Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Run.”
Quinn cursed as Scout’s voice echoed off the glass walls, bouncing back until it sounded like a war cry. Boots pounded the floor just beyond that open door, the sheer number of them crushing any hope of victory.
Brea’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in a soundless scream as he hiked her onto his shoulder and hoofed it toward the end of the hallway.
Though, returning to her cell wasn’t an option.
They didn’t have enough ammo to withstand a prolonged assault with only a cot and chair as cover, even if the narrow doorway would restrict the flow of men.
Overlapping gunfire erupted a second later, bullets whizzing down the corridor, cracking into the plexiglass and scything off the metal support beams. Quinn shifted Brea into his arms, used his body to shield any possible shot, praying Scout wasn’t taking any chances. Though, with virtually no cover…
The red strobe continued pulsing through the hallway, reflecting off the glass, painting everything in a bloody crimson hue.
One of the panels shattered beside him, raining down a hailstorm of razor-sharp shards, and destroying the sterile atmosphere.
The air filled with the strong smell of wet rock and old moss, the thick stench of cordite weaving through.
Scout laid down controlled bursts of return fire, giving Quinn a chance to pull a Hail Mary out of his ass.
He searched the walls, looking for anything that might help — a seam he could punch through to some old tunnel on the outside.
Or an adjoining passage they hadn’t noticed because they were too fixated on checking the rooms.
Finding a solid metal door tucked into a recess just beyond Brea’s cell sparked hope. Had him grabbing the handle, trying to muscle it open.
Scout slid beneath a volley of gunfire, cramming into the narrow space beside him, rifle still barking out bullets. She glanced at the door, making herself as small as possible as a few rounds punched the corner just above her head. “Don’t wait for me. Pop that bad boy open.”
He placed Brea on her feet as Scout instinctively shifted over, covering Brea, taking a graze on her arm in the process.
He’d have to thank her for that. Putting her own life at risk to keep Brea safe.
Not that he expected anything less, but it impressed the hell out of him.
Even if a part of him screamed seeing the bloom of red stain her shirt.
Quinn fired off a few rounds from his Sig, driving the men back. Heart hammering and sweat stinging his eyes, he grabbed that damn rabbit tool. Sparks scattered across his face as some brass clipped the metal brace just above his head, the ricochet missing Brea’s shoulder by an inch.
That got him laser focused. Had him wedging the titanium jaws into the seam, cranking the hydraulic pump. The metal groaned, the middle of the door bowing outward before the mag-lock gave with a harsh crack. Air hissed out the edges, the slab swinging outward an inch.
He turned, swung his rifle to his shoulder, and started pelting the approaching men. “Take Brea. I’m right behind you.”
Scout muttered something about him not getting his fool head shot off as she shouldered most of Brea’s weight, stumbling through the doors, more gunfire following her in.
Quinn waited until they were clear before targeting the glass panels next to the men, shattering the closest two, much like they’d done.
The mercenaries retreated just long enough for him to dart through the door.
Scout handed him part of a chair leg. “I busted one of the chairs when I needed some cover. Thought it might come in handy.”
He dipped down, kissed her, then wedged the broken end between the floor and the door. “It won’t stop them for long, but it might buy us a few seconds.”
She brushed her thumb over her lips, gaze locked on his, before she motioned him on.
A ratty string of caged, yellow halogen bulbs hung overhead, the weak light casting long, warped shadows along the corridor.
No glass panels, just the original service tunnel carved out of jagged, dripping rock, with uneven floors blasted out of wet stone.
The temperature fluctuated with every step, rising and falling like a wave.
Hot one moment, cold the next. That smell of wet earth and old rust returned, a sharp punch of ozone from heavy machinery mixed in.
Quinn grabbed Brea, half-carrying her as they hurried down the corridor, Hackett’s men already banging on the door behind them.
The corridor headed farther into the mountain, weaving around old wooden support beams and steel braces.
Deep gouges scored some of the rock, likely from years of dragging metal carts and machinery through the mine.
Scout stayed on Quinn’s six, sticking to the shadows, occasionally lagging behind only to jog a few steps to catch up. The rifle never left her shoulder as she swept her gaze a full three-sixty, looking as if she was memorizing every inch of the tunnel.
Silence weighed down the already thick air, only the occasional drip breaking through. A dull hum vibrated up through the ground, gradually gaining strength as they followed that string of lights.
Footsteps scuffed behind them, a couple shadows hitting the wall before Scout shoved him and Brea forward, launched a smoke grenade from her vest. The canister clicked down the tunnel, spewing smoke out one end, quickly eating away any viable sightline.
Speculative rounds chewed through the blue vapor, sparking off rock, nearly taking their heads off as the bullets ricocheted.
Quinn returned fire, yanking Scout by her vest handle, dragging her into a small offshoot. He eased Brea into her arms, holding up his finger in front of his lips as he pressed his back against the wall, waited for those men to dart past.
More smoke curled through the passageway, tendrils creeping past them, when two shadows crept through the center, swirling the smoke as they glanced down the spur before continuing on. Quinn held firm, giving them enough time to nearly vanish before stepping out.
Two shots, two hits.
The men crumpled, their bodies disappearing into the smoke. Quinn stalked over, ensuring they wouldn’t suddenly jump up behind them, before whistling to Scout.
She appeared a moment later, Brea bearing a bit more of her own weight.
Scout looked at the men, then over to Quinn.
She didn’t comment. Knowing he preferred to wound than kill, the twin headshots spoke for themselves.
But the thought that they might recover — hurt Brea or Scout — he couldn’t risk it.
A quick check of their six, and they were off, picking up the pace as they neared a blind junction.
They stopped at the corner, Brea bracing her weight against the wall as Scout and Quinn stepped out, clearing the next chamber.
A deep gorge eroded the pathway for nearly twenty meters, leaving only a rusted catwalk bridging the two sides.
They hurried over, Quinn testing the structural integrity with his weight. The entire frame shook, the bolts attaching it to the rock shifting noticeably inside the holes.
Quinn raked his hand through his hair, glancing back. “It might hold, but…”
Scout shrugged. “But it’s better than where we came from.”
He blew out a heated breath, praying the entire bridge didn’t collapse as soon as he got a few feet away, then started walking.
The metal groaned, the platform tilting slightly when the entire structure shifted, sliding sideways a fraction.
He grabbed the rail, glanced at the hundred-foot drop beneath him, then continued over, jumping off the last few feet.
He took up sentry, waving Scout and Brea over.
Scout helped Brea onto the platform, still bracing some of Brea’s weight as they slowly crossed. Rust rained down from beneath, more eerie groans and rattles breaking the restless quiet.
Scout got within several feet of the end, when she stopped, eyes wide, head snapping to the grated metal floor. Her mouth pressed into a fine line, one hand fisting around the railing before she looked at him. “Quinn, catch her.”
Brea jerked ahead as Scout shoved her from behind, grabbing each railing, looking as if she was trying to distribute her weight better as the back end of the catwalk dropped a foot. Rocks cleaved off the side of the gorge, tumbling into the darkness, the echoed impact ringing through the cave.
Quinn snatched Brea out of mid-air before she crashed face first onto the stone just as that far side of the catwalk gave way, dropping into the abyss. “Scout!”
A deafening screech pierced the shadows, dust and water spraying out of the rift as the ground shook from a massive collision.
Quinn placed Brea on her ass, then dove toward the edge, staring down into the fissure.
The bridge hung by a set of cables on his side of the opening, slowly rocking back and forth, each sway preceded by a torturous creak.
Scout clung to one side, arms wrapped around the railing, boots kicking at the grated metal, trying to find purchase. She pulled herself up a foot only to slide back down when the entire frame shifted, one of the cables already fraying.
Quinn yanked off his belt, cinched it around one of the remaining anchors, then climbed over the edge, using the extra length to drop within a few feet of her head. He reached out, wiggling his fingers, willing her closer. “Grab my hand.”
Scout repositioned her hold, cursing when that cable separated more, swinging what was left of the catwalk farther away. More creaks echoed off the rocks, each twang from the cable counting down to when it finally broke.
Quinn wedged his foot higher, tried to lengthen his reach. “Scout. Baby, you gotta grab my hand.”