Chapter Five
The smoke made the world into a choking, gray blur. Rena’s lungs burned with every shallow inhale, and her eyes watered until everything smeared into smudges of light and shadow.
She couldn’t see the attackers anymore, only the sounds of them. Boots skidding, the scuff of gear, voices barking orders in clipped tones. They were moving fast, converging like wolves.
“It’s me!” a voice cut through the haze. Ruby.
Relief punched through Rena like a shot of cold water. Ruby’s silhouette loomed through the smoke, already moving with that lethal, efficient gait that she’d watched earlier.
Ruby dropped into the wrecked space beside them and didn’t waste a second. From under a chest rig, from straps on her thigh, from pockets sewn into her armor, Ruby pulled weapons like a magician producing cards. Handguns, a compact subgun, smoke grenades. Enough to arm half a squad in minutes.
Turning, Ruby thrust something larger into Owen’s hands. It looked ridiculous and terrible. A compact flamethrower rigged into a canister and nozzle, bulked and harnessed for portability. For a beat, Rena heard Owen’s laugh.
“Honey,” he said, “you shouldn’t have—”
“Burn their asses,” Ruby snapped. “They were targeting kids. I want them to pay for that.”
Owen’s grin died, replaced by a hard, obedient line. He slung the rig and nodded.
Rena’s grip tightened around the pistol until her knuckles whitened. She wanted them to pay, too. She looked at Gage and saw the same hard-set line was on his face. Owen’s jaw clicked as he readied the flamethrower.
They’d show no mercy tonight.
Noah was still crouched over Lily, body shielding the kid like he could physically absorb the threat for her. Ruby strode over, shoved another pistol into his hand without ceremony. “You good?” she asked.
He nodded. “Good enough,” Noah assured her.
The smoke was thinning, slowly, reluctantly, leaving the hangar exposed in patches of dim, flickering light. Shapes began to take form again. Crates, overturned tables, the slick gleam of spent shell casings on the floor.
Noah’s voice cut through the haze. “Rena, Gage—you take the right side. Ruby, Owen—you’ve got the left. I’ll hold center. Anyone comes through that smoke, they don’t walk out.”
Orders, crisp and clear. Rena’s body reacted before her mind caught up, muscle memory kicking in. She nodded, and Gage did the same beside her. Then they moved.
Their boots scuffed over grit and broken glass as they fanned out.
The air was hot against her skin, the sound of the fires behind them a low roar.
Rena risked a glance sideways. And swore under her breath.
Blood was running freely down Gage’s arm, dark against his camo sleeve, his hand slick on the rifle grip.
“Dammit,” she muttered. “You’re bleeding like hell.”
He didn’t even look down. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
He cut her a look, half-grin, half-grit. “Fine enough to shoot. Keep moving.”
She wanted to argue, but there wasn’t time. The smoke shifted again, revealing movement on the far edge of the hangar.
Rena swallowed hard, tightened her grip on the pistol, and fell into position at Gage’s side. The chaos had gone eerily quiet again. Too quiet. Somewhere out there, in the gray and the glow, the next wave was waiting.
They moved tight to the wall, using stacked crates and a row of laser-tag barricades for cover. The rafters still hissed with smoke, and the floor was slick with ash and overturned decorations. Every shadow felt like it could hide a man with a rifle.
“Hear that?” Gage mouthed, head tilting toward the center of the hangar. A sharp, staccato stutter of fire answered him, too steady to be anything but deliberate. Someone was picking off the overheads.
They followed the sound, low and fast, slipping between tool chests and a toppled obstacle.
The shooter was halfway up the next bay, silhouetted against a strip of light as he crouched and aimed at the fixtures.
He looked up when their movement caught his eye, and for a second the world stopped.
His rifle leveled directly at them as he pivoted.
Gage didn’t hesitate. He rose just enough, fired, and the man folded without a scream, his weapon clattering to the floor. The echo of the shot hung for a long beat before the hangar swallowed it.
They kept moving, boots grinding over debris, lungs burning. From the other side of the hangar came two sharp double shots and a cry that could have been either anger or pain.
Rena’s throat tightened. “Ruby?” she whispered to herself, then to Gage. “Owen?”
He only nodded, his jaw tight. The kids were somewhere in the maze of culverts and alcoves, and the idea of them huddled and terrified made Rena’s hands shake. If they wanted those kids to live, there was only one way.
Eliminate the threat now.
Keep moving. Keep quiet. Keep killing until the hangar stopped echoing with the sound of men coming for children.
Another shot cracked from somewhere along the right flank, close enough that Rena felt the percussion in her ribs. She froze, scanning the haze, heart slamming in her chest. Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. She swung her Glock up, breath locked, ready to fire—
—until she saw the small, wide-eyed face staring back at her.
A teenage boy. One of Lily’s friends. His chest was heaving, his laser-tag vest still blinking useless lights against his hoodie. He looked like he was trying not to cry, trying not to move.
Rena’s stomach dropped. She crouched low, gestured sharply, flat palm, stay down, stay quiet. The boy nodded, lips trembling.
Gage touched her shoulder, just once, then pointed forward. They moved again, slower now, sweeping past the crates toward the front of the hangar.
The air was thick with dust and cordite. Overhead, half the lights were blown out, the rest flickering in random bursts. Each one cast jagged shadows across the floor, turning the debris into a shifting field of cover and threat.
Rena counted what she’d seen—five men down, maybe six—but there’d been more at the start. A dozen, at least, maybe more waiting outside. Every step she took pressed that number harder into her head.
She had no idea how many were left.
But she knew one thing for sure.
They hadn’t come this far to leave anyone behind.
She saw him out of the corner of her eye, a silhouette slipping toward the stack of training mats, low and careful, like a hunter closing on prey. Her throat went cold. The kid behind the mats had nowhere to go.
Rena cursed under her breath, the single word a hard shove into motion. She rose, fired. The first round slammed into the thug’s chest with a dull, armored thunk, the bullet biting into plate, sparks blooming at the impact.
Not enough. Not even close.
He turned, surprise flashing across the visor, and for a heartbeat she hesitated.
Then opened up. Two more shots cracked out, rapid, the report stinging her ears.
The second round thudded against armor. The third found a gap by the collar and slammed home, and the man staggered, a hand flying to his throat.
Gage was already moving, voice low and steady. “Finish him.”
They closed in together, fast and efficient. Just the necessary motion of two trained people ending a threat. The man went down under their weight and blunt force. The kid behind the mats whimpered once, then was still.
The smoke thinned to a gritty haze, clearing enough for Rena to see the scorched metal walls and the flicker of dying lights. Her ears were ringing, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. Then, beneath the distant crackle of fire, she heard a new sound.
A heavy, mechanical whine.
The hangar’s front doors.
Her pulse spiked. “You hear that?”
Gage nodded, cursed. The sound deepened, a slow grind of hydraulics and steel. The doors were opening.
“Shit,” she snarled. “They’re getting out.”
Or worse. Taking the kids with them.
The thought clawed through her chest, raw and cold. They couldn’t let that happen. They broke into a jog, keeping low, moving faster along the wall, weaving between wreckage and the shadows that still clung to the edges of the hangar.
Movement flickered ahead, a dark shape near the loading ramp. One of the bastards. He turned toward them, rifle already rising.
Gage didn’t hesitate. He came up fast, leveled his weapon, and fired. The shot hit clean in the neck. The man dropped without a sound, blood pooling black beneath him.
They kept going, fast now, the adrenaline dragging them forward. The doors were halfway open, light spilling in from outside, a harsh, artificial white that cut through the smoke. Somewhere beyond that light, rotors were spinning.
Owen’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and furious. “They’re getting away!”
Rena jerked her head toward the sound. Through the thinning smoke, she caught a glimpse of Noah and Lily breaking cover, sprinting toward the corridor that led back into headquarters.
She didn’t know what they were planning, but Noah moved like a man with intent, his limp uneven but fast, protective hand pressed against Lily’s back, pushing her forward.
“Go,” Gage barked, and they were already moving again, cutting across the debris-strewn floor.
Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but adrenaline drowned out everything except the single driving need to reach those doors before the bastards escaped.
Rena spotted movement through the haze. Owen and Ruby, both in motion, flanking the far side of the hangar. Ruby was reloading on the run, smooth and unflinching, while Owen closed in on one of the retreating thugs. The man turned, gun half-raised, body armor gleaming.
Owen didn’t slow. He fired once, clean, center mass. The round hit hard enough to stagger the thug backward, his balance faltering for a split second. That was all Owen needed.
He closed the distance in two strides, caught the man by the helmet, and twisted. The snap cracked through the air, brutal and final. The body hit the floor like dead weight.
Rena’s heart pounded harder. The smell of blood, oil, and burned metal hit her at once. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, eyes scanning for any more movement.
They were close to the front doors now. The light spilling in was blinding, artificial, maybe from a chopper’s floodlights. Whoever was trying to escape wasn’t gone yet.
The night outside the hangar was chaos and shadow. The moment Rena heard the deep, rising whine of rotors, her stomach dropped.
They converged on the massive hangar doors, boots pounding over the concrete, breath coming hard and fast. The air outside hit Rena like a slap. Hot, thick, and heavy with the smell of fuel and smoke. Somewhere out there, past the broken floodlights, the bastards were trying to leave.
“Owen, watch our six,” Ruby snapped as they reached the threshold.
He peeled off instantly, covering their rear. Smart. If any of the remaining thugs circled back, they’d have backup waiting for them.
Rena pressed herself against the doorframe, weapon up. The night was pitch black, no floodlights, no power from the compound, just the faint strobe from a pair of helicopter beacons cutting through the dark. Shapes moved fast near the choppers. Men loading gear, shouting orders.
Ruby brought her carbine rifle up, sighted through the smoke, and fired. Short, controlled bursts. The man near the lead chopper stumbled, dropped, then another went down, but the machine itself didn’t flinch.
Reinforced hull. Armor-plated.
The second chopper roared louder, its rotors kicking up dust and ash in violent spirals. Rena shielded her face, squinting through the blast of grit. The vibration rattled through her bones as it began to lift, nose tilting skyward.
Then came the sound, wrong and deep, like a beast clearing its throat. A mechanical growl that vibrated the air.
And a split second later, light erupted above them.
The chopper jerked midair, an explosion blooming out from its undercarriage, a fireball that swallowed it whole. The blast rocked the ground, heat searing Rena’s cheeks. Flaming debris rained down like shrapnel, scattering across the compound.
Rena stumbled, looked up through the glare and smoke. And froze. On the roof of headquarters, silhouetted against the orange firelight, stood Noah. He was braced behind an artillery launcher, smoke curling from the barrel.
Her pulse kicked once, hard.
“Well,” Gage muttered beside her, breathless and half in awe. “Guess the party’s not over yet.”
The first chopper hit the ground in a roaring fireball.
The shockwave slammed into Rena like a physical blow, heat searing her skin, the smell of burning fuel and scorched metal flooding the air.
She ducked, arm up to shield her face as a chunk of twisted debris clattered across the concrete, still burning.
The hangar rattled with the echo of the explosion. Flames clawed into the sky, lighting the compound in violent orange.
But the second chopper was already moving.
“Damn it,” Ruby hissed, snapping her rifle up again.
She fired, but the bullets sparked harmlessly off the armored fuselage. The rotors screamed louder, tearing through the smoke and ash like a buzz saw.
Up on the roof, Noah adjusted his stance, braced the launcher against his shoulder, and fired again. The missile streaked into the night. A perfect shot. For one long, suspended moment, Rena thought he had it.
Then the pilot jerked the chopper hard sideways, skimming so low the rotors kicked up a cyclone of dust. The round missed by feet, detonating harmlessly in the open field beyond the compound. The shock lit the sky, but the bird kept climbing, engines howling in retreat.
“Son of a bitch!” Owen yelled, firing after it, his rounds vanishing into the dark.
The chopper banked east, gaining altitude fast, until the sound faded into the distance, leaving only the burning wreckage of its twin and the crackle of fire.
Rena watched the shadows disappear into the night, the flames throwing long, jagged shapes across the ground. The adrenaline still pounded in her veins, but the truth hit hard and quiet.
It wasn’t over. Not even close.