“Go on!” I holler to Charlene, and she leads the way, holding the glass in front of her. I follow closely behind. I’m not sure how effective the glass shield is, but it does seem to be keeping some of the flames away from her face.
Even though in my shows I’ve been set on fire, escaped from burning buildings, and been blown up innumerable times by Xavier, those were all controlled situations. None of that compared to the heat singeing my face and arms, burning my throat with every breath right now.
After only a few steps, I notice a body lying nearby. It’s scalded, and I can’t identify who it is until I see the metal bracelets encircling one of the charred wrists.
Abina.
A thick knot of anger forms inside me.
Whoever did this can’t be far. Find him. Stop him.
Charlene doesn’t pause, and I take that to mean she hasn’t seen the research assistant’s body. It’s a small thing, but at least it’s one thing to be thankful for.
We shuffle forward.
The air is rigid and fiery in my lungs.
We’re about ten feet from the exit door, but by now I can tell that the glass idea doesn’t seem to be working as well as I’d hoped. It’s awkward for Charlene to maneuver and seems to be slowing us down. In front of us, blocking the way to the exit door, is a pool of flames.
“Tip it forward!” I yell. She does so immediately, and the glass hits the floor and shatters across the floorboards, sending a whoosh of smoke and displaced flames to every side. But the place where the glass fell is momentarily clear of the blaze, so we rush across the glass shards, make it to the exit door.
“You okay?”
“Yes!” Her reply is muffled by the popping, crackling fire.
I lean my hip against the push bar and the door pops open, but only about six inches, then catches on a stout chain.
No!
A rush of desperation.
I shift Dr. Tanbyrn’s weight to keep him balanced on my shoulders, then smash my side against the door, but it’s useless. I study the chain and see that it has a keyed lock, not a combination lock, holding the two ends together.
Oh yes.
“Charlene, my belt!”
She’s worked with me on hundreds of escapes and knows about the belt buckle, the narrower-than-normal prong. I have no idea how many locks I’ve picked with it while sealed in trunks, coffins, airtight tubes—
She tugs the jacket off her arms, unbuckles the belt, snakes it out of my belt loops, and hands it to me, buckle first.
Holding it carefully, I slide my hand outside.
A one-handed pick, not easy, and it’s been months since I’ve picked this brand of lock …
But I haven’t lost my touch. It takes less than ten seconds, the lock clicks open, the ends of the chain dangle free. I grab one of them and yank the chain loose even as I throw my hip against the door.
It bangs open.
Charlene and I emerge from the building and run toward the clearing to escape the smoke and the raging flames.
You’re okay. You made it!
Hopefully, Dr. Tanbyrn did as well.
Assault
As gently as I can, I lower him to the ground.
Charlene leans close. “Let me.” She’s more experienced at first aid than I am. I clear out of the way.
She tilts Dr. Tanbyrn’s head to open his airway. Checks to see if he’s still breathing.
I stand, look around.
The day is still damp, still gray, smudged darker now by the heavy black smoke from the blaze.
The guy who set that fire is probably still on the campus, probably—
I see someone standing just off the trail that leads along the edge of the forest behind the building and recognize him as the man who was waiting in the reception area when Charlene and I arrived.
“He’s still alive.” Relief in her voice.
The man is half-hidden by a tree, and he must have seen me watching him because he turns and heads into the woods, limping.
From last night’s knife wound.
That’s it.
You’re mine.
“Take care of Tanbyrn,” I shout to Charlene. I’m already sprinting toward the woods, wrapping my belt around my left hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Glenn glanced behind him.
The guy was pursuing him.
Alright. Let him follow.
The fog would help.
Find a spot out of sight from the rest of the campus.
Take care of this guy for good.
Then get to the parking lot and clear out before the fire trucks and the cops show up.
I throw a branch aside, jump over a root, and race toward Abina’s killer, eighty yards ahead of me, barely visible on the edge of the fog.
You’re a runner. He’s injured.
You can catch him.
Catch him, yes. But then what?
Stop him. Do whatever it takes to stop him.
Whatever it takes.
Seventy yards, maybe sixty-five.
He killed Abina. Tanbyrn might die. He tried to kill Charlene.
Yeah, I would stop him.
With my lungs still feeling like they’re filled with smoke, I’m short of breath and I can sense that it’s slowing me down, and despite the wound in this man’s leg, he’s amazingly fast. Last night he had a knife sticking out of his thigh, now he’s racing through the forest like he was never hurt at all. It was quite possible the knife hadn’t gone in as deeply as I thought it had.
But still, I’m gaining.
Sixty yards.
He reaches a ravine and disappears into a patch of thick fog that has settled into the valley. Logs covered with moss. Dense ferns on the ground. The trees here are ancient. Primeval. Fog lurks between them like threads of living smoke.
The mist brushes against my face and arms and it feels good, cooling the reddened skin. I can only hear the sound of my choked breathing, my muted footsteps on the forest floor. Other than that, all is still and quiet in the fog.
I’m jacked on adrenaline from the fire, the chase, the thought of fighting this guy, and my heart is slamming against the inside of my chest. I arrive at the edge of the ravine and then descend into it, trying to find the path through the underbrush where he might’ve gone. At last I come to a small clearing in the trees.
Fog all around.
No sign of him.
I slow to a jog.
Stop.
No sound of him running. The ground has leveled off and the fog is thicker here. I can only see fifteen or twenty feet in any direction. Towering trees surround me. He could be anywhere.
Puffs of breath circle from my mouth in the cool air as if they were bursts of steam evaporating before me. I listen but hear nothing apart from my ragged breathing.
I was in a fire only minutes ago, now I’m in the chilled forest and a shiver runs through me.
Backtrack? Did he backtrack?
No, he’s here.
Fists raised, I crouch. Ready stance.
If he were still running, I would hear him, at least be able to tell what direction he was heading in.
But I hear nothing.
He’s close.
He’s here. Behind one of the trees.
I inch toward a large tree to my left, one wide enough to conceal a person.
“They’re following me,” I shout, I lie. “You won’t get away. I’ve seen your face. I can identify you.”
That much was true.
I move closer to the looming tree and hear a crunch of leaves ten feet to my right. Instinctively I whip around toward the sound, but no one is there.