"Ashur!"
The moment I saw the guards sprinting up the stairwell at the end of the corridor, I shouted his name.
Ashur yanked the doctor in front of him like a human shield. The guards opened fire on me.
Those damned doors still hadn't closed…
I dragged myself to the wall, bent down, and hauled one of the fallen guards in front of me.
He was heavy—dead weight in every sense—and, shaking with weakness, I had to lift his slab of a body high enough to use him as cover.
Gunfire cracked.
A bullet punched into the belly of the corpse I was hiding behind, and I jerked back in shock; if it had gone clean through, I would've dropped right there.
Ashur slid in beside me, dragging the doctor. He lifted his gun over the doctor's shoulder and fired down the hall.
The shots didn't just ring in my ears—they rattled through the marrow of my skull.
Gritting through the pain, I pressed my forehead to the guard's cold spine and tried to tuck my face behind him.
Ashur kept shooting, covering me until the glass doors finally slid shut.
The doors closed with an ugly clatter, and my heart stuttered like it forgot how to beat.
My hands—numb and shaking—let the body go.
I stared wide-eyed through the glass; the guards stood just beyond it, slamming fresh mags into their rifles.
I forced a ragged breath out and turned toward Ashur, wincing.
He was reloading, brows knotted tight.
I looked back at the glass. If it had closed a second later, we'd both be dead.
I counted them—more than twenty. Their uniforms were black this time, but their caps and the triangular insignia on their chests were a hard, blood-red.
Higher-tier units. Fully armed. Getting ready to light us up.
I leaned against the wall. If this glass wasn't bulletproof, we'd die here…
I clutched my bleeding leg, trying to push myself up—when the Union agents stepped closer to the door and raised their guns.
My eyes went wide.
Ashur ducked—still keeping the doctor locked in one arm—grabbed my elbow with the other, and hauled me up.
That exact second, the agents opened fire. The burst roared like an explosion inside my head.
I folded, hands over my skull, and peeked through my fingers.
The glass was bulletproof.
Ashur let go of my arm, nudged a pistol on the floor with the toe of his boot, and, while dragging the doctor away from the door, said, "Pick it up."
Panting, I crouched and snatched the gun.
Blood smeared my hands the second I gripped it. I straightened with a hiss and stared at the guards hosing bullets from the other side of the glass.
"This won't hold forever," Ashur said. "We have to move."
Still pulling the doctor toward the far end of the corridor, he muttered, "H—how many floors have security shielding? When can we d—ditch him?"
I knew he meant the doctor… and thanks to my soft-hearted mistake, we'd already lost Admin Patrick. Now we had to keep the doctor breathing to the very last second.
The doctor's neck was trapped in the crook of Ashur's arm; his face had gone purple, veins jumping along his neck and temple.
Dragged along, he shot me a bloodshot, half-lidded glare and growled, "Y—you think it's that easy?"
I slammed a fresh mag home, limped, and glanced back. The agents were still wrestling with the door's lock.
I drew a deep breath and turned to the doctor. He was fully awake now.
Blood leaked from his temple; his lips and nose were swollen and bruised. Seeing him like that made me feel better.
I stopped at his lab door and nodded to Ashur. "Here."
Ashur gave a curt nod and forced the doctor upright. One arm looped hard around his neck; the muzzle dug into his spine.
He mashed the doctor's cheek to the panel and, in a cold, deadly whisper, said, "D—don't you want to give us a l—little tour of your lab, Doctor?"