She waved at the hostages, screaming over the storm. “Move! Inside now!”
For a heartbeat, the hostages froze—shock and fear colliding all at once.
“Run!” Wyatt bellowed.
They broke.
Bodies surged toward the open door in a panicked flood, some crying as they ran. Wyatt surged to his feet, running low, planting himself between them and any remaining threat.
A round cracked past his head, singeing the air.
“Caro, down!” Another shot rang out, sharp and close. Caro cried out and staggered back, her hand flying to her upper arm as blood bloomed bright against her sleeve. She hit the deck hard but rolled, scrambling back to her feet, teeth bared.
“I’m okay!” she yelled hoarsely. “I’m okay—keep them moving!”
Wyatt’s chest locked tight. He didn’t look at her again. Instead, he advanced into the gunfire, forcing the returning guards to split their focus between him and the fleeing hostages. He fired, dropping the first guard. A second ducked back behind cover.
The fuel depot guards were coming back. Faster than he’d hoped.
“Last ones!” Caro shouted. “Almost clear!”
Wyatt backed toward the door, firing to keep heads down, every muscle in his injured leg threatening to give out. He risked a glance over his shoulder, spying the final hostage staggering through the doorway.
Wyatt followed, kicked the door shut behind him. Breathless, he secured the lock.
He turned. Hostages sobbed, clutching each other, bedraggled from the rain. But his attention found Caro slumped against the wall. Blood soaked her sleeve, warm and slick under his hand as he pressed hard above the wound.
“Stay with me, Caro. You did perfect. You hear me?”
Caro laughed weakly through clenched teeth. “I really hate excitement. I think I’ll sit for a moment.” She slid down the wall.
He spotted the emergency kit mounted nearby. He ripped it free, kneeled beside her and cut her sleeve open with his knife. The wound was ugly—a deep graze that had torn a channel through the flesh of her upper arm. Bleeding freely, but no she’d keep the arm.
“It’s a graze. Ugly but shallow.”
“Doesn’t feel shallow.”
“It’s shallow.” He sprayed antiseptic. Caro hissed and looked the other way.
The door behind them shuddered. Fists. Rifle butts. The guards trying to force entry.
They needed to move. But where?
“You’re doing great, Sparks.” He pressed a dressing to her arm and wrapped it in gauze.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor ahead.
Wyatt pivoted and raised his gun, placing himself in front of the hostages.
Two figures emerged from the dimness.
A woman and a man.
Jen.
Air rushed his lungs.
She was alive.
