Chapter 8 - Smoke and Steel
The service corridor behind the intensive care unit was a narrow labyrinth of exposed water pipes, electrical conduits, and industrial tile floors smelling strongly of bleach and floor wax.
Ethan half-carried, half-dragged Sarah down the dim hallway, keeping Lily tucked securely under his right arm like a football. The little girl was crying softly now, her small hands clamped over her ears to block out the sharp, echoing cracks of gunfire erupting behind them in the main ward.
"Down! Keep your heads down!" Damen barked, moving backward in a tactical retreat, firing measured shots down the long corridor to keep their pursuers pinned behind the heavy fire doors.
Antonio flanked Damen’s left side, his face a mask of cold, calculated rage. Every step he took through this hospital was a reminder of the vulnerability he had spent twenty years eradicating—and the family he had failed to protect four years ago.
"How far to the bay?" Ethan shouted over the din of distant explosions.
"Eighty yards," Antonio called back without looking over his shoulder, his eyes locked on the junction ahead. "The service elevator is dead. We take the maintenance stairs down to the basement loading dock. My driver has an armored transport waiting."
Suddenly, a heavy metallic clang echoed from the ceiling directly above them.
Antonio looked up. Through the rusted grating of an overhead ventilation shaft, a tactical operative in black dropped down with cat-like agility, landing squarely in the middle of their path, a submachine gun leveled right at Antonio’s chest.
Before the man could squeeze the trigger, Antonio moved with lightning-fast, brutal precision. He stepped inside the arc of the weapon, grabbed the barrel with his left hand, and drove the heavy butt of his pistol squarely into the operative’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The man slumped to the concrete floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Clear!" Antonio snapped, stepping over the fallen body. "Move!"
They reached the heavy steel fire door leading to the basement loading dock. Damen threw his weight against the crash bar, sending the door swinging outward into the damp, chilly night air of the Queens alleyway.
The amber glow of streetlamps illuminated the ambulance bay. But as soon as they stepped outside, the sharp ping of a sniper round ricocheting off a steel dumpster told them they weren't in the clear.
"Sniper on the roof of the adjacent parking structure!" Damen yelled, shoving Sarah and Ethan behind the reinforced bumper of a parked laundry truck.
Antonio dropped to one knee, pulling a compact rifle with a holographic sight from a hidden rig beneath his coat. He squinted up into the gloom of the parking garage across the narrow street, tracking the subtle muzzle flash dancing in the shadows.
Crack. Crack.
May you like
Antonio’s rifle barked twice. A heavy shadow on the rooftop stuttered, dropped its weapon, and slumped backward over the concrete parapet, disappearing out of sight.
"Perimeter clear," Antonio breathed, lowering his rifle. He turned to Ethan, Sarah, and the trembling little girl huddled behind the truck. "Get in the van. Now."
