The group fanned out, taking turns clearing any adjoining hallways as they moved toward the north wing. They passed through another set of locking doors, when the emergency lights winked out, nothing but the faint glow from an exit sign at the end of the hallway casting any light.
Footsteps.
Pounding the floor a moment before two men charged out of a branching passage, rifles notched, muzzles flashing as they lit up the corridor.
Nick returned fire, catching a round in his vest as he lunged in front of Sloane, kept her tucked in behind him. Pain flared through his ribs, stealing his next breath as they folded into doorways, endless casings clicking off the polished floor. Dalton picked off one asshole, punching more brass through the walls, before waving them all back.
They retreated toward the last junction when the remaining connecting doors slammed shut, a resounding click sounding in the lull between rounds. More mercenaries closed in alongthe main corridor, the relentless suppressed fire limiting their options.
Buck popped out, emptied a full mag across the hall, then planted a charge. No hiding this time, just a quick mag change followed by more rounds until the charge blew, punched a hole through the wall in a spray of drywall and dust. Tierney dove through, the rest following as Buck held the line, looking like a man with little to lose.
He motioned for Nick to move as he grabbed a flash bang, skipped it down the hall. Nick darted through the jagged opening, Buck rolling in behind him a second before the grenade erupted, reduced the surroundings into a wash of white light. A shrill screech dropped them to their knees, the lingering whine ringing in his ears.
Nick stumbled to his feet, relying on muscle memory and years of dynamic entries while with Delta to get him moving. He grabbed Sloane around the waist, hiked her up as Dalton lifted Avery. Tierney managed to stagger to her feet, Buck shielding her stuttered movements as Bodie swept behind them. They emerged from the room, stumbled into another hallway, a cloud of dust and debris coughing out with them.
Bodie barred the door, then took point, shepherding them parallel to their previous track. It took a few minutes to weave back over, but they finally arrived at the deserted nurse’s station, the scene looking just as eerie in person as it had on the screen — the mug, the bloody chart, along with a single latex glove lying on the floor, as if it had been torn off mid-struggle.
Sloane angled over to the station, hovered her hand over the coffee. “It’s had time to cool.”
Nick waved them on. “Which means, we’re already out of time. Which way?”
Sloane checked her tablet, pointed to the hallway on their left. “Down there, then right at the next junction. It’s a straight shot to the north wing from there.”
Bodie headed out, still sweeping every crevice as Dalton moved in behind them. They quickstepped to the next corridor, started picking up speed when the overhead speaker buzzed. Bodie froze, fist raised, head tilted when a single click sounded over the intercom.
All the connecting doors in the hallway whooshed open, the farthest one closing with a resounding clang as the next set shuddered, started sliding together.
Bodie cursed. “He’s closing them in sequence.”
He took off, booking it down the hallway as the lights above the doors flashed green, yellow, then red. They scooted through, the timing between each section narrowing, the last set already closing before they’d cleared the junction.
Dalton raced ahead, arms pumping, his relentless training over the past year paying off. He slid between the closing doors, wedged his rifle against the metal edges, holding the sides apart with brute strength. He grunted, waiting until they’d darted through before twisting and slipping free as the glass slammed together, tearing a strip off one sleeve when the fabric caught in the middle. He fell back on his ass, chest heaving, eyes wild. Like a man who’d seen a reflection of his shattered past and just now realized he hadn’t silenced it.
Nick offered Dalton his hand, grabbing his wrist after he scrambled to his feet. “Thanks, brother. Who knew a guy your size could run so fast.”
Dalton smirked. “Gotta be able to outrun the zombies when they rise.”
Nick snorted. “As long as you can outrun the rest of us, I wouldn’t sweat it.”
They took a moment, everyone catching their breath when a monitor behind another security desk flickered to life. Numbers flashed on the display, different colored lines skipping across the screen.
Nick frowned. “What the fuck is that?”
Sloane inched closer, inhaled. “It’s Kessler’s vitals. The Reaper’s broadcasting them throughout the wing.”
“We need his room number, and we needed it five minutes ago.”
She pulled out her tablet, started tapping the screen as Nick watched their six, fully expecting the Reaper’s team to come barreling through some doorway they hadn’t scouted. “He’s in room four twelve.”
“Which means we still need to climb three floors.”
“Not only that, look…” Sloane pointed to the monitor. “His heart rate’s spiking, and his O2 sats are dropping.”
Nick glanced at his teammates, read the same conclusion in their eyes. “No more clearing. We make a push and pray we get there before he’s dead.”
No discussion, just the seven of them nodding and taking off, racing through the maze of corridors until they found the closest stairwell. Buck paused long enough for them to gather, then pulled it open, Bodie and the others darting through.
They cleared the steps leading to the lower level, then vaulted up the stairs, pausing at the first landing before claiming the next. Dalton covered their rear, running up sideways, his rifle at the ready. They hit the third floor when rounds chewed a line across the cement, catching Bodie and Buck once each in the vest as they returned fire, backtracked to the landing.
