Time slowed to a crawl for Lydia. Her senses kicked into overdrive, picking up every detail, no matter how useless, from the crooked “Gotcha” smile of the mercenary to overfilled wastebaskets nearby. She was going to die. There was no escape. Dozens of suggestions rammed her thoughts. With all the ideas struggling to reach the door of her consciousness, only a few slipped through. Should she dive to the ground, hoping the mercenary would miss? Should she attack? Should she try to run out the door? Was that even viable? Would the snipers catch her?
The hissing of the SN91 creeping through the building was overshadowed by muffled yelling. Lydia glanced over her shoulder. Rogers was there, whipping his pistol around the corner. He was yelling at her. What was he yelling? His words were slow, drawn out, and unintelligible. In a lightning-fast motion he swiped his palm downward.
Lydia understood. She dropped to the ground, and time seemed to speed back up. Gunshots echoed overhead. Screams of agony. Then a hand was roughly dragging her out of the room. She only saw a shattered window before she was shoved into Sylvia’s chest.
“Lydia!” Sylvia said, shaking her. Any trace of Lydia’s sluggish hesitation was gone. Lydia turned to the locked back door and struck it. She had the door off its hinges in a few hits. Everyone scrambled out of the building.
Gould supported Rogers as he held his bleeding shoulder. He muttered about the snipers as he passed through the door. Sylvia and Lydia led the group around to the side, where rows of police cars waited.
A scattering of gunfire hit the vehicles. The group sought cover. One of the mercenaries was firing on them. He was in the middle of the row, a few cars ahead. Lydia pressed her back to a car and kicked the one in front of her hard. The domino effect that occurred pinned the mercenary between the cars. His rifle slipped from his hand.
The mercenary struggled against the pressure. Lydia leapt onto the vehicles and hopped from roof to roof. He pushed, inching his way out. His hand was stretching for his gun. As his fingers closed on it, Lydia reached him. She kicked his jaw. His head collided with the car and he fell, groaning. His partner was nearby, holding his chest, where blood seeped from a gunshot wound.
Through the broken window, in the room where she had been trapped, came the sound of hissing gas: the SN91. Sylvia was already in a car with Jando and Aidan. Lydia raced over, hopped into the front seat, and they sped off.
Loud, powerful bullets crashed through the car’s windows. “Hang on!” Sylvia said. She flew around an intersection, taking off down the street. Sylvia grabbed the radio, scanning the rooftops for any other shooters. “Careful of the snipers!” she said into the mouthpiece.
“No kidding!” Rogers said back. Lydia heard the sound of gunshots coming through the other line. She held her breath and waited. The seconds ticked by until Rogers came back on. “We’re fine. We’re good. They’re out of range now.”
Sylvia relaxed, focusing on driving. She slipped off her gloves. “So you want us to take Rooke’s place?”
“I’ll check that,” Rogers said. Loud crackling sounds came through while he talked to someone else in his vehicle. “It’s just a graze. I’m fine, so stop,” he said. Then he spoke to Sylvia. “Anyway, Rooke’s house is on the way to Rooke Pharmaceuticals. You guys should look into Leonard’s home though.” He gave her the address, which was on the far side of town. “We’ll meet at the hospital in half an hour. To Gould he said, “Try to have the hospital secured for us by then.”