The first shot rang out, but Janson was already on the move. Air whistled over the loop of cable as Janson flashed to the left, dug her feet in, and cut back to the right. The shooters unleashed a storm of lead, trying and failing to anticipate her movements. Janson followed a jagged path toward the center of the gunmen’s formation, and as she closed in, she ripped the cable in two.
Now, in one straight length, the cable measured six feet. Janson gripped the tattered end and swung the cable above her head; the heavy padlock shrieked as it cut circles through the air.
These men feared Jarrod Hawkins on an instinctual level. But they didn’t truly understand what Janson could do. She would teach them.
A man with a UMP-45 submachine gun was the first to fall. He flinched at the last moment, trying to shield himself with his weapon. The heavy padlock came down an inch behind his right shoulder, towing the cable with several tons of force. The cable sliced through his collarbone and carved a clean path through his torso, exiting above his left hip.
Janson set her feet and gripped the cable with both hands like an Olympic hammer thrower. She danced with the weight of the padlock, spinning it through its natural arc. On the second turn, she gave a subtle tug on the cable, redirecting its path. The padlock crashed into a Warden’s head; Janson grimaced as the physics of the impact unfolded before her eyes in sickening detail. Her stomach turned, and she felt bile pooling in the back of her throat, but there was no time to slow down.
She lurched forward and dropped to her knees, sliding toward a man with an FN-SCAR rifle. The man’s face was stricken with fear and spattered with blood. He tried to bring his rifle to bear, but the cable crashed into his arms. It wasn’t traveling fast enough to cut straight through, but it shattered his forearms, and he dropped the rifle.
This is more like it, Janson thought as she came to a stop beside the rifle. Bracing one foot on the ground, she spun the padlock one last time and let it fly. It struck a Warden in the sternum, knocking him into two men behind him.
As the men collapsed in a heap, Janson scooped up the SCAR rifle. Its familiar weight comforted her as she pressed the stock against her face and peered through the iron sights.
Before another second had passed, she had engaged three targets, punching holes through their chests. She spun to the left and rose to her feet, bringing up the rifle to engage the targets behind her. Six men fell before any of them could get a shot off.
At last one of the Wardens fired his weapon. The shot—a 45 caliber round—hit Janson on the right thigh. Pain spread from the point of impact like ripples in a pond, causing the front sight post on her rifle to bob. She missed her first shot and squeezed off a second, dropping the man who had landed a lucky hit.
Lowering herself to one knee and swinging her rifle around again, she sent eight more rounds toward the remaining Wardens.
They fell, one by one, until they all lay on the ground. Three of them moaned in pain, and another started to squirm, but she didn’t care. She had broken through their trap. Now, no one stood against her, blocking her path to Hillcrest. She held the rifle at the low-ready and began to run, picking up speed as she left the blood-soaked street behind.
Baltimore’s jagged skyline loomed closer and closer, and with it, a deep sense of foreboding. Janson was certain she would find dozens or perhaps hundreds more Wardens along the way. But she would fight them with every fiber of her being—to the last drop of blood in her body.
She only hoped it would not be in vain. Clenching her jaw, she prayed that her friends were still alive.
Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center
Every step felt like a hammer against the bottom of Eugene’s right foot, but he managed to limp down the last flight of stairs to Sub-Level One. He took labored breaths and put a hand against the steel doorframe to steady himself as Yuri and Kacen looked on.
“You going to be okay?” Yuri asked, putting a hand on Eugene’s back.
His ankle felt like it was on fire; the pain fomented in his calf and shot up his leg, but he put on a wry grin and said, “I’m just trying to make you guys feel better. I can see the sweat on your faces.” He let go of the doorframe and limped past them. “Especially you, Kacen. You’re out of shape. Maybe you should dust off the old running shoes and hit the gym once in a while.”
The former Navy SEAL rolled his eyes. “Just let me know if you need me to carry you, boss.”
Eugene stopped at the edge of the landing. “Be careful—I might take you up on that.” He listened for a moment and then raised his voice. “How’s it going, Nicole?”
In response, the Israeli ex-pat shouted, “Fire in the hole!”
Moments later, the concrete wall shook and bits of debris trickled down from cracks in the ceiling. Nicole trotted down the stairs, a submachine gun at her side and her explosives bag slung over her shoulder.
“That should hold them off for a few hours.” She shivered and shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right—sealing ourselves in like rats.”
Eugene gestured toward the door. “It’s a big facility. We could survive down here for months.” He shrugged. “But don’t worry, with all the Afflicted out there trying to get in, we’ll probably all be dead by sunset.”
Nicole sighed and pushed through the door. “Remind me why they decided to put you in charge?”
“Charisma and overwhelming sex-appeal. You wouldn’t understand.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re right. I wouldn’t sleep with if you were the last un-afflicted man on earth.” She paused and frowned. “And yet, Susana is a beautiful woman. How does that work? Do you put a bag over your head when you—”
“Maybe.” Eugene approached a security terminal and started typing in a search for Santiago’s location. “But it’s none of your business.”
“You know,” Kacen put in, “some of the doctors around here used to be plastic surgeons.” He pointed at the thin scars bisecting his face. “Stitched me up pretty good.” He shrugged. “Of course, I got blown up. It’s not like I was born ugly.”
Eugene frowned as the search bounced back and he was forced to type it in again. “You guys are a riot. Great senses of humor for a pair of tin cans.”
Kacen folded his arms across his chest. “You know, I’ve cut three minutes off my two-mile run time since I got the nanobots. How’s your run time these days, Eugene?”
Eugene swore and pounded his fist against the security terminal. Kacen and Nicole exchanged glances, and Kacen said, “Sorry, boss. I was only kidding.”
Eugene sighed. “It’s not you. Have a look.”
A bright red box had appeared on the screen. Inside the box, blinking in and out, were the words: Security Privileges Revoked.
Yuri moved closer to the terminal and stroked his chin. “Maybe the nuclear detonations damaged the connection.”
Eugene shook his head. “We’re under one hundred feet of solid concrete. This is something else.” He set his jaw. “This is sabotage.”
Before anyone else could speak, the security terminal turned black. Then a video feed of the operations center filled the screen, and Dean Wagner’s pale visage slid into view. “Hello, Mr. Carver. By your expression, I assume you can see me. But can you hear me all right?”