Chapter 19 - The Last Line
"Get behind the bed!" Vincent shouted.
The oak doors gave way with an ear-splitting crash. Two flash grenades bounced across the hardwood floor, blinding white light and deafening thunder detonating simultaneously.
My ears rang with a high-pitched scream. I lunged across Lily’s bed, shielding her with my entire body, squeezing my eyes shut against the searing flash.
Through the haze of burning cordite, gunfire erupted inside the room. Vincent was an engine of controlled destruction, firing from behind the overturned mahogany dresser, dropping the first two tactical operators who crossed the threshold.
A third man swung his rifle toward the bed—toward Lily.
My mind went completely blank. The fear vanished, replaced by an instinct older than language.
I raised the heavy nine-millimeter with both hands, pointed it directly at the center of the intruder’s tactical vest, and pulled the trigger.
The recoil jarred my wrists, the roar of the gunshot deafening in the enclosed room. The bullet caught him in the upper collarbone where the armor parted. He stumbled backward, gasping, and Vincent was on him in an instant, driving a combat knife up beneath the man’s helmet with brutal finality.
The room fell into a heavy, smoking silence.
Dr. Evans was curled in a fetal position beneath the desk, hyperventilating. But the IV line was intact.
Above us, the bag of marrow was empty.
"It's done," Evans gasped, pointing a shaking finger at the empty plastic drip chamber. "The infusion... it finished. We have to flush the line with saline and pull the catheter."
Vincent didn't wait. He stepped over the bodies, his hands covered in grime and blood, and looked at me. There was no judgment in his eyes for the man I had just shot—only a fierce, desperate pride.
"She can move?" Vincent demanded.
"She can move, but she can't walk," Evans said, hurriedly injecting the saline flush into the port before peeling away the medical adhesive. "She has no immune system. Any exposed cut or airborne contagion—"
"Sal!" Vincent shouted toward the hallway.
A bloody, battered figure limped into the doorway. Sal was clutching his left arm, which hung limp and useless at his side, his face gray with shock. "They’re in the foyer, boss. Dante has the front and rear exits completely covered. We can't reach the garages."
"We aren't going to the garages," Vincent said. He bent down, scooped Lily into his massive arms, wrapping her tightly in the sterile fleece blanket from the bed. Lily let out a weak groan, resting her pale cheek against his bloodied chest plate.
Vincent looked at me. "The wine cellar. There’s an emergency ventilation tunnel that leads out to the drainage canal behind the estate. Sal, do you have the detonator?"
Sal reached into his tactical pocket with his good hand and pulled out a small black plastic transmitter with a guarded toggle switch.
"The charges on the main floor pillars are live," Sal murmured, coughing up a spatter of red. "The whole east wing goes when I flip this."
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"Give it to me," I said.
Both men looked at me in shock.
