Archie swore and cast a longing look in the direction of the commotion. His entire body looked crestfallen as he shoved to his feet. He glowered at the rest of them. “Look what you’re making me miss... it had better be worth it.”
Duncan herded everyone toward the door. Once out in the corridor, he pointed to the glowing Exit sign at the other end. “Let’s go out the back.”
Archie led the group in that direction, while casting a wounded look over his shoulder toward the nightclub. Because of that, he missed the rear door swinging open ahead of him. A single lamp in the alley revealed a pair of shadowy figures in body armor and helmets. Behind them and to the right, flashing blue lights bathed the two in flickering glows.
Sharyn grabbed Duncan’s arm and tugged him back.
“They found us . . .”
11
1:18 a.m.
Sharyn retreated backward down the hall, dragging Duncan with her, while herding Tag and Naomi behind her. Archie came along, looking confused. For the moment, Archie and Duncan blocked the view of Sharyn’s huddled group.
“Into the club,” she urged everyone.
But would it do any good?
Through the open doors, sirens could be heard blaring outside, rising from the front of the building.
They must have the place surrounded.
Still, she kept everyone moving, backpedaling, never taking her eyes off the two gunmen. Before they made it halfway down the corridor, someone called from the direction of the club.
“Where are you all going?”
Sharyn glanced over her shoulder and spotted the server from earlier. Atop a raised palm, the woman balanced a tray, laden with foaming pints.
The promised free order.
The group closed on the server, then tried to get past her. In the shuffling confusion, Sharyn ended up exposed, in full view of the armed men.
The two remained at the back door, guarding the rear exit. One stood with his head tilted to his shoulder, likely radioing in. Then the other one snapped straighter. The glint of black steel reflected as he lifted a handgun toward her.
“Run!” she yelled, shoving into Tag and Naomi.
Down the corridor, the two gunmen rushed with pistols raised.
Sharyn grabbed for the only deterrent at hand. She snatched the server’s tray, sending mugs tumbling and shattering, then flung the platter like a Frisbee down the hall. As the cork and metal rebounded and ricocheted off the walls, she hoped the confusion would throw off the gunmen’s aim for a few seconds.
Twisting around, she got her friends racing toward the far door. She had to abandon the server, who had fallen to a knee, knowing the woman was not the target.
Archie tried to help her up, but Duncan bowled into him and carried him along. “Move!”
Sharyn appreciated that Duncan had not abandoned her, but it was a foolish act. He was putting himself and his friend in needless danger. He and Archie were also not the targets this night.
Then gunfire broke out behind them. Muffled by silencers, the noise was barely discernible above the club’s roaring crowd. A glance back showed the server collapsing to the floor, shot in the head.
No . . .
Then Archie lurched forward with a cry and grabbed his shoulder, but Duncan kept him on his feet. They were almost to the door, but they would never make it.
Duncan must have recognized this, too, and crowded behind her, trying to shield her.
But another victim heedlessly interceded.
Behind them, the manager stepped angrily into the hall—right into the line of fire. He must have noted the commotion but failed to hear the muffled shots.
