Laurel’s ears rang, her equilibrium listing sideways, but she didn’t wait for the world to steady.
She surged forward, grabbed the handle, and tore the door open. It resisted, metal warped just enough to fight her, but she forced it. The hallway beyond glowed sickly under flickering fluorescents. “Viv, behind me. Tim, follow her. Abigail, rear guard with your eyes open.”
She kept her tone controlled, clipped, and cold. There was no time for comfort. No time for fear. They fell into formation. No alarms blared, and there was no sound beyond their footsteps and the low hum of fluorescent lights. Either the explosion hadn’t registered outside the storage room, or the entire lab had been built to hide noise.
Probably the latter.
Laurel led them fast down the corridor, past sealed labs and clean rooms, her boots echoing on the concrete. They climbed the stairs two at a time, reached the main vestibule, and ran outside into the rain.
Laurel turned to Abigail. “Go. I’m sure you can hotwire a car. Take Vexler’s Chevy and get help.” She nudged Viv toward the car and met Abigail’s gaze, making sure she had her sister’s full attention. “Keep them safe.”
“I’ll stay and help you,” Kohnex panted. Rain streaked the blood on his face.
“No. Go protect them,” Laurel said, pushing him off balance just enough to send him moving. “Get help.”
She pivoted and ran back inside, hustled to the emergency cabinet bolted into the corridor wall, and ripped the fire ax free from its brackets. The metal protested with a sharp screech, as if warning her this was a one-way decision. Her hand adjusted on the handle until the grip locked into her palm like it belonged there.
She couldn’t let them finish filling the canisters and possibly escape.
Running down the stairs, her boots struck the concrete in hard, purposeful strides. Hitting the bottom, she turned left and advanced down the hallway.
Her fingers tightened around the ax.
The door to the secondary lab hung slightly open. She didn’t stop to listen or wait for backup that wasn’t coming.
She stepped in.
Fitz stood inside near the center table, hunched over something. The harsh ceiling lights cast jagged angles across his back and shoulders. His hands worked quickly, fingers twitching over a small black box in front of him that appeared slick, mechanical, and humming with silent energy. Not the canister. Wires ran from it to something on the counter behind him. A detonator? A secondary device?
“Hey,” she said.
He turned fast, just beginning to register the threat when she closed the distance.
She swung the ax handle and hit his skull with a blunt, sickening crack, just above the temple, careful not to cut him with the blade. His body dropped straight down, knees buckling, arms falling limp at his sides. He collapsed in a heap, his head smacking the floor once more on impact.
She didn’t watch him fall.
Didn’t check for breath.
Her eyes were already on the workspace.
The canister wasn’t there.
Her stomach tightened.
Damn it.
She turned, scanning every surface and clocked the metal table, the open drawers, and the black box blinking slowly on the bench. Had he been preparing a bomb for the facility? If so, he hadn’t had enough time to arm it. Her thoughts sharpened again, pushing through the ringing in her ears, through the rising thrum of tension in her spine.
The canister was gone.
She pivoted fast, her boots sliding on the slick floor. Her vision blurred at the edges—adrenaline pushing blood too hard, her body catching up to what her mind already knew. The weapon was still close by, and Vexler had a gun. Gun usually beat ax.
The lab buzzed with the low hum of active equipment. Oscillating lights on the far wall blinked in no discernible pattern. She could feel her pulse pounding behind her eyes. Her grip on the ax tightened.
She forced her breathing to slow, but her heart wouldn’t cooperate as she sprinted back into the hallway, cutting right and toward what looked like offices. She could hear typing. Her boots pounded down concrete. Alarm klaxons started to whine behind the walls. Fitz had triggered something before she dropped him. Great.
She slammed through the first door.
