Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Coulter grabbed his last frag. “Neve, blow the doors. Everyone get ready to move.”
Neve yanked a grenade off her vest, pulled the pin and launched it at the glass, huddling over her teammates as Coulter followed suit, clicked his canister down the hallway just as some of Fraser’s men stepped into the corridor.
An eerie silence fell a moment before the first grenade blew, shattering the glass as fire and smoke billowed toward the ceiling.
The echoed blast rattled the walls, glass shards showering the hallway just as the flash bang erupted down the hall, shaking the building with a concussive display of light and sound. A high-pitched whine roared in Coulter’s head, the combined explosions taking him to one knee.
He clenched his jaw, relying on muscle memory to get him on his feet — corral the others and half-shove, half-drag them toward the blown doors.
Neve recovered first, tripping her way along, shouldering Wynn’s weight as he grabbed Zadie.
Scout trailed behind, not quite steady but managing when a spray of rounds chewed through the smoke, punching through walls, shattering one of the overhead lights.
Scout grunted as a round hit her vest with a sickening thump, the impact knocking her against the doorframe. She cursed, returned a few trigger pulls before stumbling into the surgical wing.
Fire raged off to the left, the smoke-choked air reducing the room to a thick, gray soup. He backed in, laying down more covering fire as they stumbled into a surgical prep-room, another round of bullets sparking off sinks and shelving units filled with bottles and extra scrubs.
Wynn headed for the far wall, wedging open an emergency exit as Coulter held the men at bay, Neve shouldering in beside him, peppering brass out the doorway as he changed mags. The temperature soared, the resulting heat singeing the hairs on Coulter’s arms where his hoodie had gotten ripped.
His team retreated halfway across the room as Scout and Zadie cleared the adjoining door, slipping into what looked like a stairwell. Coulter waved Wynn on, taking Neve to the floor when a stray round hit the valve on an oxygen tank, blowing off the cap with a resounding thunk.
A high-pitched whine filled the room, what sounded like a jet engine spooling up, as the valve burst, a hiss of air venting into the flames — turning the entire room into full-blown accelerant.
Wynn inhaled, yelling at them to move a moment before the bottles in the cabinet ignited, funneling a fountain of blue-white flames across the room.
The pressurized stream hit the far door, Wynn barely ducked through before it slammed shut, tiny balls of liquid napalm raining down across the floor, the intense heat burning through the linoleum.
Above them, a panel opened with a metallic screech, a heavy-duty fire door uncurling with a bone-chilling whirl.
Coulter grabbed Neve, rolled them both across the floor, the bottom of the metal sheet slamming down beside them with a jarring thud — ripping a strip off Neve’s sleeve as it pinned the material beneath it.
Neve covered her mouth with her arm, yanking Coulter to his feet when more bullets whizzed past, bouncing off the metal structure, one punching a hole in a vent. Steam rushed out, mixing with the smoke, turning the air into liquid heat.
Coulter grabbed her hand, tugged her toward an alternate door, shouldering it open before waving her through.
They stumbled into a well-appointed operating room, the stainless-steel equipment gleaming orange from the fire.
Footsteps followed behind them at that unnatural pace, the empty room echoing the sound off the walls.
Shadowed figures moved within the smoke, fading in and out of view like wraiths.
Coulter ducked behind a set of monitors, holstering his Sig before unsheathing one of his knives. He pointed to the tanks and lines strewn across the room. One stray bullet, and the entire room would ignite.
Neve nodded, slung her rifle over her shoulder and palmed a tactical blade, the metal edge glinting in the orange glow, when two men appeared in front of them.
Neve dove to her left, swinging a massive surgical light at the guy who lunged at her, catching his arm as he tried to slice a line down her chest. Coulter managed to kick the asshole in the back of the knee, knock him onto his ass before the other guy landed a strike to his ribs.
Pain flared through Coulter’s chest, stealing his next breath as he blocked a hit, landed a couple massive hooks to the asshole’s temples.
The guy stumbled back, shook his head, then lunged forward, slicing a line down Coulter’s arm.
Blood welled along the wound, the red color almost black amidst the smoke.
The added sting helped him focus — highlighted all he had to lose. That Neve was facing off against someone just as strong, just as fast as the guy challenging Coulter.
That losing her, here, wasn’t an option.
Anger seethed inside him, and he dodged the next slice, moving in close — eliminating any speed advantage.
A couple of throat punches and a headbutt, and the asshole staggered back, putting some distance between them.
Coulter used the lull to grab a tray off a small, portable table, brandish it like a shield when the man swung again.
His blade connecting with the metal emitted a spine-tingling screech.
Coulter slammed the edge of his shield into the asshole’s elbow, knocked him sideways before catching him in the head, the impact sending a vibration that resonated up Coulter’s arms.
The merc fell to his knees, blood leaking out one ear, his body shaking. A firm boot, and he dropped, head cocked off to the side, eyes squeezed shut. Coulter turned, searched for Neve through the smoke, following a series of grunts, what sounded like boots scuffing the floor.
He circled the table, still scanning the smoke, looking for more of Fraser’s men waiting in the dark before popping out on the other side, analyzing the scene with a single glance.
One asshole, laid out on the floor, Neve’s KA-BAR sticking out of his neck.
Another had her trapped behind a cart, seemingly indifferent to the flames licking at the ceiling tiles above him or the alcohol swabs catching fire beside him as he reached for her neck.
Coulter grabbed a defibrillator and hit the power. The unit primed, a hushed whine curling around him as he lunged at the guy. Pressing the button, Coulter jammed the paddles against either side of the man’s head.
The merc jerked, arms thrashing, head thrown back before crumpling to the ground, legs still twitching. Coulter kicked his side, waited to see if he’d push through before dropping the paddles and tugging Neve into his arms when she shimmied out from behind the cart.
He cupped her face, kissing her hard on the mouth, then grabbed her hand. “Exit. Now.”
He spun, wove back through the maze of machines and debris only to hit another fire wall, the slatted metal pieces refusing to budge. Neve tapped his arm, pointed to the far side where a stainless-steel hatch gleamed orange against the fire’s glow.
He darted over, used the hem of his hoodie to lift the metal door then stared into the gaping hole behind it. “Looks like a laundry chute, but I can’t tell how far down it goes.”
Neve shrugged. “Beats burning.”
“Until we break our necks from the fall. Or land in the middle of a whole squad of Fraser’s cleaning crew.”
“I’m not sure we have a choice — we can’t stay here. It’s already so hot, I can barely breathe. Any more smoke, and we’ll be dead before we make up our minds.”
“I’ll go… shit.”
Coulter shoved her aside as the guy he’d shocked barreled across the room, slamming into the wall as if he’d been unable to stop. Bouncing off it, he took a swing at Coulter, stumbling a couple steps when he missed.
Coulter fisted the guy’s shirt, tossed him back toward the flames. “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”
Neve hesitated, her hand hovering over her sidearm, when one of the other tanks blew, spewing a ball of fire into the air. She gripped the edge of the opening, climbing into the chute before wedging her body against the side.
Her boots whined against the sheet metal until she vanished from view, leaving that black hole staring back at Coulter. He focused on the guy, the heat so damn intense Coulter thought it would blister his skin as they circled each other, both looking for an opening, a weakness.
The merc blinked, eyes not quite focused, his movements jerky, as if the proper signals weren’t getting through despite the strength in his strikes. How he kept going no matter how many times Coulter connected — knocked him on his ass.
Time counted down, more of the ceiling engulfed in flames when Coulter got him in a headlock, arm tight around his throat, the other cinched across the back of his neck. The man lashed out, landing a few punches before his strength finally waned, his body going limp a moment later.
Coulter dragged him over to the chute, lifted him up then shoved him inside, used him as ballast as he heaved himself up — rode that guy down two floors, landing on top as the merc smacked into the floor, blood pooling beneath his head.
Coulter rolled off, sweeping the area with his Sig, smoke already creeping down the chute and across the ceiling. An eerie silence smothered the dark room, only a hint of light seeping in through a couple of narrow, transom windows along the top of the walls.
The hairs along his nape prickled, and he dove for cover as a knife sliced through the air, hitting the wall behind where he’d been standing. Footsteps tapped the floor, a lone figure moving across the room.
The guy chuckled. “Ya know, when I found Neve in here all alone, I knew you wouldn’t be far behind. You’re like a damn cockroach. Impossible to kill.”
Fraser’s voice bellowed through the space, the emptiness throwing it back at him.