Page 64 of Faith Among Monsters

The door to the stairwell is open.

“We’ve got hostile fire on the roof. Possible inside with you,” Wilkes’ voice crackles over the walkie.

I barely get mine out before movement in the stairwell catches my attention.

Then, bang. The front doors burst open.

Three guards come barreling in, wild-eyed, covered in sweat. Two more stumble behind them, the useless cowards we sent a team to pull off the cabana. Rescuers and rescues. All for nothing. I figured as much.

“Close the door, dipshit!” I snap.

One of them slams it, but it doesn’t latch.

Trip and I are already on it, shoving our weight against the steel. The others catch on, pressing in. A second later, something hits the other side, hard. The impact rattles up my arms.

Then another hit. Another.

The snarls are inhuman. They know we’re in here now.

The door bows, groaning under the pressure. This isn’t going to hold.

“We’re going up and out,” I say, my voice sharp, leaving no room for debate. My gaze flicks over the guards, cataloging which ones are worth a damn. None of them.

Not surprising. They didn’t even follow the shoot-on-sight order on me. Useless. All of them.

Then my eyes land on Quince.

Of course, that bastard is still breathing. The universe has a sick fucking sense of humor.

But I don’t have time to deal with him. Not now.

The second we start up the stairs, I hear it, movement above us. Shifting. Rushing. The sound of bodies scrambling, a scuffle. Faith.

I push harder, taking the stairs two, three at a time, heart hammering. Then, silenced shots.

“Shit,” I growl. “Hey! Over here!”

I want the things turning for me. I’d rather fight them in this narrow stairwell than let them reach Faith on the roof.

More shots. Fewer sounds.

I move faster. My legs burn, but I don’t stop. Trip is right behind me, steady as ever. The others struggle to keep up, but they don’t matter. Not to me.

We hit the last landing. The door is cracked open, the metal vibrating like something heavy slammed against it. It took too fucking long to get here.

Bodies.

Too many bodies.

I scan them, frantic. No Faith. No Wilkes. No Zachs. No fucking Sampson.

I step over a fresh corpse, eyes locking on the guard’s uniform. Still warm. Not Faith. Not her.

Movement.

I snap my gun up, ready to fire.

Then I see her.