Page 48 of Resuscitation
Blake struck the Zippo, the lighter flaming into life.
Mercer yanked the kid’s head back, pistol pressed to his temple. Tears tracked down the boy’s face.
Pure terror.
Blake shoved the wheelchair as hard as he could and?—
Three! Blake tossed the lighter into Psycho’s lap.
“Stop that,” came a commanding voice from the waiting room door.
Thomas! Shit, the old man had bad timing. But it was too late for Blake to do anything except draw his gun and pray for a clear shot before Thomas got himself killed.
Mercer and his men spun to face the new threat even as Psycho’s body whooshed into a fiery, ballistic missile racing toward their blindside.
Blake raised his pistol, finger on the trigger, ready to fire. Thomas, god bless him, had stumbled forward, now stood directly in Blake’s line of fire, blocking his shot.
Fire alarms blared to life, crescendoing, filling the room with a chaotic cacophony.
Hostages screamed, the sound jagged, as they flung themselves away from the wheelchair careening into the room.
Mercer, blind panic etching his face, let loose of the boy. He and his men whirled to unleash a firestorm at the flaming figure in the wheelchair.
A series of metallic clicks sounded from above. A rush of water sheeted down.
Blake fought to get a clear shot, but Thomas, confused by the noise, the water no doubt adding to his disorientation, kept moving between him and his targets. Blake had no choice but to leave cover, enter the open space of the waiting area.
The gambit paid off. Finally, he had a shot at Mercer.
As he raised his pistol, a stray bullet hit his arm. Adrenaline blocked any real pain, but the impact threw his aim off, his shots thudding into the wall beside the door, missing their target.
The wheelchair finally came to a halt, the body slumped to the side, riddled with bullets.
The sharp smell of gunpowder and a sickening stench of burning flesh filled the air, burning Blake’s throat, and bent him over, coughing.
He looked up as the second gunman, a squat guy with a mohawk, moved through the smoke, brandishing a fire extinguisher in his meaty hands. White foam sprayed, covering the burning figure in the wheelchair, adding to the sprinkler dousing. The air grew thick with a choking fog.
Blake’s visibility dropped to near zero, his world becoming a swirling, opaque nightmare as he lost sight of Thomas and one of the gunmen, Harper, in the confusion. He ignored his wounded arm, dripping blood inside his coat sleeve, as he tried to isolate his targets, but acrid smoke stung his eyes, making it impossible to see clearly. The backdrop of screams from the hostages blurred into the moment’s soundtrack.
He heard Mercer’s voice: “Take this, you fuck!” followed by a sickening thud and a pained groan from Thomas.
Blake’s stomach twisted. As the smoke cleared, Blake caught a glimpse of Mercer shoving Thomas against the wall. His every instinct demanded that he surge forward to protect the old man, but his tactical training took over. As soon as the smoke cleared, he’d be exposed, without cover, totally vulnerable. He had no choice but to run.
Even worse, he’d achieved total mission failure.
All three gunmen were unharmed, and now Thomas was the new target of their fury.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Friday,February 13th, 9:36 P.M.
Waving away the dissipating smoke,Brick assessed the situation. Harper was nowhere to be seen, but the hostages were all present, including the new one, the old man. No way this geezer was the intruder who’d beat the shit out of Harper.
He looked down at the smoldering, charred corpse in the wheelchair. Leon—he recognized the gold chains. Smoke still curled from the ruined body, a sight that turned his stomach and ignited a fire in his chest. Leon. Brick had been sure that mo’fucker was indestructible.
A knot of rage threatened to throttle him. Leon’s death wasn’t on that intruder or any of the others. No, this fell squarely on Mercer.
He whirled on Mercer, grabbed him by the shoulder, and hauled him to the hallway outside the waiting room. The sprinklers weren’t going out here. The smoke was thin, although the stench was still pungent, at least he could breathe.
