Page 166 of Flint’s Strike

I nod. I don’t know what she means or how much pain I have to endure, but if it gets us both out of here alive, it’ll be worth it.

She picks up the tire iron, slides it between the pole and my wrists, and pulls.

The plastic bites harder into my skin. Deeper.

I scream. Then…my arms drop to my sides. Shoulders held too tight for too long send pure agony racing down my back.

Parker moves to my ankles. She hasn’t stopped coughing. Her hands shake. Her arms. Her eyelids flutter.

I grab her wrist, point to the mask, then to her.

“Your…feet…” She’s slurring her words, not just wheezing.

Fuck, no. Not like this.

I let go of her hand, and pray she understands me.

S. H. A. R. E.

O. R.

W. E.

D. I. E.

She stares at my clumsy finger spelling, then at the respirator.

“Lock—” Another coughing fit takes her. She collapses against me, sobbing and coughing and trying to speak.

I pull her closer. She won’t make it out breathing this air. And I won’t leave her. If we’re going to die, we’re going to die together.

Something hard presses against my hip. In her pocket. I reach for it, my fingers closing around metal, and pull out her multitool.

Parker jerks, her eyes flying open, and sits back on her heels. She tries. Fuck, she tries. But there’s too much smoke in her lungs. Her fingers can’t pry the blade free. She starts to sway.

I grab the multitool and work the blade until it snaps into position, then start sawing at the strap closest to my ear.

A thin, hot line of blood wells along my cheekbone. I don’t care. I twist and saw and pull, blood dripping from my jaw.

Parker’s hands close over mine. She’s gone pale, but she guides the blade until I finally feel the strap start to give.

I suck in a deep breath, and the mask falls away.

In two seconds, I have it over Parker’s mouth and nose.

One breath. Two.

The multitool fell to the floor next to the tire iron. I can’t get to it and keep the respirator in place. Another box catches fire, and as the cardboard starts to disintegrate, I shout, “Parker!”

Smoke rushes into my lungs as she forces her eyes open. I point to the burning box, to what’s inside.

Rubbing alcohol.

She takes one more deep pull of oxygen, then thrusts the mask back at me, and grabs the tire iron. The plastic tie around my ankles snaps as the alcohol catches, the entire left side of the room exploding into flame at once.

Parker gets my arm around her shoulders, and we struggle to our feet together, limping through the door and hopefully toward something that resembles an exit. I keep the respirator tight to her face, no matter how many times she tries to give it back to me.

The alarms get louder with each step we take down the hall. Flashing lights cut through the smoke. We turn a corner, and water rains down on us from the sprinkler system overhead.