The whole enclave was full of Weir. And they were coming.
“Back, to the building!” Gamble ordered. “Get to the building!”
Cass didn’t hesitate. She swung Wren up in her arms and took off, sprinting for the tall building just over fifty yards away. The indistinct sounds became clearer, and she recognized the telltale cries of the Weir echoing behind her. But there was no sound of gunfire. Yet.
As she reached the door to the nine-story-tall building, Cass realized she had no idea what was on the other side of it. If there were Weir in the enclave, was there reason to think they wouldn’t also be inside the building?
She skidded to halt just in front. Gamble caught up and didn’t slow down. With a stomping kick, she slammed the double front doors open and entered aggressively with her weapon shouldered.
After a few moments she called from the inside, “Clear, let’s go!”
Painter was staring back at the gate, eyes wide, unmoving. Cass grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, and shoved him through the door ahead of her, following him in closely. The entryway was a small dusty front room that led to a narrow corridor. The corridor was lined with a number of doors on both sides, and there was a concrete stairwell at the far end.
“Come on, come on!” Gamble shouted.
Cass pushed into the corridor to make room for everyone else. Gamble waited by the door, motioning fiercely to the rest of the team, as if by waving them in she could propel them that much faster.
Mouse was the first one through, carrying Wick across his shoulders. Cass couldn’t believe he was able to carry both Wick and all their gear, and still walk, let alone run, but he managed to cover the ground with impressive speed. The others must’ve been holding back to cover Mouse, because as soon as he made it into the front room, the others piled in quickly behind. Swoop was the last one in.
He and Gamble slammed the doors shut behind them, and Able grabbed something off the side of Swoop’s pack. Cass’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative darkness of the room; the only light now came in from two narrow horizontal slot windows, placed high and covered over with steel grating on the inside. In two seconds Able was at work, running a wide band of what looked like some kind of thick grey putty down the center of the doors, overlapping both where the doors met in the middle. When it was in place, he made a flicking motion and stepped back, and seconds later the strip let off a shower of white-hot sparks, dazzling in the darkened room, fusing the doors together.
Everyone seemed to be moving all at once, but there was no chaos in the motion. Gamble was barking orders that the team seemed to be able to respond to faster than Cass could process. They put three guns on the door: Swoop, Able, and Finn.
Gamble sent Sky to check the stairwell, and he pushed past Cass with such intensity it seemed like he barely registered she was even there. Gamble started down the hall, checking the doors on either side.
Mouse had Wick sitting down on the floor, propped against the wall at the mouth of the corridor. Wick’s eyes were open and he seemed alert, but his breathing was labored. He had a hand pressed hard into the hollow where his neck met his left shoulder, just above the collarbone. Cass could see the blood burbling out around his fingers. After a moment she realized Mouse was calling her name.
“Cass, I need you!” he called. She snapped into the moment. Cass was still holding Wren, so she slid him to his feet and then went and crouched next to Mouse. “Help me get his pack off.”
Mouse leaned Wick gently forward while Cass worked on the buckles. They were gummed with blood and were hard to work.
“Steady your breathing, Wick,” he said. “Slow it down.”
“You first,” Wick said with a clenched jaw. He grimaced, and Cass saw blood on his teeth. They got the pack off his back and scooted him back against the wall.
“Hey,” Mouse said as they were helping him move, “you didn’t have to run all that way, haulin’ you.” He said it with a smile, but Cass could see the concern in his eyes. Mouse gave a quick tug to a pouch on his chest harness, and it fell open, revealing the neatly packed and secured contents of his trauma kit. He worked quickly to get Wick’s chest rig out of the way so he could assess the wound.
“Talk to me, Mouse!” Finn called.
“He’s busy!” Wick responded. “…And mind your business!” And then more quietly, he said, “Is it bad, man?”
Mouse moved Wick’s hand and blood pooled in the hollow of his clavicle, but Cass didn’t have time to see the wound before Mouse poured some kind of gritty powder over it and started packing it with gauze.
“Quit leaking everywhere,” Mouse said, “and it won’t be. Cass, put pressure right here, hard, even if he squeals.”
Cass did as she was instructed, and Wick locked eyes with her.
“You’re going to be fine,” she said.
“You’re just saying that.”
“It makes me feel better.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I know.”
Outside, the Weir continued to squall, but they sounded scattered and didn’t seem to be getting any louder or closer that Cass could tell. Gamble came back down the hall past them and grabbed Able’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, but kept his weapon up and pointed at the door.
“Go help Sky on the stairs,” she said. Able nodded and hustled down the hall and up the stairs. Gamble came and dropped to a knee alongside Wick. “Wick, how bad are you?”
“More scared than hurt,” he said.
“Mouse?” Gamble asked.
“Couple of punctures, just behind the clavicle, some tearing,” Mouse said. “Jugular and carotid are probably OK, but if it hit the subclavian, could be bad news.”
“Can we move him?” she asked.
“If we have to.”
“I want to get higher, rig the stairs.”
Mouse nodded. “Gimme a few, see if we can make sure this clots up.”
A sudden impact made the doors shudder, snapping everyone’s attention to the front. Except for Mouse. He was intent on Wick, calmly evaluating him.
“Might not have it,” Gamble whispered.
They waited in tense silence, waited for that next blow to fall. Ten seconds passed.
“What do you think those doors are rated?” Finn asked in a low voice.
“Nothin’ like that gate was,” Swoop answered quietly. Finn readjusted his grip on his rifle.
Thirty seconds. Sixty. But no more blows fell on the doors.
“Seal up the hinges, too,” Gamble said, her voice lowered. “And rig a charge on the center. If we have to get out that way, we’ll go out hard.”
Finn kept the door covered while Swoop cautiously approached. He produced another strip of the same putty-like substance Able had slapped on the middle of the door. This time, however, Swoop drew a large knife from its sheath on his chest rig and cut the strip into quarters. These he placed on the hinge-side of the doors, two on each, high and low. He ignited them in succession, and they each rained sparks to the floor. Once they’d finished, Swoop dropped his pack and dug out a few components that Cass didn’t recognize.
“When you say ‘go out hard’, how hard do you mean?” Swoop asked, as he started assembling pieces.
“Hard enough to kill everything on the other side,” Gamble answered.
Swoop nodded and grabbed another two components out his bag, and then started affixing them to the doors.
Wren was still standing in the hall where Cass had left him, with his hands over his ears, just watching those doors with wide eyes. Jaw clenched, lips white.