We reach a junction. A ladder leads up to the roof access.
“Up.” He points to the ringing metal. “Go.”
I grab the rungs. The metal slips slick with oil and water. I climb.
Below me, Boyd turns. He kneels at the base of the ladder, rifle aimed back the way we came. Rearguard. The shield.
I reach the top and push a hatch open.
The wind hits me.
It shrieks across the roof, snow needling my face, shock-cold after the swelter below. I scrabble out, lungs cinching shut around the frigid air.
I look down the hatch.
“Boyd. Come on.”
He starts climbing.
Slow. His left arm pulls each rung. His right arm hangs at his side. He grunts with every rung, a sound of wet, grinding pain.
He clears the hatch. Rolling onto the roof, he lies on his back for a second, lungs heaving.
“Contact.” A massive figure drops into view on the other side of the roof.
I spin around.
Three men separate from the shadows of the ventilation units. Mercer’s security detail is cutting us off.
They raise their weapons.
I freeze. No cover. Nowhere to go.
Boyd roars.
He surges up from the ground, abandoning the dropped rifle. He draws the pistol from his belt with his left hand.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
He fires while moving, placing himself between me and the threats.
One man drops. The others scramble for cover behind the AC units.
Return fire rips the roof apart.
“Get down.” Boyd tackles me. He throws his body over mine, driving me into the snow and gravel. Dead weight of muscle and armor.
He flinches. Once. Twice.
The impacts shudder through his frame into mine. He takes rounds. Taking them for me.
“Boyd.”
“Stay down.” He raises the pistol over my shoulder. Fires blindly, suppressing them.
Then, a roar drowns out the gunfire.
A shadow falls over us.
