Blood stained the floor where Vela had fallen, but there was no other sign of him.
The sound of coughing came again, harsh and relentless, followed by desperate gasps.
Kepler?
Vela?
It came from above and behind.
Gimble’s hand went to her empty holster as she spun back toward the sound.
Dark black smoke roiled at the ceiling, churning and twisting like angry storm clouds. It was worse at the staircase leading to the second floor. At the top of the steps, there was a giant mass of deep gray fighting to get down, get out from above, held back only by the laws of nature but spilling into the first floor nonetheless. Tendrils of smoke reached down and out from the opening, exploring the ornate architecture in search of a meal, trying to satisfy the appetite of some beast up above, something growing larger with each passing second.
Through the haze, Gimble spotted them.
Megan Fitzgerald came through the smoke first. She stumbled awkwardly down the steps, nearly slipped, and braced herself on the wall. She had an arm wrapped around another young woman, and Gimble recognized her immediately as Nicole Milligan. Milligan’s feet were bare, filthy, bloody. She had duct tape wrapped around her head, a giant mess of it over her mouth, caught in her hair, and she seemed barely conscious. Both were covered in soot, their clothing in tatters.
When Milligan saw Gimble, her eyes went wide and she tried to pull away from Megan, nearly taking them both down the stairs in a tumble, but somehow Megan managed to maintain her grip.
Gimble raced up the steps, took Milligan’s free arm, and put it over her own shoulder. Heat belched down the stairs. Fire raged up above, eager to come down. She had to shout to be heard over it. “Where’s your brother?”
Megan shook her head. Her soot-covered face was streaked with dried tears and snot. “Mitchell killed him. He’s dead. They’re both dead.” As she said the words, the tears came again, rolling from her puffy red eyes, and her body shook with sobs.
From above came a loud crash, followed by a deep rumble.
Gimble thought about the gas building up below.
“We need to get out now!”
She dragged them down the steps. Even as the smoke grew worse and filled their lungs, she pulled them forward. They reached the door, fell. Then there were arms, hands, grabbing at them, pulling them down the sidewalk, across the lawn.
Gimble didn’t see Windham Hall explode, but she felt it. The pressure hit her with the force of a Mack truck.