Karl flinched at the explosions and covered his face. Instinctively, he was convinced he was dead, or at least would be soon. He waited for the next barrage of bullets to tear into him.
It never happened, though. The gunman lowered his rifle once the neurologist was dead on the floor, turned, and walked away. Karl looked up just as he saw the man in full body armor stroll down another hallway, regarding Karl as if he were not there.
Sada! Karl thought, though he was too terrified to vocalize it. He took a knee and checked to make sure the neurologist was really dead.
“Karl, we have to keep moving!” Maynard said.
He killed her! Karl replied.
“I know.”
But he didn’t kill me.
“Seems that way. Look, Karl, we can ask questions later on, but first we have to make sure we survive that long. Got it?”
How! We are in the jaws of Hell right now.
“No, not yet. But we will be soon if you don’t start moving. Down the hall the gunman came from. Now.”
Why would I want to go that way?!
“It’s our only way out. Come on, he’s gone. I’ve checked. And he didn’t seem interested in you for some reason, anyway. Let’s go.”
Karl was trembling like a hypothermic baby, but he still managed to take his eyes off the dead Sada and put some weight on his legs. With tremendous effort, he pushed off toward the entrance lobby.
“Hold it,” Maynard commanded.
Karl dared not argue. He stopped dead in his tracks as if his next step would fall onto a landmine.
He stayed in that pose for what seemed like hours before Maynard spoke again.
“They’re waiting for us.”
Pardon? Karl asked.
“I can feel the cerebral computers from here. There are at least four people with C.C.s in position outside the entrance.”
Four of the terrorists? Karl wanted to clarify.
“It’s impossible to discern,” the I.I. answered. “They’ve got their IDs masked.”
Karl moved up to the receptionist’s desk, now vacant, and sat against it like a soldier in the trenches. Sweat poured from his hairline and dripped through his eyebrows, making it even harder to gaze at the front door.
It could be the police, Karl noted.
“And if it’s not?” Maynard asked.
Then we’re dead.
“Perhaps best not to take chances, then?”
Perhaps.
“Hold on,” the I.I. suggested. “I think I can find us a way out.”
And then what? Karl wanted to know.
“Does it matter if we’re dead?”
I guess not.
“Then let’s worry about this first,” the I.I. commented.
Okay, Karl agreed.
“Follow the left hallway. Move carefully,” Maynard said.
The psychologist looked toward the direction the I.I. indicated. It was scalded with a bit of black soot—clearly the site of a recent detonation. Maynard must have detected the insecurity through Karl’s nerves.
“There’s no danger that way,” he assured his host. “Any bad guys have moved deeper.”
“You’re sure?” Karl asked aloud.
“Of course,” Maynard started. “Remember, if you die, I die. We’re in this together.”
I guess that makes me feel better, Karl thought.
“It shouldn’t,” Maynard said offhandedly.
Ignoring that last contradiction, the psychologist followed the demolished corridor. To his dismay, it led only to a fallen pile of rubble that blocked his passage.
Great plan, Karl commented internally.
“Don’t get smart on me,” the I.I. replied. “Look to your right. You see that panel?”
That’s a laundry chute, the psychologist recognized.
“Indeed it is,” Maynard commented. “And it’s our ticket out of here.”
Are you serious? Karl asked.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Maynard countered.
No.
“Then slide, damnit!”
With a bit of audible disdain, the human pulled the handle down on the chute door and climbed inside. There was a small lift built within the shaft that acted like a miniature elevator for traveling garments.
What if this leads to an incinerator? Karl mentioned.
“What?” Maynard said.
In many labs, they destroy the garments after use rather than laundering them, Karl explained. You know, an incinerator?
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Maynard admitted.
Are you serious?
“Calm yourself,” Maynard urged. “We’re getting out of this.”
Rescue
Maynard had been correct. There was a side exit in the laundry room, which was not an incinerator.
“What are you waiting for?” the I.I. hissed inside Karl’s thoughts.
The psychologist could barely hear him, though it would be impossible not to since there was no actual sound to miss. Still, the words felt fractured and hard to understand as his mind raced.
“Let’s get out of here!” Maynard urged.
Just a second, Karl thought. I don’t want to run out there and get myself shot.
“By the police?”
Sure. How do they know I’m not one of the terrorists? How do they know I’m unarmed? What if they are mid-standoff and some tense cop pumps a hole into my chest?
“You’re not the first person to flee an active shooting, Karl,” Maynard said. “They’re trained—they’ll know how to make sure you’re safe without spilling any blood. Otherwise, hostages would be getting gunned down every time a bank gets hit or a school goes under fire.”
I guess you’re right.
“So why aren’t we moving yet?”
I don’t seem to be able to, Karl thought. The I.I. didn’t miss the fog of fear over his mind.
“It’s okay. On three. We’re going to get outta here and be just fine. You got that?”
Okay. Karl nodded.
“One… two… three!”
The sunlight was brighter than Karl had expected and stunned him for just a handful of seconds. He blinked through the rays, raising his hand to shield his eyes. Before his vision could adjust, he heard movement.
He threw his hands up, unsure if he had been noticed yet. He started to walk short half-steps forward until the light relented.
There were at least half a dozen police cruisers on the street, sirens ablaze. Two self-driving SWAT carriers were rammed nearly up to the front door of the lab. He could see a few officers in full tactical gear stepping toward him, automatic rifles raised.
They stopped about a stone’s throw away.
“Freeze!” a voice barked. “Stop moving right now!”
Karl obliged.
“On your knees!”
He fell a little too hard for comfort, tearing through his pants and scraping his knee, though he hardly noticed
