She wrenched the USB out of its slot, physically removing the code. Numb hands scrambled across the dashboard, trying to remember which switches operated the doors. She found what she thought was the right one and turned it. Air hissed as the chamber’s airlock opened, and the awful scent of drying blood mingled with the already foul air.
Clare reached towards the open door. Something hard slammed into her legs, upending them. She fell and hit the tile floor hard. Bitter blood ran across her tongue as she bit the inside of her cheek. She rolled and was just in time to avoid the chair Ezra slammed down towards her.
He stood, hunched, breathing heavily, his hair falling into disarray. The chair rose as he prepared to deliver another blow.
Clare kicked, and he yelped as her foot connected with his shin. The chair dropped. Ezra stepped back, wary, and Clare again tried to reach for the glass door. Ezra lunged forward and grabbed her ankle, dragging her back.
“Don’t,” he barked. “You’ll contaminate the sample.”
It took her a second to understand what Ezra meant. The sample. Dorran. Anger rose, blooming out of her stomach and pouring into her lungs like molten lava. Clare swiped at him, curling her hands to use the nails like claws, fighting to get him off her. His elbow jabbed into her chest, sending a bloom of pain across her ribs. Then a forearm pressed over her throat. In an instant, her air was cut off.
Clare struggled. Ezra was larger and heavier than her, and he used his weight to pin her down. The smile, frantically wide, filled her vision. Then Ezra yelped. The pressure disappeared from her throat, and Clare dragged in a gasping breath. She rolled over.
Dorran was no longer in the chamber. He stood over Ezra, eyes blazing and lips pulled back in a snarl. Vivid blood dripped over his face.
Clare scrambled to her feet. She was just in time to catch Dorran as he staggered. She wrapped her arms around his chest and set her feet to hold him up.
Ezra had fallen with his back against the control panel. His skin was white, sweat beading over his face, a vein pulsing in his throat beneath the scores Clare had left. One hand raised the gun.
“Out,” Dorran gasped.
Clare pulled them both left, towards the door leading to the main part of the lab. A crack, so loud that her ears rang, boomed around them. The massive glass panel fragmented. A spiderweb of cracks grew over it as a bullet punctured the glass.
They ran into the labs. Clare kept her arm around Dorran, supporting him as much as she could. His breathing was laboured. That frightened her. So did the blood dripping off the tip of his nose and over his lips. But he matched her steps as they ran for the door.
With another crack, one of the tiles on the back wall exploded. Clare and Dorran skidded to a halt at the doors. Clare slammed her tag into the sensor, and as the metal sheets slid back, they darted through. They sidestepped to put the solid concrete wall at their backs as the doors whirred closed.
The hallway was too dark to see anything except the outline of Dorran’s profile. Clare held his arm, her fingers digging into his jacket sleeve. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He was still gasping. “We need to lose Ezra.”
The red glow of exit lights flowed through the stairwell in both directions. Clare bit her lip. “How far can you run?”
“As far as you need.”
She remembered following Ezra towards the power generator the previous day, and the way he’d turned red and breathless. “We can go up. He’s not fast on the stairs. It will buy us a couple of minutes.”
“Good.” Dorran caught her hand and pulled her forward.
Using the red light as a guide, Clare took the stairs two at a time. She stayed conscious of Dorran beside her, silently counting his steps and listening to him breathe. He didn’t sound good.
Beneath them, the lab doors banged open. Clare clenched her teeth. Her mind ran through the building, hunting for any way out. The hollows surrounded the ground level. She had no idea how to control the lights and audio system to drive them off. They could hide in one of the rooms, but that was, at best, a temporary measure. Ezra knew the building. Ezra controlled the surveillance and the security systems.
We can’t hide. We can’t leave. Can we fight?
She didn’t want to be a killer. The hollows were one thing, but this was a human—a living, thinking, sensitive human. She didn’t know if she could look him in the eyes and end his life.
Is there any choice? Dorran was in no shape to fight. He moved unsteadily, eyes half closed. He didn’t want to tell her how bad it was, but his pain was evident. She had to protect him, no matter the cost. I need a weapon. Something that can compete with a gun.
In the three weeks he’d been trapped, Ezra must have gone through the entire tower. He’d marked the rooms with hollows inside. If there were any weapons, he would have found them, and most likely hidden them. He’d expected his transmission to draw irrational, dangerous people. He would have been prepared. He would have ensured he had the strongest upper hand possible.
Not quite. There’s one weapon in the building he didn’t hide. The hollows.
They reached a landing, and Clare pulled on Dorran’s hand to keep him from turning the corner. The thump of feet on marble stairs rang from below. They sounded heavy; Ezra was already flagging. A different kind of thumping came from behind them. Clare turned towards the hallway.
Rows of doors lined the walls, with the red exit light above their heads radiating its grim colour across the space. Something unseen beat its fists against the nearest door. Red masking tape had been used
