Page 119 of Flint’s Strike

I check my phone. Still no signal. “He will. I don’t think he’s a bad guy. I think he spent six years making one bad decision after another, and he’s tired of carrying the weight.”

“I hope you’re right.” Nate sets his phone in the center console. “Soon as we get a bar or two, I’ll text Eliot about the retirement home. Gotta get that moved up the priority list.”

“That barbecue truck is only ten minutes away. We’ll text him when we get there.” I ease the car off the dirt road and back onto asphalt. “You’re buyin’.”

Nate clutches his heart. “Your lack of concern for your cholesterol is going to kill me.”

“I’ll get a whole mess of collard greens. Or slaw. Veggies galore.”

He rolls his eyes, then reaches for the “oh shit” handle as I take a curve two miles an hour over the speed limit. “I take it back. Your driving will do me in first. This is what I get for making one questionable life choice after another.”

“Oh, hush,” I say with a quick, fierce smile. “I’m doin’ just fine.”

Nate settles deeper into the passenger seat, letting go of the handle, but not truly relaxing. “Parker, our definitions of ‘fine’ are not the same.” After a moment, he adds, “That truck better have brisket.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Eliot

I drag the back of my hand over my brow. My glove catches dust, bits of insulation, and smears of something I don’t want to know about.

Five hours inside Austin Memorial Hospital, and muscles from my neck all the way to my arches are protesting the abuse. I know every unforgiving inch of the building now. The hard tile floors. The industrial carpet in the administrative offices, the scent of antiseptic that never quite drowns out the smell of chicken soup from the cafeteria.

Two more items on my checklist. Kurt’s in the adjoining wing, finishing his list. In an hour, we should be able to certify this building. Assuming we don’t find any major issues.

Twenty-two buildings on Nate’s spreadsheet have a life-safety load too high to risk waiting even a single day to verify Apex’s inspections weren’t complete bullshit.

Hospitals, care homes, and the three schools still in session go first. Chief Alvarez made sure I got inspectors from all over the state, but that’s eleven of us against two hundred three buildings that might be at risk.

Hospital patients can’t always walk out the front door if something happens. Operating rooms are booked the whole damn day. Anything goes wrong in this building, it’s a mass casualty event.

I climb the scaffolding, doing my best not to make my knee any angrier than it already is. One more smoke damper to check. Then two fire doors, a line of sprinkler heads above Radiology, and I’m done.

Once I’m high enough, I pop open the access panel in the ceiling. The damper sits where the HVAC ductwork punches through the wall, its actuator bolted to the side. With my flashlight clamped between my teeth, I check the wiring. No damage. No loose connections.

My hand shakes as I pull the flashlight free. “Cycle it,” I call to the hospital maintenance guy standing below me. He radios the facilities engineer, and a moment later, a mechanical whir cuts through the hum of conversation and medical equipment all around me.

The actuator turns, and a steel blade swings shut inside the duct. The seal’s clean. I mark it operational, and re-seat the access panel.

I thought my knee hurt on the way up, but going down is worse. The maintenance guy ambles off toward the elevator bank, and I gather my gear and start down the hall toward the last two fire doors on the list.

My phone buzzes against my hip. Parker. I stop, find a hard plastic chair against the wall, and lower myself down. Five minutes. I can take five minutes.

There’s an adult care home at Mesa and Steck that needs someone there ASAP. Kessler signed off on it a few years ago. Said it was bad.

I groan, and pull my tablet from my bag to check Nate’s list.

It was on the schedule for tomorrow. But I’ll send Kurt over there with one of the guys from Lubbock now. He’s struggling with his broken arm, but he can supervise. Austin Memorial’s looking like it’s gonna be clear. I can finish it up on my own.

I send Kurt a quick message, but before he can reply, Parker texts again.

You doing okay?

Am I? Another two hours here, then at least four at a school in Pflugerville. All while coordinating the biggest operation of my career. Yet, I feel lighter now than I have in…years.

Tired as fuck. Hearing from you helps. How’s your day?

Stopped for barbecue outside of Bastrop. Nate is a terrible passenger.