Page 25 of Flint’s Strike

The sound bounces off the walls, drills into my eardrums, and vibrates every rational thought from my head. Pain shoots through my skull, and I lose focus for a split second. In that moment, the tiny bit of progress I fought so hard for disappears.

No!

My heart lurches into my throat. The walls press closer.

I’m not back there. I’m in a warehouse in Cedar Park. Even if I fall, Eliot or Nate will find me eventually.

But the blaring alarm gets louder. Loud enough to hurt. To strip everything away but the desperate need to make it stop.

Five things I can see…

I can’t see anything but the beam of the flashlight and the dust floating in the air.

Four things I can feel…

The throbbing in my leg. The sweat running into my eyes. My shoulders screaming in pain. My eardrums pulsing with my heartbeat.

As suddenly as the alarm started, it cuts out, and I’m left in oppressive silence. Which is almost worse.

I can’t move. The thin beam from the flashlight paints a pale slash across the door. Too close. The air is thick with soot and harsh chemicals that burn my nose through the mask.

Focus.

My fingers clamp down on the broken tile. I yank hard enough my shoulders scream. Kicking at nothing but air, I struggle for an inch. Two. Three. The plywood lets out another crack.

Forearms shaking, I kick harder. My boot catches the edge of the hole behind me. A thin, desperate sound escapes my throat.

Push. Now!

Rotting boards catch the Tyvek at my ribs. The suit tears. I claw at the broken tiles until my legs are free and I’m on mostly solid ground. Tears burn my eyes as I scramble away from the chasm, then collapse onto my side. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I let out a sob.

You’re okay. You’re armed. You’re in control. Get up and get out of here.

Closing my fingers around the flashlight, I sweep the beam over the ruined floor and shudder. My left leg is on fire, and I still can’t get a full breath. The respirator is suffocating me. I rip it off, but that doesn’t help.

From somewhere deep in the hole, the radio squawks. “Parker? I’m about done here. Meet me back at the truck.”

Eliot.

I stretch toward the sound of the radio before I remember where it landed. Shit.

Door. Get to the door.

My left leg gives out when I put pressure on it. I try again, slower this time. A wave of dizziness almost takes me down again, but I breathe through it. Muscles shaking, I stagger upright. Two steps, and I reach the door.

I grab the lever. It rattles slightly, but doesn’t turn.

Banging on the metal only bruises the side of my fist. My eyes are watering, hands shaking, leg about to give out on me. I don’t know where Eliot is—or how long I’ve been in here. It feels like hours, but I know that’s not right.

The Tyvek makes everything harder. I yank the zipper down and shove my free hand into my back pocket. My cell phone screen glows in the dark, but trapped inside this metal and concrete warehouse, I don’t have a signal.

With a little whimper, I shove the phone back in my pocket and grab the door handle again. I tug and pull with all my strength, but the bolt won’t move.

With each passing second, it gets harder to breathe. Where did I leave off? Three things I can hear?

My heartbeat in my ears.

That’s it.