Page 24 of Flint’s Strike

“Is it always that…loud?” My ears are still ringing. Shit. Why won’t they stop?

“Every damn time.” Nelson scoops up my things. “Here you go, ma’am. Apologies. We should’ve warned you.”

I ball my hands into fists for a single breath, then force my fingers to relax. I can’t look at the building. If I do, I’ll start panicking about the next alarm before it happens. And going inside to help with the investigation will be damn near impossible.

Carter clears his throat. “We’re fixin’ to go off shift, and our relief will be here in five minutes. They’ll stay on scene until you and the arson investigator are done.”

“Thanks. Make sure to tell them to stay out of the building until we give them the all clear.” I unzip the Tyvek, shove the tiny notebook and pen into the front pocket of my jeans, and reach for the leather gloves tucked under my arm.

My phone buzzes, “Last Nerve” flashing across the screen.

Dentist gave me so much Novocaine I can’t feel my face. On my way. If I drool on anything, pretend you don’t notice.

I type out a quick reply.

Flint’s inside. I just finished debriefing Cedar Park PD. About to walk the scene.

I only make it two steps before I stop and send Nate one more message.

If you drool on me, you’re paying my dry cleaning bill.

Fresh scratches mar the deadbolt around the keyhole. Bright lines catch the light against the older metal, concentrated on the left side. I take a couple of photos with my phone, and drop an evidence flag for Nate.

I stop, hand on the door frame. What if the alarm goes off again while I’m in there?

Stop. You’re a goddamn Ranger. You can do this.

I step over the threshold, shoving the memory of screaming until my voice gave out down so deep, it’ll never see the light of day again.

Inside, the flashlight cuts through air that’s still thick with ash. Everything the beam touches is the same dead shade of gray—the floor, the walls, the single forklift, tires melted and rubber pooled on the concrete.

I don’t see Eliot, but beyond the remains of a break room, the building disappears behind piles of debris. The ceiling over me is still mostly intact, but toward the southeast, it gives way to the clear blue of the afternoon sky, so bright it’s blinding.

I stop at an office on the other side of the break room. Probably belonged to a foreman or shift supervisor. A chunk of drywall props the door ajar.

The bulletin board on the wall still holds employee schedules for last month. Binders rest on the desk in the corner. That personnel list could be helpful.

Aiming the flashlight at the floor, I check for debris. Mostly clear.

A crack shoots through the room, louder than a gunshot at close range. My stomach flips, heart shooting into my throat. The floor under me tilts.

I lunge for the door jamb, but my right foot punches through the vinyl tile, finds wet, rotten plywood, and then…only air.

I drop, too fast to do more than scramble for something—anything—to hold onto. One gloved hand catches the chunk of drywall, but it’s so light, it slides with me, and the door slams shut.

The flashlight spins away across the floor, stopping just out of reach.

My left arm, neck, and head are the only parts of me above the gaping hole. I twist until I can get my right arm free, then claw at the broken tiles while the rest of my body hangs over some sort of fucking crawlspace. With my right foot, I can almost feel a solid surface beneath me, but I don’t have enough leverage to get myself out of this predicament.

A sharp pain stabs my left thigh, and warmth soaks into my jeans. Shit. This isn’t good.

I grab the radio clipped to my collar, but my fingers spasm. The device bounces off my hip and clatters twice against whatever hard surface it finds beneath me.

My lungs ignore my desperate pleas to draw in air. “Flint!” I croak, but the sound isn’t loud enough to carry. I’m on my own.

Curling both hands around one of the broken tiles, I fight for a single inch. Whatever sliced into my thigh digs deeper. But I slide high enough that I can almost get an elbow onto what’s left of the floor.

Until the alarm goes off.