I tried three of the keys in the lock before one of the prisoners reached me.
He threw a punch as I spun around to face him. I bobbed away from it as best I could, absorbing the brunt of it with an upraised forearm.
I shoved him back, sending him over a bench. His body slowed the progress of the others long enough for me to try two more keys.
The second one worked, and the lock clicked free. Fortunately, this jail hadn’t gone high tech and switched over to electronic locks yet. The fact that Long even had a key to the cell was blind luck.
Something had finally gone my way.
Drew’s stirring body blocked part of the door, and I could only open it a foot or so. I squeezed through the slim gap as a hand grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. The fabric tore free as I spun around and slammed the door on the outstretched forearm.
Mr. Embezzler cried out, but didn’t retract his arm. Murdock wouldn’t let him.
I hated doing so much damage to these guys. While most of them weren’t innocents, they didn’t deserve to get the shit kicked out of them.
Keys rattled against the door leading to the rest of the building. Someone was coming back to the holding area.
A front kick to the chest sent Mr. Embezzler reeling again. I slammed the door closed and tore the key from the lock.
The other door opened on my left. I ran toward it.
A gun appeared first, sliding through the opening.
I grabbed the wrist that followed and yanked it toward me as I threw the door open. I drove my head forward, throwing the first head-butt of my life.
My vision became a field of stars as my forehead crashed into the nose of an officer. The pistol fell from his hand as he stumbled back. He fell to his ass, his back leaning against the far wall. Droplets of blood dotted his uniform. His name tag read Frank.
“Shit that hurt.” I picked up the .45 and poked my head through the door, shaking it slightly to clear the cobwebs. A bullet whizzed past my face for the effort. The door opened to a hallway leading to an office area to the left. Another door with an exit sign above it was on the right.
The concussive blast of a shotgun filled the hall.
“Judy, what the hell are you doing? Drop the gun!”
The male voice, deep and panicked, came from a series of desks at the end of the hall. I couldn’t see the speaker, or the shooter, but I knew that Murdock was playing games with them—making them shoot at friends and colleagues.
Someone else cried, “Sally! Oh my God!”
Drew moaned behind me.
Long’s pistol went in the back of my waistband. I clicked the safety off the other officer’s gun and held it by my side. The idea of shooting a cop made me cringe.
I’m going to kill you, Murdock.
Others have tried and failed. You will too.
He didn’t laugh in my head anymore. His tone was calm and collected, as if I’d interrupted him as he read a newspaper. That disturbed me more than his maniacal cackles.
Drew stirred. He tried to sit up, but his coordination hadn’t returned yet. His eyes were still unfocused.
I bent down, looped one of his arms over my shoulders, and hoisted him to his feet. He was on my left side, the pistol held in my right hand. He shuffled his feet a bit as we walked back to the door, but he didn’t take much of his weight off me.
Sweat stung my eyes.
Drew weighed over two hundred pounds, and he was almost half a foot shorter than I was. Dragging him around the police station would wear me out in no time.
“You need to lay off the doughnuts,” I grunted.
The hallway was still clear so I dragged him along, heading for the exit to the right.
A gun cracked behind us. A puff of drywall dust burst from the wall beside my head. It got in my eyes.
I swung us around, blinking rapidly, and raised the pistol.
A young officer stood at the end of the hall, reloading a .45. His thoughts floated into my mind, even though I wasn’t trying to read them.
My mental barriers were crumbling from the beating I’d taken. If not for The Bridge formed between Murdock and me, the effect would have been overwhelming.
Guilt and bewilderment consumed the officer as he fished a magazine from his belt. He’d shot two of his colleagues, and he didn’t know why.
I sighted his chest, but hesitated.
He didn’t deserve to die. None of them did.
He jammed the magazine home.
Pointed the business end at us.
I aimed at his shoulder and squeezed the trigger.
The impact spun him around. He didn’t utter a sound as he fell to his knees, the gun slipping from his hand.
A barrage of gunshots came from the lobby. The cacophony reminded me of my third day outside of the Green Zone. All hell had broken loose at the checkpoint I manned—mortar blasts, automatic gunfire, and cries of agony.
I bit down, fighting against the emotions roiling to the surface.
Saw Sergeant Barker’s face on the cop I’d just shot.
Smelled the blood dripping from my lacerated knuckles.
Felt my years-old guilt rising.
We could have been brothers, Asher. I understand your pain.
I’ll remember you said that when I’m watching your body twitch.
The presence of two more cops came to me as they moved through the office area. They were stalking toward the hallway.
I swung Drew around and kicked at the push bar running across the middle of the exit. The door flew open, flooding the hall with a wave of heat and harsh sunlight. Squinting against it, I dragged my only friend outside.
We stumbled onto a side street behind the station.
Where do you think you’re going?
I didn’t answer him. We had to get some distance between Murdock and us. He would send the entire city after us if we didn’t get away from him.
We went down the alley, Drew mumbling incoherently, his chin resting against his chest. His feet moved a little better, and his eyes fluttered. I had to get him away from Murdock before he woke up, or he’d be used against me again.
The door crashed open behind us.
Guns fired.
The brick walls of the buildings on either side of us chipped away as bullets punched into them.
We rounded the corner and limped down the cracked sidewalk. Traffic was light with only a single car pulling out of a parking spot on the side of the street. A couple walked into a small ice cream parlor, arm in arm. Otherwise, the block was empty.
I tried to remember the range of Murdock’s ability, but couldn’t recall the number.
My hand throbbed.
Drew lifted his head after we made it another ten yards. “Ashley?”
The douche called me Ashley every now and then just to piss me off. The dig indicated that he was in charge of himself again. Murdock had moved on to other people.
The engine of the car across the street revved. The tires squealed.
Glare on the windshield hid the driver from my view. It crossed the painted lines, rocketing straight at us.
“Ashley? The hell?”
“I’m a little busy right now.” I aimed at the front right tire and emptied the mag.
Holes punched in the grill and bumper, chipping away the paint. The tire popped, shifting the weight of the car. It careened away from us, slamming into a parked Cadillac.
The airbags deployed. Car alarms blared.
We kept going.
Needed distance.
I dropped the pistol to the sidewalk and pulled the other one from my waistband.
Drew’s feet moved with more grace, taking some of his weight off my fatigued shoulders. “What happened?”
“You tried to kill me. I kicked your ass though.”
He raised a hand to his forehead. A bruise had already started to form. “My head is killing me.”
“I slammed your face off the bars of my cell.”
“You—”
Drew’s muscles went rigid. His thoughts were suppressed by Murdock’s will. He reached up, tried to grab my head. His motor skills hadn’t fully returned yet, so his attempts were weak and feeble.
I knocked his arms away and pushed on even harder. Blood splattered his suit from the cut on my hand.
He tried to plant his feet and pull away. Though his strength hadn’t returned, his weight slowed us down. We inched forward, wrestling with one another like a couple of high school kids in a fight.
I cocked my arm back, getting ready to pistol whip him unconscious, when he relaxed again.
The Bridge between Murdock and I crumbled. Thoughts of people in the buildings around us flooded into my mind. I grimaced and concentrated on turning their volume down.
Drew huffed and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. I kept my arm back, waiting.
“Jesus Christ, Ash. What have we gotten into here?”
I focused on him, searching his mind for any trace of Murdock, making sure this wasn’t a trick. It was only Drew in there.
“We’re up Shit Creek without a paddle. Where are you parked?”
Drew looked around the empty block. “In a garage around the corner.”
“Good. Let’s—”
The display window of a craft shop beside us shattered. The crack of a rifle echoed through the street. Three more cops worked their way down the sidewalk, firing from fifty yards away.
I grabbed the lapel on Drew’s jacket and pulled him in front of a parked truck. Bullets punched holes in the body as we sunk down by the grill.
“Can you run?” I asked.
“I think so.” He grabbed his pistol.
I peeked through the windshield. They were closing the distance between us. “I’ll lay down some suppressing fire. You take off. I’ll be right behind you.”
“That won’t work. If that guy is controlling them, they won’t hide when you start shooting. He doesn’t care if they get hurt.”
The cops kept coming. Their accuracy would improve by the second. We just had to lead them a little further from Murdock, and they would be free of his grasp.
I ducked down again, tensing my muscles to run. “You know what Jack Burton says at a time like this?”
“Are you really going to quote Big Trouble in Little China right now?”
“Jack always says, ‘What the hell’.” I pushed off the bumper and sprinted across the street.