Chapter Thirty
Rachel slips through the blackberries first. The rest of us trail behind—slower than I like. Every few steps, Kade sags into Wesley.
Kristy’s dead. Lana’s dead. I don’t get to grieve. Not when there’s a bomb ticking and Kade’s … dying.
I glance back again—his face is pale. Too fucking pale. That patch’s getting bigger—almost black in the stormlight.
Wesley’s gaze snags mine. Same dread, same fear. We can’t stop—not even for Kade.
But if he goes down—
No. Not doing that.
Stomach wounds don’t kill fast. They hollow you out, drop by drop.
Just like Kristy.
I wipe at my eyes. Blink hard.
The chapel looks smaller. Orange-gold windows and pale stone, the dark cross jutting skyward—a box of bloodstains and bad memories. Another building in the distance now.
We’ll be rid of it soon.
Rachel whimpers again, and my nerves jump.
“Almost there,” I say, more to Kade than her. “Look at me.”
Kade does. His pupils are too wide, lips tinged blue.
“M’good,” he slurs.
I turn—in time to see Rachel backpedaling from the security building.
“No. I’m not—I can’t.”
I open my mouth. To say what? Stay with us? It’s safer?
We stuck together in the chapel. Look how that turned out.
“Fuck this. I’ll see you at the gates.”
She’s gone before I can react.
The door to the security building thumps closed, sealing the storm outside. Everything inside looks the same. The control room’s freezing. The two bodies are still here—Nate and Justin.
I wipe my hands on my skirt.
Wesley stumbles in, dragging Kade. He sways but stays upright, one arm clamped around his middle like he’s holding his guts in.
I keep the gun out. No fucking way Derek ran off to hide in a bush.
Wesley stares at the walls. The lights. Anywhere but the screens.
The kill clips keep running.
Kade’s palm lands on my lower back—he’s here. With me. Even in this hell.
And that—that, of all things, nearly breaks me.
A sob claws out as I lower him into the chair—same one Kristy sat in hours ago. He’s still breathing … but for how long?
I drop the laptop on the desk. Flip it open with bloody fingers.
00:06:49.
Then it’s gone.
The timer, the feed, everything. Swallowed by lines of white text crawling over black, too fast to follow.
My pulse spikes.
I move the trackpad. The cursor’s frozen. Only text pouring in.
“Shit.”
Wesley leans over my shoulder. “How long do we have?”
“Six minutes plus. But the timer’s gone now.”
He stares at the mess of code. “What the hell are we supposed to look for?”
Kade shifts in the chair—enough to draw both our eyes. “He probably didn’t build it to look like a bomb.”
Wesley frowns. “Then what does it look like?”
“Small,” Kade rasps, wincing. “Black box. Wires. Most likely rigged to a battery, not the mains.”
Great. We’re inside a fucking tomb, and I can’t even hear any ticking.
“Check the racks,” Kade breathes. “Start there.”
Wesley’s already moving.
I follow, my eyes sweeping across rows of metal towers humming low.
He crouches, yanks open a panel. “You sure we got the right place?”
“No,” I mutter, dropping beside him.
He starts checking cables.
We work fast. Wipe dust off power bricks. Tug wires. Peer behind outlets and under desks. Even without a countdown, I feel it. The too-late pressing in.
Five minutes. Maybe four. Less?
Nothing behind the racks.
Nothing under the desk.
Nothing but cold air and goosebumps.
Kade coughs behind us. A wet, wrecked sound that doesn’t stop.
I shoot to my feet. “Wesley—”
“There’s nothing. Not back here.”
I stare at the walls. The windows. The corners.
“That’s it.” Wesley’s voice is flat. “We’re leaving.”
Kade’s hand claws into his. “No. The files—”
“Are gone, man. Look at you. And the fucking bomb … any second now.”
“There’s time. Check the ceiling.”
He coughs—chokes on it.
I’m at his side in a heartbeat, hand on his shoulder, grounding us both. “Kade …”
“Trust me.”
Wesley drags a chair under the panel. “If I die up there, tell my mom I went out a hero.”
He climbs. I grip the gun tighter, heart pounding. That’s where Derek came from before—above us, like a monster dropping out of a goddamn vent.
Wesley hauls himself halfway into the crawlspace, boots scraping the chair.
“Okay. Either I’ve found the world’s shittiest air vent or—yeah. This is it.”
I force myself to breathe.
“Describe it,” Kade says, eyes barely open.
The chair creaks under Wesley. “Black case. Wires everywhere—thick, insulated shit, like the kind they use in Humvees. Something taped to the side—looks like a router?”
“Battery pack. It’s independent. Generator won’t kill it.”
“And the red light probably isn’t festive,” Wesley mutters.
My stomach knots. “How bad does it look?”
“Bad enough I regret all my life choices. Gimme a sec.”
He disappears into the ceiling.
“Three bundles of wires,” he calls out. “Black, blue, yellow. Battery’s duct-taped to the bottom.”
“He didn’t build it from scratch. Probably jacked it off a sabotage script. Look for a pressure plate.”
“No plate.” Wesley pops his head out, staring down at us. “So what now? Rock-paper-scissors to see who dies first?”
The screen’s blinking with overwritten code. And Kade ... God, his body’s shutting down—just like the laptop.
“Cut the yellow,” he says finally.
Wesley doesn’t move. “You sure?”
Kade’s eyes meet mine. “It’s the cleanest. Blue feeds the detonator. Black’s power. Yellow bridges the delay.”
“Delay?”
“Failsafe lag. So he could walk away before it blew.”
I swallow. “How much time’s left?”
No answer.
“Wesley?”
“Uh, timer’s at four minutes, thirty-six—”
“Four? Really?”
“Yeah. So back to the wires. If I cut the wrong one—”
Kade’s smile is bloody. “Then hell’s about to get three new roommates.”
My stomach plummets. “Kade.”
He sighs. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
“Awesome,” Wesley mutters. “Love the pressure.”
A soft click from above. “Okay. Here we go. Five … four … three … two …”
Kade closes his eyes, his hand gripping mine.
“One.”
No boom. Everything’s gone quiet.
My chest seizes. I slide into Kade’s lap, bury my face in the curve of his neck.
He says nothing, but I feel it all the same—the slow slide of his palm up my back, the sweep of his thumb against my cheek.
You didn’t lose me.
“Christ,” Wesley says from somewhere above. “Worst Hallmark movie ever. Is this the part where you confess your love?”
He hops down from the chair.
We made it. Not without Wesley.
I pull him into a hug.
“Good job,” Kade mutters. “I take back two of the horrible things I said about you.”
“Uh, which two?”
I scowl at Kade. “You’re bleeding out and still making jokes?”
“Helps me ignore the part where my intestines feel like soup.”
Wesley clears his throat. “Don’t freak out. The timer was actually at one minute, forty-nine seconds.”
I sag against the desk.
The laptop’s dead now. But the racks are still humming. When the cops show up, the owners, Derek—every last bastard who let this happen—will pay.
“Okay.” Wesley rakes a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “Time to get the fuck out of here before karma catches up.”
“Wait. The access key.”
I yank the drawers open one by one. Pens. Zip-ties. Sticky old candy wrappers.
No key.
Kade murmurs, “Check the wall panel.”
I do. Nothing.
That’s when it hits me—hard and sick and certain.
“Derek …”
He left this room with blood on his hands and the only way out in his pocket.
Wesley groans. “Then we wait at the gates until someone shows up.”
I check my watch. 7:14 am. Two percent battery left. Damn thing’s outlasted some of us.
Kade’s eyes flutter closed.
And I let him. We’re going to be okay.
Wesley helps Kade up.
I almost tuck the gun into Kristy’s fanny pack, but Kade’s eyes catch mine.
Not yet.
A few more steps. Then we’re fucking done.