A shotgun blast exploded down the hall, then more screaming, followed by another concussive shot and the scream came to an abrupt end. After several seconds, there was the sound of a gun begin cocked and then another round was fired. The door to the room burst open. The area where the knob had been was completely gone.
Ethan plugged off a few wild shots without looking and ran to the newly formed hole. He dropped into a slide and went downwards as he crossed the lip of the opening, landing ungracefully on the slab below.
Blake was already on his way to the door of the lower room. “Come on!” he yelled back to Ethan, who scrambled to his feet, hoping he hadn’t broken or sprained anything. He hadn’t. He sprinted after Blake and they both rocketed into the hallway.
The level of panic on this floor was the same as the one above. There were shouts and sobs as patrons, nurses, and doctors alike huddled in corners and behind desks for safety.
A door at the end of the corridor opened. What had to be a Russian soldier or militant strode in, wearing a thick grey armored suit from top to toe, a gas mask, and a hood pulled over his head. Insignias decorated the man’s uniform, none of which Ethan recognized.
The only thing Ethan did comprehend about the shape lumbering toward them was that they were seriously outgunned.
Blake shoulder charged head-on, running straight for the Russian.
Ethan screamed, “What the fuck are you doing?” He raised his gun, but Blake was in the way and he couldn’t take the shot.
The Russian brought his shotgun barrel up just as Blake collided into him. Together, they stumbled back a few steps and then the ear-splitting thunder crack erupted again, bringing with it a rush of wind, and an electric sting to the air.
Ethan stood and watched in fascination as the disappearing act played out again — this time, accompanied by a blood curdling half-scream, and then the scream itself seemed to spiral into the void with Blake as he vanished.
“Blake!” Ethan yelled.
The name had barely left Ethan’s lips when Blake returned, the Russian’s scream coming back with him. It was similar to the first time Ethan had witnessed the event, except this time, instead of just the floor being torn apart, so was a portion of the wall — and the Russian.
Bloody body parts cascaded to the ground. The Russian warrior was missing three-quarters of his face, and his chest cavity had been ripped apart like a crude open heart surgery. Intestines and other glistening, wet organs fell with a squishy plop. Both of the man’s arms had been torn from the body and one leg had been seared off into three sections. The thigh was still connected to the torso, but the kneecap and calf had been ejected to the right, and the booted foot spun across the tile in another direction. All broken parts were gushing blood.
Blake came to his feet, pushing the other half of the now dead Russian’s chest away. He slipped in the puddles of blood as he stood, grabbing the handrail to secure his footing. He picked up the dead Russian’s shotgun, but then flung it back down in anger. The firearm clanked against the floor as if underscoring his frustration. The weapon had been cut in half.
“To the elevator,” Blake said.
“Why not the stairs?”
Blake pointed down the hall. “Because the stairs are that way and they’re coming from that way.”
Ethan looked back and saw the stairwell door ajar. Several men were already flooding in. They wore uniforms like the dead Russian. He looked back at the room they’d just come from and saw more troops dropping from the hole Blake had made in the ceiling.
They dashed for the elevators, the noise of their footfalls outscored by the sound of automatic rifles and shotgun blasts. Bullets pinged against the walls and medical equipment that lined the hall. A defibrillator exploded into a shower of sparks as they rounded the corner. The drumbeat of running feet could be heard racing after them.
Then they came to the elevator doors and Blake pressed the call button. “Buy us some time.”
Ethan glanced around for something to use. He spotted an abandoned stretcher and pulled it to him, flipping it over to provide cover.
Two Russians came around the corner. Ethan got off four rounds, hitting one of them in the face through his mask. The other jerked back behind the wall.
“Come on, come on — hurry your ass up!” Blake urged the lift. “They’re going to flank us.”
“I know they’re going to flank us!” Ethan snapped.
“They’re coming around.”
On the unprotected side, more armed men were rounding the corner.
“I fuckin’ see that!”
Something ricocheted off the wall, but it wasn’t a bullet. It made a KACHUNK sound, and a cylindrical object bounced into view.
Ethan and Blake locked eyes on the object. It must have been weighted on one side because it wobbled and then balanced upright. There was a silver cap on the top with five tube-like prongs half an inch in length sticking out. Grayish-white smoke jetted from each tube in a fizzle of compressed air.
“Gas — cover your mouth!” Blake ordered.
That explains the masks. Ethan threw an arm over his nose and mouth. “No shit! Do you have to give a play-by-play of everything?” he said, his sarcasm muffled through the material of his coat sleeve.
Blake covered his own mouth and nose, for what good it would do. If it was tear gas, their eyes were about to be rendered useless.
A ding sounded. A godsend. The doors squealed open.
“Get in!” Blake hollered and Ethan dove inside.
A blast of fresh gunfire erupted, and Blake rolled sideways to avoid the bullets. He felt a round fly past his ear. Another pierced his thigh. “Shit!” he bellowed, clutching at his injured leg.
A hand snatched the neck of his jacket and pulled him into the elevator. As soon as his body cleared the doors, Blake pounded on the ‘CLOSE DOOR’ button, his mind screaming, Close door! Close door! Close door!
It finally closed and then everything went dark. “They must have cut the power,” Ethan said. Then the emergency lights came on. They were safe for now, but they weren’t going anywhere in this death trap; the respite would be short lived.
Both men were breathing in ragged gasps. They wiped their eyes with the insides of their shirts. Blake had a brief fit of coughing. When it passed, he said, “Okay, now we go up.”
“Up?” Ethan’s red-rimmed eyes widened. “We need to get down and out of here!”
“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
“Well, that’s a big fucking relief. ‘Cause for a second there I thought you didn’t have a plan.”
“Quit your bitching.” Blake gripped his injured leg and grimaced. “How many more rounds do you have?”
“I don’t know. Four, maybe five.”
“Is it four or five?”
“I don’t know! I kinda lost count when I saw a body explode right before my eyes.” The caustic tone of Ethan’s voice belied the look on his face. He was clearly rattled.
“Stop whining and open the hatch. They’re going to pry the door any minute.” Blake used the support rails to pull himself to his feet and tested his weight on the injured leg. The pain was manageable; he’d been through worse. He supported himself against the wall and beckoned Ethan to climb up.
Ethan hoisted himself onto Blake’s back and popped the ceiling hatch off. Then he grabbed the edges of the opening and hauled himself in. When he got into position he reached down for Blake.
This was trickier. The absence of an extra arm made Blake’s ascent cumbersome and for a brief, panicked moment, he thought this might not work. But he managed to find purchase on the wall rails with his feet and Ethan was able to haul him the rest of the way.