effects of the serums had turned the man rabid. Nothing but basic instincts and pure adrenaline left.
God, he hoped that wasn’t the case. That Alister simply needed more time to repair the pathways — regain his identity. That Rowan wouldn’t have to lose her father all over again.
He’d be there. Shoulder whatever spilled over. He just prayed it didn’t take her down, too.
He let the thoughts fade, as he muscled the shelf to one side, exposed a rusty metal door.
He tried opening it, grunted when the thing wouldn’t budge. “Either it’s rusted shut or this thing’s sealed, too.”
Someone pounded on the exterior door, shouted an order Bodie couldn’t make out.
He grabbed his knife, jammed it under the lip. “There’s got to be some kind of manual release…” He found a notch in the metal, pushed on it.
The steel groaned, finally gave against Bodie’s brute strength. The hatch swung open, revealed a steep, dark metal slide that vanished less than fifteen feet down. Cobwebs laced the interior, a thick layer of dust coating the sides.
Tierney looked down, scrunched up her face. “I’ve got an idea.”
She raced over to the beds, grabbed the pillows and sheets then ran back. She tossed the pillows down the chute, smiling when a dull thud echoed up the tunnel. “Better than hitting concrete.”
“Assuming we make it all the way down.” Bodie flashed his light length of the tunnel. “Now, all we need is a volunteer.”
“I’ll go.” Dalton stepped up. “That way I can help catch Alister when you send him down next.”
Bodie maintained his watch as Dalton climbed over the lip, braced his forearms and toes against the sides. “Try not to die.”
“See you on the other side, brother.”
He released his hold, shot down the slide with a long, loud screech, twin scuffs marking the sides from his boots. He vanished a couple of stories down, a dull thump sounding shortly after.
“Dalton?”
Dalton coughed, tapped the inside. “There’re some sharp connections, but doable.”
“I’ll be damned.” Bodie motioned to Tierney. “Why don’t you go next while I make a rope out of the sheets?—”
Rowan darted in beside him. “Already got one ready. It won’t reach the entire way but…”
But it beat dropping Alister all four stories.
Bodie helped her wrap one sheet under his arms in a makeshift harness, tying the ends together before easing him over the lip — praying Alister didn’t regain consciousness halfway down — tear the entire shaft apart with his bare hands if he went feral, again. “Head’s up, Dalton. The last half’s going be quick.”
Dalton muttered something that got swallowed by Alister’s body as Bodie slipped him fully inside, started lowering him hand over hand.
More shouts rose outside the door, a loud hissing sound filling the air.
Rowan cursed. “They’re cutting their way through.”
Bodie nodded. “Once your dad’s down, we’re outta here.”
He didn’t add that they’d all be dead if Graves’ men broke through before Dalton caught Alister, but Bodie didn’t need to. It was evident in the firm press of Rowan’s lips, how she anchored the rifle against her shoulder, caressed the trigger.
The sheets glided through Bodie’s hands, the knots Rowan had tied straining against the weight, when the one just below his fingers slipped, dropped Alister a foot before Bodie dove forward, grabbed the end before Alister fell the last three floors.
Bodie slammed against the side, cracked his head on a metal seam, splitting open a line along his forehead as the edge of the chute dug a groove into his chest. He squeezed harder, the smooth fabric already slipping through his grasp, until Tierney lunged forward, snagged the ends, then bound them back together.
She tapped his arm, nodded, and he slowly shifted Alister’s weight back onto the line, relaxing a fraction when the connection held.
Tierney looked up at him. “You okay?”
