I know which way they’ll chase us: in the direction of the stairs. They don’t know about the dumbwaiter, which will work to our advantage. I turn to the right and hurtle toward the laundry room. I round the corner, pulling the door shut behind me and jamming a folding chair beneath the doorknob.
I heave Piper into the dumbwaiter. “I don’t know what the weight limit on this is,” I say, hitting the button for the third floor. “You go up first. Hopefully the others will think we left up the stairs and go that way.”
“Are you sure—” she begins to say, and then someone slams into the door.
It rattles on its hinges and the wedged chair creaks in protest.
“Okay, never mind,” I say. “Scoot over.”
I hastily fold myself into the tiny space. It was small before, but now with two people, it’s claustrophobic.
There is another crash—and a bellow, like a bull let loose in the basement.
Piper shudders and presses herself tighter to me. The dumbwaiter begins to rise slowly, ever so slowly.
“Come on,” I whisper, a panicky bite of anger slipping into my voice. “Comeon.”
The third time someone collides with the door, a hinge gives way. The folding chair half holds, rubber feet skidding across the floor. Then it falls, crashing with a deafening finality.
Corey charges into the room. His bulk is even more impressive in this small laundry room, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear there is steam coming out of his nostrils. He must have left the others behind to give chase.
“You,” he snarls, rage suffusing the word. He makes it sound like the filthiest of curses.
He is across the room in a few strides. And then he lunges for the elevator and seizes it. A mechanical groan reverberates through the dumbwaiter.
“You won’t get away with her!” Corey’s face flushes with exertion and fury. “I won’t let you!”
Blood runs down a gash in his forearm. His fingers are slick as he seizes my ankle and pulls.
It’s like being caught in a second planet’s gravity. I try to kick at him, but there’s no leverage. I can’t hold on to anything, I have no weapons, I can’t—
And then I see the tranq gun tucked into the pocket of his pants.
Okay, here’s one thing I haven’t mentioned yet. While I have never had formal weapons training, Prefect did go through some of the basics of gun safety with me: Don’t point a gun at anything you don’t want dead, don’t ever assume one is unloaded, and never, ever keep a gun in your pants. It’s too easy to shoot yourself in a sensitive area.
And it makes your weapon easy to steal.
I lunge forward, yank the gun from Corey’s pocket, press the barrel to his stomach, and pull the trigger four times.
He staggers back.
Those darts aren’t meant to be fired at point-blank range, and it has to hurt. I remember the sting of pain against my own shoulder. His hand goes instinctively to his injury—releasing my ankle.
I kick out hard, striking a rib. Already, his eyes look a little unfocused. Hopefully that dose of tranquilizer isn’t enough to kill him—just disable him for a while.
The dumbwaiter jerks beneath us and Piper lets out a small scream. I press one hand to the wall as it shudders. The doors shut with an agonized grind of machinery.
And then we are pulled upward into darkness. I don’t dare breathe for another thirty seconds, certain that at any moment, someone will fire a gun or something into the elevator shaft. But, no—they can’t. They’ll risk Piper.
Dizziness washes over me.
I did it. I did it. I got her out of there.
“You okay?” I rasp.
“Yes,” says Piper. She lets out a little laugh. “You took your time. I thought no one was going to rescue me.”
I nudge her gently. “Hey, gotta make a good entrance, right? Your brother’s waiting for us.”
