I step off the dock, my boots crunching on the gravel. I’m looking for my car, expecting the black sedan I drove here. But I don't see my vehicle. I see a man.
Artyom is running.
He’s not in a car. He’s on foot, bursting around the corner of the main office building, his suit jacket flapping behind him. He looks wrecked—his tie is gone, his face is smeared with something dark, and his eyes are wide with a frantic urgency I’ve never seen on him.
"Mikhail!" he roars, his voice tearing through the silence. "Get down! Down!"
I don't ask questions. I don't look for the threat. I dive behind a stack of rusted steel beams, my shoulder hitting the metal with a jar that rattles my teeth. Lev dives right beside me, his gun drawn.
For a split second, there is a silence so absolute it feels like the world has stopped breathing.
Then, the world ends.
An explosion tears through the center of the factory. I see the brickwork of the main silo turn into a liquid spray of red dust and fire. The heat is a searing, white-hot wall that peels the paint off the beams I'm hiding behind. I feel the ground buck under me, the concrete cracking like an eggshell.
The shockwave throws me backward. I’m airborne for a heartbeat, the world spinning in a blur of orange and gray, before I slam into the side of a shipping container. The air leaves my body in a wheezing gasp.
Everything goes white.
There’s a high-pitched whine in my ears that drowns out the world. I try to breathe, but all I inhale is dust and the acrid, chemical sting of burning plastic. I struggle to push myself up, my limbs feeling like they belong to someone else.
"Artyom," I cough, the name sounding like a rasp in the silence.
I look toward where I last saw him. The office building is gone. In its place is a jagged maw of twisted rebar and flaming timber. The air is thick with falling soot, black flakes drifting down like macabre snow.
I see a figure lying face down in the dirt, twenty feet from the blast site.
"Artyom!"
I scramble toward him, my knees scraping against the broken glass and hot brick. I don't feel the pain. I don't feel the blood trickling down my own forehead. I reach him and roll him over, my hands shaking.
His face is a mask of gray dust and blood. His eyes are closed, his head lolling to the side.
"No," I whisper, my fingers searching for the pulse in his neck. "No, no, no. Not like this. You don't fucking die on me, brother. Wake up."
For five agonizing seconds, I find nothing but the heat of his skin. Then, a throb. Faint. Irregular. But it’s there.
"Lev!" I scream, looking back.
Lev is staggered, blood pouring from an ugly gash on his temple, but he’s standing. He looks at the ruins, then at us.
"Get the SUV!" I roar. "Now!"
The primary structure of the factory is groaning. The fire is spreading to the chemical drums stored in the basement, and the sound of secondary pops—small, sharp explosions—is starting to fill the air.
I hook my arms under Artyom’s armpits. He’s a big man, heavy and solid, but I haul him upward with a strength I didn't know I had. My muscles are screaming, my lungs burning with every breath of smoke, but I don't stop. I drag him across the gravel, the heat from the fires licking at my back.
"I've got you," I grunt, my teeth bared. "I've got you, you bastard. You’re not leaving me. You hear me?"
Artyom let out a soft, wet groan, his hand twitching against my arm. He’s alive.
Lev skids the SUV to a halt a few yards away, the tires kicking up a cloud of ash. He jumps out and helps me lift Artyom into the back seat. I scramble in after him, pulling my brother’s head onto my lap.
"Go!" I shout, slamming the door. "Private wing. Tell them to clear the floor. If all the doctors aren’t waiting at the entrance, I’ll fucking kill them all."
As we roar out of the lot, I look back through the rear window. The factory is a pillar of black smoke and fire. It’s a message.
I look down at Artyom. His breathing is shallow, a rattling sound that makes my chest tighten. I wipe the blood from his brow with the tail of my shirt, my hands finally starting to tremble with the aftershock of the blast.
