Ferguson shifted, and the muzzle of his gun eased off Booker’s head.
It was only a millisecond’s worth of time, but it was enough.
Caitlin had just opened her mouth to speak again—to continue arguing her case for Ferguson’s soul—when Booker reared back, elbowing him in the jaw.
Knocked off balance, Ferguson flew into a nearby gurney, toppling over.
“Cae, run!” Booker shouted.
But she couldn’t.
He leapt over top of Ferguson, stomping on his wrist until he released his weapon and Booker could kick it away.
The two men bellowed as they fought, fists landing against vital tissue and bone. The sickening sounds of a skull against metal or tile flooring was interspersed with curses and more yelling.
With a knee to Ferguson’s ribs, Booker swung once more, breaking the other man’s nose.
Grabbing him by the front of his uniform, Booker hauled him up and slammed him across the side of one of the tables.
“Jack!” She shouted, just as she saw his two bloodied hands grip Ferguson’s head.
She never realized the sound of vertebrae snapping would be the same as crunching ice between your teeth.
Wobbly and limp, Ferguson’s neck folded over, the weight of his head too much for broken bone to hold.
Booker released him, letting his lifeless body fall to the floor in a heap.
With a heaving chest, he faced her, eyes glazed over.
“Y’okay?” He asked, voice barely human.
Caitlin nodded. “I’m fine, Jack.”
Taking several strides forward, she reached for him.
“C’mon, we have to go.”
His hand was slick with blood as she took it in hers.
Together, they bolted for the double glass doors.
* * * * * * *
The sky had turned from inky black to deep lavender, announcing the coming dawn.
Caitlin’s heart was in her throat as they ran.
Where was everyone?
Tugging on her arm, Booker led her around a different building, avoiding the patrol path of any lingering guards.
“Booker, where’s the bus?”
She heard the diesel engine, the hydraulics hissing as it was driven away.
Wait…
“No, no, no,” she muttered, speeding up. “They’re leaving.”
“Clock ran out,” Booker said, trying to keep up. “They must’ve—”
“Caitlin!” Nicole screamed, hanging out of the back of a different bus as it drove past. “Booker, c’mon!”
She didn’t have the time to question why there were two buses in their possession now.
Not when a third engine—a sound she’d grown to associate only with destruction—was revving closer.
A Humvee.
A goon squad was coming for them.
Grabbing Booker’s forearm, Caitlin dug her nails in and hauled him with her as she sprinted.
They could make it. They could reach the bus.
They just had to run.
Machine gun fire clipped the corner of the nearest brick building, and Caitlin tried not to scream.
“Go, Cae,” Booker shouted, twisting to fire off a couple shots at the tires.
It didn’t do much to slow the Humvee down.
“Guys, hurry!” Nicole yelled, leaning dangerously far out with her hand outstretched for them to grab.
So close.
So close and yet so far away.
“Run, Cae, go on!” Booker told her, nearly shoving her towards the bus.
She knew what he was doing, and it wouldn’t work.
“Goddamn it, Jack,” she snapped, reaching back and grabbing him by the arm again.
This time she swore her nails drew blood as she forced him to keep up the pace.
She wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself in some piss-poor attempt to slow down an extermination team.
Together, or not at all.
Another round of machine gun fire whizzed by their heads, ricocheting off the bumper.
Nicole ducked but never retreated.
“Caitlin, jump!” She yelled. “Jump!”
With a strength she never knew she possessed, Caitlin pulled Booker forward, partially slinging him into the open bus backdoor.
The Humvee fired on them again, and a searing pain shot through her left arm.
As Nicole dragged Booker in, Caitlin scrambled to find something to grab—the door handle—and leapt.
Her feet were barely off the ground as the door swung, hitting the metal siding, and bounced. Caitlin clung for dear life, left arm in agony from the effort.
Then something had her by the waist, yanking her off the door handle.
She started to scream until she realized she was being hoisted into the bus as it sped across a grassy courtyard.
Caitlin’s teeth clacked together as she landed on her back, letting out a yelp. Something or someone was partially on top of her, pinning her.
“Goddamn it, Meadows.” The heavy mass moved. “What in Christ almighty’s name were you doin’?”
She exhaled on a laugh. Booker.
“Saving your ass,” she said, still grinning as she sat up. “You’re welcome.”
Someone she vaguely recognized stepped over them, rushing to the back of the bus.
“Keep this thing steady!” Donna cried, aiming a pistol at the Humvee.
Caitlin blinked.
Not a pistol. A flare gun.
As the bus picked up speed, Donna leveled the emergency flare with the goon squad’s windshield and pulled the trigger.
A high whistle was followed by a pop and a beat later, an explosion shook the windows of the bus.
“And to hell with ‘em!” Donna shouted, slamming the door shut.
Pain brought Caitlin’s attention back and she glanced down at her bloodied left bicep.
“Shit,” she hissed, gingerly pulling the sleeve of her borrowed plaid shirt to see the bullet wound.
Rough hands gripped her by the waist, pulling her to the side.
“Jesus, Cae,” Booker breathed, peeling the shirt off her shoulder and down her arm.
Wincing, she helped rid herself of the sleeve.
“I’m okay,” she told him, looking down at the red, gaping wound.
His fingers shook as he pressed them to the meat of her arm.
“N-Nicole?” Booker called over his shoulder. “There a first aid kit on this thing?”
Telling him she’d look, Nicole rushed to the front.
Under his breath, Booker muttered curses and
