Calahan was bigger, but Josh had become something quick and vicious, almost feral. He had his legs wrapped around Calahan and was getting in three quick punches for every one of Calahan’s big blows, biting and scratching and digging for Calahan’s eyes with his thumbs.
“Get Harry out of here!” panted Calahan.
I hesitated for a split second, then hauled open the door and raced outside. He was right: we had to protect Harry. My mind was still whirling, trying to process Josh being alive. What the hell do I do?
As I reached the street, I could hear sirens in the distance: the FBI was finally on their way. All I had to do was wait with Harry.
But then I remembered what Calahan had said, when we were on the stakeout: he’d have to kill my brother to stop him. And my brother wouldn’t let anything prevent him completing his plan.
One of them was going to kill the other. And I couldn’t lose either of them.
Across the street, a woman was jogging. I shot across and skidded to a stop in front of her. “Take him!” I lifted the semi-conscious Harry and pressed him to her chest. “Just stay right here. The FBI will be here any minute.”
“What?!” But she scooped up the boy.
I didn’t want to let go of him. That deep, maternal instinct had kicked in full force. But Calahan and Josh both needed me. “Take care of him,” I muttered in a choked voice. Then I turned and raced back into the chemical factory.
I burst through the door just in time to see Josh pound up the stairs with Calahan right behind him. I spat out a curse and looked for another way up.
Think! I raced around the first floor. There were elevators, of course, but the power had been off for decades—
There. Over in the corner, there was an open platform with ropes attached to its four corners, leading all the way up to a pulley in the roof. Probably the way they moved drums of chemicals between floors, before they installed the elevators. It looked like it might still work. But it wasn’t designed for people, yet alone a wheelchair. There were no walls or railings, nothing to stop me falling off the sides. They probably used to tie the chemical drums down, but there was nothing to tie me down.
Calahan and Josh were going higher and higher, the crashes of their feet echoing as they corkscrewed up the metal stairwell. I had no choice. I raced onto the platform, double-checked my brakes were set, and hauled as hard as I could on the rope.
With a lurch, the platform lifted a few inches off the floor and immediately swung to one side. My chair rocking sickeningly and I sucked in my breath in panic. But it was working. Thanks to the pulley system, I could lift myself, but it meant that for every heave on the rope, I only rose a few inches. I started pulling on it for all I was worth, the platform swaying and spinning as it ascended.
By the time I got to the third floor, I felt like I was gaining on them...and I no longer dared look down. By the fourth, I caught a glimpse of Calahan’s heels. And as I reached the top floor, the fifth, I overtook them.
The platform jerked to a stop. I went to release my brakes...and froze. The platform was swaying and there was a three inch gap between it and the floor. Fine for workers loading drums, but I had to roll over it. If I went too slowly, my wheels would go down into the gap, the platform would swing back and I’d topple straight into the widening gulf and fall five floors.
Josh and Calahan burst out of the stairwell and onto the fifth floor. Now or never.
I took off my brakes and raced forward. My stomach lurched as my wheels hit the gap...and then I was onto solid floor. Whew.
My brother looked around, his eyes wild, and then took off for the far end of the building, with Calahan right behind him. I was exhausted but I gritted my teeth and hauled on the wheels, chasing after them.
This floor was in even worse shape than the rest of the factory. Rain had been coming in through holes in the roof and the wooden floorboards felt worryingly soft and crumbly. In a few places, I could see right through to the floor below. Chemical drums were everywhere, rusting and leaking. The whole place felt unsafe.
At the end of the building, my brother stopped dead. He must have been looking for an escape route: another stairwell, a fire escape, something...but there was nothing.
“Give it up,” panted Calahan, slowing to a stop. “There’s nowhere left to go,”
My brother slowly turned around to face him. I looked desperately into his eyes, praying I’d see something familiar. He looked as sharp as ever: I could see him calculating, weighing options. But there was something else in there, too.
I watched in horror as he picked up a rusted crowbar and took a step towards Calahan.
Calahan drew his gun. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t make me do it.” But there was a sadness in his voice, like he already knew how this played out.
My brother took another step forward. Calahan’s finger tightened on the trigger. It felt like someone was crushing my heart in their fist. I was going to lose my brother again: forever, this time. But I didn’t know what to do or say.
Everything happened at once. My brother took two quick steps forward. Calahan cursed and brought his gun up to fire—
And I was moving, skidding around Calahan, putting myself between him and my brother. “No!” I sobbed.
The gun went off.
54
Calahan
I TRIED TO stop it but my brain had already sent the signal to my trigger finger. All I could do was try to wrench my outstretched arms to the side to throw the shot off.
The gun kicked. There was a flash, a boom, the stink of cordite.
I lowered the gun. What did I hit? Yolanda was sitting there in front of me, panting, the killer beyond her.
The killer threw down the crowbar and sprinted past me, unharmed. I didn’t try to stop him. I was rooted to the spot, staring at Yolanda. Behind her, there was a wumf and a tongue of flame leapt up towards the roof. But I ignored it. I knew roughly where the bullet had gone. I could visualize it and my eyes were locked on her torso, on the fabric of her gray hooded top, waiting for the red to blossom through it. The nausea rose in my throat. Jesus, no, please—
Yolanda reached down and plucked at her hooded top. Just under her arm, there was a small, ragged hole in the loose fabric. But no blood. I’d missed her body by a half inch.
I ran over, fell to my knees, and hugged her to me. Behind me, I could hear the killer clattering down the metal stairs, floor after floor, heading for the doors and escape. I didn’t care anymore. All I cared about was in my arms. I crushed her to my chest, wordlessly sobbing with relief. I could smell smoke and a harsh, chemical tang but I couldn’t move. I needed to feel her heart beating against me for just a few more seconds, to know that she was safe.
I finally pushed her back into her chair and now the anger took over, the protective rage. “What were you doing?!” I yelled. “I shot you! You’d be dead except for dumb fucking luck!”
She’d started crying. Something she’d been bottling up was bursting loose and she was descending into wet-cheeked, ragged sobs. “I—He’s—” She gave a halting gulp. “He’s my b—My b—My brother.”
I stood up.
I could see now that one of the drums was leaking chemicals across the floor, and the pool was alight, liquid fire spreading steadily. My bullet must have clipped the drum and ignited the contents. We had to get out of there. But….
Her brother.
I stared down at her, putting it all together. “At the shopping mall,” I croaked. “At the hospital. You knew!”
“I wasn’t sure! I hadn’t seen his face until we got here!”
“We could have had an APB out—”
“I thought he was dead! I thought I was going crazy!”
We glared at each other, me accusing and her defensive. I was angrier than I’d ever been. She’d risked everyone. Worst of all, she’d risked herself. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to grab her and hold her tight and never let go. And as she looked up at me, tearful and sorry
and yet pouting and unrepentant—
My chest contracted as it hit me hard. I love this woman.
A sudden wave of heat made us both look up. The fire was spreading across the wooden floor and up wooden beams. The whole place was a tinderbox, the wood soaked in flammable chemicals. “Come on,” I muttered, jerking my head.
She nodded and we hurried towards the stairs. But as the fire took hold, it started to outrun us. Burning wood fell from overhead. Flames shot along the stained floorboards, overtaking us. The air filled with roiling black smoke that burned our eyes and scoured our lungs. Yolanda was fast, in her chair, but she was lower to the ground, too, and as the flames rose around us, they started to lick at her face, her hands, her hair. She had to skirt round them, where I could step over them, and that slowed us down.
The floor under us gave a worrying creak. The boards had already been crumbling and now the fire was finishing them off.
We weren’t going to make it in time. Yolanda realized it too, coming to a sudden stop, her face pale. She looked up at me.
“Sam?” she said querulously. “Pick me up.”
I looked into her eyes and I saw something release. For the first time, she was leaning on me, putting her faith in me in a way she wouldn’t with anyone else. Something rose and swelled in my chest, stealing my breath, and—
I bent and scooped her up, one arm under her shoulders and one under her legs, cradling her against my chest. The whole of this floor was ablaze now and the fire was spreading downward as burning debris fell and set light to the floors below. But the stairs were just ahead, a solid metal escape route that couldn’t burn. I started to run, floorboards creaking and splintering under my shoes, flames licking up my ankles.
We were only thirty feet away when I felt the floor start to sink. Yolanda threw her arms around my neck, looking back over my shoulder. “Hurry!”
“I’m hurrying!” I pushed myself to go faster, stumbling and coughing. The floor was collapsing. I could hear the crashes behind me as boards fell to the floor below. The stairs were getting closer, but not fast enough.
“Calahan!” squealed Yolanda in terror.
We still weren’t going to make it.
I made a decision. I changed my grip on Yolanda, swinging her back a little. Getting ready.
She looked up at me, confused. Then her expression changed as she realized what I was about to do. “No!” she croaked, her eyes huge. “No! Don’t you—”
The floorboards started to feel loose under my feet. The collapse was catching up with us and the stairs were still ten feet away. “It’s okay,” I panted. I swung her further back—
“No!” she sobbed.
A sort of peace came over me. Ever since Becky died, I’d been asking why. Why not me? Maybe this was the reason. Because I’d been needed here, now. To do this.
As the floor collapsed under me, I swung Yolanda forward and threw her as hard as I could. She sailed through the air, flailing.
I had time to see her land on the metal stairwell, bruised and scared but safe. And then there was nothing below my feet and I was falling.
55
Yolanda
I SCREAMED HIS NAME but it was lost in the noise. A cloud boiled up through the hole, dust and smoke mixed together to form something that looked almost solid, impenetrable gray shot through with burning embers. It engulfed me, blasting into my lungs and making my eyes burn and tear, and I flattened myself against the floor. All around me, the flames were roaring, coming closer and closer, but I couldn’t move until I could see….
The cloud slowly cleared and I dragged myself on my stomach to the jagged edge of the hole. It was immense: pretty much the whole floor had given way.
I forced myself to look down.
The floor below was a mess of broken floorboards and other debris. Several fires had started, the flames spreading and joining. And right in the middle of it all lay Calahan.
He wasn’t moving.
I yelled Calahan. Then, tears in my eyes, I tried Sam. No response. He’d fallen at least twenty feet. His back could be broken. His skull could be cracked.
I had to get to him.
At that moment, an explosion rocked the building. What was left of the floor bucked under me and the metal stairwell gave a tortured groan. The drums. They were catching fire and exploding, one setting off another in a chain reaction. I thought of the first floor, of all the drums stacked there. When the fire reached them, the whole building would explode. I had to go down a floor, get to Calahan and get him out before that happened.
Easy. If I had working legs.
I looked down through the hole again and saw my wheelchair amongst the debris. Until I got down there, I was going to be crawling.
I twisted around and belly-crawled back to the stairs, digging my fingers into the gaps between the floorboards and hauling myself forward. Grab and pull. Grab and pull.
I may not get out much, but when I’m thinking, I pace around the apartment in the wheelchair. I probably cover three or four miles a day and all of that wheeling around is done with my arms. I also lift myself in and out of the chair a lot, and lean over to get things. Because I can’t use my legs to stabilize me, I have to use my core. So I’ve wound up with arms much stronger than average and well-toned abs.
But dragging myself all that way damn near killed me. Progress was painfully slow and the air was filling with choking smoke, making it difficult to get my breath.
At last, I felt metal under my palms. But it was uncomfortably hot. The fire was already blazing down below and the metal stairs were soaking up the heat. I started to slither down headfirst and now at least gravity helped me a little, but it was almost too much: my useless legs kept sliding to the side and threatening to send me into a roll. If I wasn’t careful, I’d roll straight under the handrail and fall off the stairs into the fire below. I had to use my core to stay straight and my abs were screaming by the time I reached the floor below.
Just as I got there, another explosion rocked the building, bigger than before. The walls shook and bricks fell from the roof, one of them bouncing off my sneaker and another smashing into the floor a foot from Calahan’s head. The whole metal stairwell groaned and shook...and then tilted drunkenly. Shit! I had to get down to ground level now, if I wanted to get out.
I looked at Calahan. No way was I leaving him.
I started to belly-crawl across the floor to him. This was much, much harder than upstairs. I was crawling over mounds of debris and it slid and shifted under my hands, making it impossible to get any traction. Nails and broken wood snagged my clothes and held me back. I felt like I was moving an inch for every grab and pull. And the fire was all around me, the air so hot that taking a breath was like gulping lava. I was crying, from fear and from the pain in my aching arms and shoulders. The heat was so intense, I could feel the wetness drying instantly on my cheeks.
It was fifty feet to Calahan but it felt like fifty miles. Every few minutes, I’d look up and he wouldn’t be any closer. Why couldn’t he be with someone with a working freakin’ body who could do this?! I put my hand out to grab again and snatched it back, hissing in pain: I’d touched a piece of red hot metal. The world disappeared behind a haze of tears. It was useless. I wasn’t going to reach him in time.
But I couldn’t give up. Not when it was Calahan.
I reached out blindly, dug my fingers into the debris, and pulled. And again. And again. I became a machine. Grab and pull. Grab and pull. Grab and—
I felt cloth. I drew in a shuddering breath and looked up. I had hold of Calahan’s jacket. I hauled my way along his body, grabbed his shirt, and shook him. “Sam!”
He didn’t wake. But his chest was moving. I felt a tiny glimmer of hope. If I could just get him downstairs….
But when I looked over my shoulder, my hope evaporated. The fire was already between us and the stairs. Maybe if I’d been able to stand, I could have run through the flames. But crawling through them on my belly, I
’d be burned to death.
Could I use my wheelchair somehow? It was lying in the debris, not far from Calahan. I grabbed the footrest and tipped it upright...and groaned. One wheel was bent almost ninety degrees. Please! There has to be another way!
And then, as the smoke cleared for a second, I saw something outside the open window, something that didn’t match the rest of the building. Bright orange and new, amidst all the decay. I had no idea if it would work. But it was our only chance.
Pulling myself across the floor had been exhausting. Hauling Calahan’s not-inconsiderable weight as well was almost impossible. I had to take it inch by inch: pull me, then pull him. The window was only about six feet away: any more, and I wouldn’t have made it. By the time we arrived, my clothes were soaked through with sweat.
Fortunately, the windows ran almost down to the floor and the demolition workers had removed the glass when they’d started to clear the place out. They’d wanted a nice, big hole to throw stuff through. Out of the window and into the big, orange garbage tube that snaked down to the ground.
In theory, the tube would slow our fall as it snaked around, like a water slide. Except water slides were nowhere near this steep. And you didn’t go down them headfirst, or without working legs.
I heaved Calahan’s head and shoulders up over the brink and then inched him forward, pouring him into the tube. “Sorry,” I muttered as I gave him a final push and gravity took over. He slithered in, a dead weight, and disappeared from view worryingly fast. I cursed, not sure what sort of landing he’d have.
Then it was my turn. Already, I could hear the explosions starting down on the second floor: any second, the first floor would go and it would all be over. I used the last of my strength to haul myself over to the rim of the tube and looked down. All I could see was blackness. God knows what was at the bottom: a pile of rusty metal, waiting to impale us, for all I knew. But we were out of options. I heaved...and suddenly, I was slithering in, falling, not sliding, the sides of the tube flashing past me. My arm hit a join in the tube and I cried out in pain. Then my head hit one and I saw stars and then—
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