Nick backed up, sprinted ahead, sliding through on the waxed floor. He twisted, used his hand to stop his momentum before turning, looking back. Bodie followed, Sloane moving in behind him when the door dropped a foot, nearly catching her in the head.
The image got him up and sprinting — shoving his rifle underneath like Dalton had done earlier. The door dropped,smacking the butt, gears whining overhead, the weapon looking as if it might crack at any second.
He held firm, twisting it free once Dalton had scooted through, the edge banging into place with a resounding boom.
Nick stumbled to his feet, the lack of oxygen really kicking in, reducing the surroundings to blurry shapes all bleeding into beige. He shook it off, forced his legs to move, when a low cackle sounded through the speakers.
“Better get a move on, Colter. Once that last door closes, it won’t open again unless your girlfriend can hack it.” Another laugh. “And I’m betting she can’t.”
Up ahead, the ceiling panel popped open, the final suppression shutter inching down at some ridiculously slow pace, as if daring them to challenge it. Nick looked at Dalton, the same thought passing between them, as they took off, surging from a run into a full out sprint in a heartbeat.
They reached the door, both placing their shoulders under the descending metal as if they could hold it back with nothing but bones and determination. The annoyingly bright lights winked back out, the crimson emergency lighting bathing the corridor in a bloody glow.
Bodie hoofed it toward them, Sloane hot on his heels as the pressure beneath Nick’s shoulder dropped him to one knee, Dalton falling in with him. Bodie didn’t slow, diving forward Superman-style — skidding under the lip and into the wall beyond.
Nick waved Sloane through, hissing out each breath, locking his gaze on Dalton as his buddy counted it down. They both rolled once he reached three, barely getting free before the door slotted into place, blocking out their view of the hallway.
Fatigue weighed him down, sucking out any remaining energy as he crawled over to the last door, pounding his fist on it.
Sloane collapsed beside him, her fingers still tapping her tablet, though he wasn’t sure if she was actually touching anything or just sliding them over the screen. Bodie shouldered the door, then slid down it, chest heaving, an alarming squeak hissing out with every labored breath.
The scenery swam, everything washing into black when the keypad chimed, the doors sliding apart with a welcomed blast of fresh air. They tumbled through, landing face-first in the isolation ward foyer, the lights humming back to full strength. Cool air rushed past them, lifting a fraction of the fuzziness.
Sloane did something with her tablet, closed the doors behind them, sealing out the compromised air. Nick straightened, lungs still burning, vision a wash of gray at the fringes. He looked at the series of glass-walled rooms, his thoughts scattering before truly taking shape.
Sloane got her weight beneath her, pointed at the last room on the right. “Kessler…”
It took more focus than Nick wanted to admit he needed to follow her hand, zero in on the room. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t even tried moving yet, then pushed off, dragging his feet over to the window.
Beyond the glass, Kessler writhed on the bed, still straining against the leather restraints, his skin turning an eerie shade of blue.
Bodie shouldered the doors, resorting to a steel spreader he’d brought in his kit, but the seam didn’t budge. “It’s sealed tight. Sloane?”
She coughed, looked as if she might puke, as she frowned. “Working on it. But it’s a pressurized seal on a separate circuit. It’ll take me a couple minutes to override the mag-bolts.”
Nick pounded his fist on the glass. “Kessler doesn’t have that kind of time.”
He moved, snatched the heavy carbon dioxide extinguisher from the wall bracket, aimed the nozzle after pulling the pin. The compressed gases rushed out with a numbing hiss, painting the reinforced glass panel with a thick, white frost. Icy patterns spiderwebbed up the sheet, the window groaning against the thermal shock.
Nick heaved the canister over his head, arms shaking, rage burning beneath his skin. “Turn away.”
He swung the base like a sledgehammer, the first hit bouncing off, the force ringing up his arm and into his teeth. He struck again, a satisfying crack splitting the air, lines snaking through the glass from the epicenter. On the third strike, it gave with a sharp, crystalline pop, collapsing inward in a shower of razor-like needles. A wave of cold, sterile air rolled out, hitting Nick’s lungs like a physical blow, carrying the pungent scent of ammonia mixed with a metallic undertone.
He stepped through, boots crunching on shards, his brain still fighting the hypoxia. Kessler’s monitors blared above the ringing in his ears, the lines on the screen fluctuating like a seismic graph. Kessler looked their way, eyes drooping, mouth moving in a soundless plea before he faded, his chest barely moving beneath the strap cinched across his ribs.
Nick bolted forward, checking the shadows as he went before removing Kessler’s mask, switching off the machines. Bodie joined him on the other side, sliding the straps through the buckles, letting them hang off the side. Kessler groaned, lips tinged blue, a hollow hiss whistling from his chest with every shallow breath.
Nick grabbed a blanket off the bed, levered Kessler against his chest as a metallic twang cut the air.
“Nick, wait!”
Sloane’s voice echoed off the walls as she barreled into him with the force of a high-speed collision, her shoulder catchinghim mid-sternum. The impact knocked him against the bed, buckling his legs and dropping him to the floor.
A heavy mechanical thud filled the room as the hinged blade struck her torso, the sound morphing into a wet, sucking gurgle as it recoiled. Sloane’s voice hitched into a strangled rasp, cutting off with a sharp hiss. She froze, body strung tight, her hands fisted around the rail before she pitched forward, half-collapsing against the bed frame.
“Sloane!”
Nick scrambled over to her, the freezing air in the room suddenly like fire in his lungs. He shoved away the knife he hadn’t realized had been pressure rigged to the bed — caught her before she hit the floor, his hands instantly slick with the deep, hot crimson blooming across the side of her black tactical shirt.
