The ground floor is chaos.
Alarms are blaring now, red lights strobing, guards converging from every direction. We fight our way through a reception area that looks like it belongs in a high-end spa, marble floors and tasteful artwork, now splattered with blood and littered with bodies.
My vision keeps graying at the edges. I ignore it.
"East exit, fifty meters." Asher is half-carrying me now, his arm around my waist, my blood soaking into his tactical vest. "Marlee, what's your position?"
"North side. We've got a window. Thiago's holding but we need extraction now."
"Dom, Kira, can you reach north side?"
"Negative." Dom's voice is strained, rougher than usual. "Roads are blocked. We're on foot, coming to you."
"Copy. Everyone converge on the east exit. We're getting out."
We burst through a set of double doors and into the cold night air. The facility's grounds spread out before us, manicured lawns and decorative hedges, the kind of landscaping designed to make visitors feel welcome. Behind us, the building is lit up like a Christmas tree, alarms screaming, guards swarming.
"There." Asher points to a maintenance shed at the edge of the property. "Cover."
We run. Or rather, Asher runs and I stumble alongside him, leaving a trail of blood on the perfectly manicured grass. The shed door is unlocked, and we tumble inside, collapsing behind a riding mower and a stack of fertilizer bags.
"Let me see." Asher pulls out a flashlight, shielding the beam with his hand, and examines my side. His expression goes flat. Controlled. The look of a man who's seen a lot of wounds and knows how to categorize them.
"How bad?" I ask.
"Bad."
"Scale of one to ten."
"Seven. Maybe eight." He's already pulling supplies from his kit, gauze and tape and a packet of coagulant powder. "Bullet's still in there. You need surgery."
"Not really in my schedule tonight."
"Jinx—"
"Patch me up. Get me mobile. We can deal with the rest when we're not being hunted."
He wants to argue. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. But he knows I'm right. Staying here means dying here, and neither of us came all this way to die in a maintenance shed surrounded by bags of cow shit.
He works fast, packing the wound with gauze, taping it tight. The coagulant powder burns like someone poured acid into my flesh, and I bite down on my sleeve to keep from screaming. By the time he's done, I'm shaking, sweat dripping down my face, but the bleeding has slowed.
"That'll hold for maybe an hour." Asher helps me sit up. "After that, you're in serious trouble."
"Then we better move fast."
A shadow falls across the doorway.
Asher spins, weapon up, but it's Marlee, Thiago leaning heavily on her shoulder. His left arm is wrapped in a makeshift bandage, blood seeping through, but his right hand still holds a pistol.
"You look like shit," Marlee tells me.
"You should see the other guys."
"I did. Nice work." She eases Thiago down against the wall. "Dom and Kira?"
"En route." Asher checks his comm. "Dom, status?"
Static.
