Tommy scurried back across the room, still gripping the chair firmly in both hands. He knew the guards must have heard that—if there were guards.
No chance he was that lucky.
Sure enough, he heard a set of keys jangling outside the doorway. He imagined the men were startled by the loud, abrupt noise of the window being broken. Tommy knew what was coming next.
The men would come through the door, rushing in to stop their prisoner from doing whatever he was doing, see the destroyed window, and figure he had jumped out somehow.
Tommy pressed his back to the wall just a few feet to one side of the doorway—and waited. He heard the key go into the lock while one of the men was shouting, probably at the other to hurry up. The lock’s bar slid into the housing, and a second later the first guy burst through the doorway.
He rushed ahead with pistol in hand and full blinders on, focused exclusively on the window he believed Tommy had jumped through.
Tommy heard the footsteps of the second guard, and just as the man appeared in the doorway he swung the chair as hard as he could.
The metal legs smashed into the man’s face with devastating effect. The chair shuddered but was undamaged. The guard’s nose crumpled into his skull and dropped him to the ground even as his momentum carried him forward a few feet until he skidded to a stop, facedown on the floor.
The first guard had reached the window and was looking out when he heard the commotion behind him.
Tommy had already reacted, though, and threw the chair across the room like an Olympic hammer thrower. The first guard twisted around in time—but only to put his hands up in defense. The back of the chair hit him hard, the metal edges digging into the man’s forearms and bruising the bones.
He grimaced from the pain as the chair clattered to the floor with several loud clanks. Then he stood upright and tried to aim his pistol. His reaction was too slow.
The second he threw the chair, Tommy reached down and took the pistol from the unconscious, or dead, man on the floor. The first guard never even had a chance to pull the trigger.
Tommy shot first. Once. Then again. The bullets struck true, dead center on the man’s chest.
The guard staggered back, nearly knocked over from the powerful rounds. His back hit the wall, and he tried feebly to raise the pistol one more time to get a vengeful shot off, but it never came. Tommy squeezed the trigger again and finished the guard with a round through the skull.
He turned back to the man on the floor. Keeping his weapon aimed at the guy’s head, Tommy knelt down and checked his pulse. There was none. A pool of dark blood had puddled around the guy’s face, leaking from his nose.
“That was lucky,” Tommy said. “Not for you, of course.” He stood up and hurried over to the door, then remembered there was another full magazine in the first guard’s weapon. He leaned around the doorframe and didn’t see anyone coming, so he rushed back to the dead man under the window and retrieved the second pistol.
He stuffed it into his pocket and returned the door, checked the corridor in both directions, and then headed to the left.
He found a door at the end of the hall with an old sign displaying a picture of stairs. Tommy pulled the latch down and eased the door open. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and closed it as quietly as he could.
Reinforcements were on their way. He knew that was a strong possibility. Someone had either heard the shots or radioed in that something strange had happened inside the prisoner’s cell. Either way, trouble was coming. From the sound of it, there were more than a few responders.
Tommy scanned the hallway. The door to his room was still open, plus there were five other rooms—three on the left and two more on the right. All the doors were closed except one. He sprinted down the corridor and stopped at the one on the left that was cracked. He used the muzzle of his weapon to shove it open and found it was just a broom closet.
The space was shallow, maybe a couple of feet deep. Luckily, the only shelf in the little room was just over his head. He stepped inside and pulled the door closed a second before the one at the other end of the hall burst open.
Tommy held his breath for a second as if that might help him fit more comfortably in the tiny space. He waited and listened as the footsteps rushed down the hall. He was certain there were at least three men, possibly four, but he couldn’t see.
The first of them ran by. Tommy knew where he was going, where they were all going.
A moment later, the others joined him, and shouting ensued.
“Check all the rooms! He couldn’t have gotten far!” the man yelled.
Footsteps drew closer and then veered off to both the right and left.
Tommy knew it was only a matter of time before they checked his hiding spot. Might as well use the element of surprise.
He twisted the doorknob, pushed the door open, and stepped into the hall with pistol raised high. A guy was running through the doorway across from him when Tommy appeared like an apparition out of thin air. The man couldn’t stop, couldn’t even raise a hand to defend himself, before Tommy put a round through his forehead.
Tommy shoved the dead man aside as the body fell in a heap on the floor, and he fired twice more. The rounds pounded the guy inside the room, one to the shoulder and one to the gut. The power of the bullets spun the man around in a circle before he crumpled to the floor, writhing in agony.
The Assassin to Tommy’s right reacted quickly and turned to fire just as his target dipped into the big room once more. The bullets zipped down the hallway, one plunking into the broom closet door, the other accidentally striking his comrade in the leg.
The wounded man screeched in pain and dropped to his good knee, clutching his thigh with both hands.
No apology came as a result of the friendly fire.
Tommy reached into his belt and grabbed the second pistol. He knew the last remaining guard would come into the room and sweep the nearest corners first. It was a standard tactic.
He put his back against the wall a few inches from the doorframe and slid down to a crouching position. He knew that when the guard came in, the guy would be standing upright. Staying low would give Tommy the slimmest of margins to surprise the gunman. At least that’s what he hoped.
His back pressed into the wall, he tempered his breathing to make it inaudible. He listened for movement in the corridor but heard nothing for a minute. Then a floorboard creaked around the corner.
Tommy knew what was coming next.
With his cover blown, the gunman charged into the doorway. He swept his pistol to the right first, which was what Tommy had banked on since the guy was coming from the left.
Tommy sprang to the side and opened fire with both guns. The muzzles flashed amid a series of thunderous bangs.
The gunman saw the movement in his periphery, but it was too late. By the time he started to turn, five bullets tore into his torso and sent him stumbling back against the doorframe before he fell into the hall.
Tommy stayed on his back for a second with both weapons still extended. Streams of smoke swirled out of the barrels, mixing with the tendrils already hanging in the room.
Tommy gasped for a few seconds. The acrid smell of gun smoke filled his nostrils.
“Break’s over, Tommy,” he said to himself. “Gotta get out of here.”
He rolled over onto his side and stood up. He pressed the release button on the first pistol and ejected the magazine into his palm. One round left.
He ejected it out of the magazine, which he let fall to the floor. Then he released the magazine on the second weapon and counted the remaining rounds before adding the lone bullet. Once the magazine was secure again, he stuffed the weapon into his belt and picked up any remaining guns from the dead men, tucking another one away and holding on to two.
For a brief moment, Tommy felt like he was armed well enough to take down a small government. He knew that wasn’t the case. Even with multiple guns on him, those rounds wouldn’t last long.
He’d have to be judicious with how he spent them.
The question on his mind now was how to get out of the building.
He hurried over to the broken window and looked out. The fire escape was an option, but not one he liked. The rickety metal landing and the ladders below didn’t look like they could hold his weight. Dark-orange rust covered the hinges and railings in several places. The bolts holding things in place were also oxidized, and likely weakened from years of weathering and neglect.
No, the fire escape wasn’t a great option.
Tommy rushed back to the door and stepped over the dead man whose body was half in the room, half in the hallway. A quick check to the left and right told Tommy the area was clear, but it wouldn’t be for long.
He looked up into the corners of the dimly lit space, expecting to see cameras or some kind of security system. There were none.
That meant the reinforcements had either heard the chaos upstairs, or they were connected by radio. Maybe it was both.
Tommy bent down and found half the answer. A tiny earpiece was wedged in the dead gunman’s ear. He took it out, gave it a wipe on his shirt, and tucked it into place.
A man was speaking in an urgent tone. “Team two, do you copy?” The accent wasn’t foreign, unless it was Canadian, but it sounded devoid of any distinction.
“Team two, copy. Prisoner detained. Situation under control,” Tommy said, disguising his voice to make it sound a little more gruff than usual.
“Copy that, team two.”
Sweet. The guy bought it.
“What happened up there, team two?”
Tommy hadn’t anticipated a lengthy conversation with whoever was on the other end. He struggled to concoct an explanation. “The prisoner tried to escape,” he said, doing his best not to stammer. “Took out two of our guys. We have him now, though. Everything is fine.”
He cringed at the last line. That didn’t sound like something these guys would say. “Everything is fine?”
He shook his head.
There was a long pause before the other guy came back. “We’re sending another unit up there to secure the area.”
“Negative,” Tommy said. “We have it under control. Secure the perimeter of the building in case there’s…an attack.”
No response came. Tommy stood there for a moment, waiting for the other guy to say something. Nothing.
They weren’t buying his little ruse, and Tommy knew it.
His suspicions were confirmed a second later when he heard the man’s voice come through the earpiece again.
“Swanson, Durbitoff, Carmon, Kone, sweep the top floor. Make sure the prisoner hasn’t gotten out of the building.”
Tommy clenched his teeth in frustration. No turning back now. It was either the fire escape or the stairs. Since the men who’d come up earlier had used the stairs, he figured if the building had an elevator it hadn’t been usable in a long time.
He craned his neck and listened closely. No sounds of footsteps or voices echoed through the hallway yet. They would be there soon, though, and Tommy knew time was running out.
Reluctantly, he turned back to the mangled window and ran to it. The metal frames were still in place, albeit bent severely. Some were broken. The blow from the chair had knocked the thing loose from its locks, and now it hung free, slightly opened.
Tommy stuffed the two pistols in his hands down into the back of his waistband and hoped the four guns wouldn’t fall out during the climb down. Only slightly satisfied with their security, he pushed the window the rest of the way out and swung his leg over the edge, making sure there were no remaining shards of glass sticking up that could cut him. A slice to the groin would be unfortunate, to say the least. He didn’t see any dangerous pieces jutting up and grabbed the edge of the wall with his left hand to brace himself as he planted one foot on the wobbly landing and swung the other over the window ledge.
Cool air rushed over him as a gust of wind rolled in from the west. The fire-escape platform shook under his weight. He reached out and grabbed the railing as he shuffled his feet toward the ladder on the right. The metal grate underneath him wobbled, and Tommy felt his balance wobble for a moment as he looked down to the street below.
He was about ten stories up, as far as he could figure. He couldn’t help but think of Sean’s intense fear of heights. Tommy had always thought it strange that his friend could have such a near-superhuman way of doing almost everything but hated being in high places.
At the moment, Tommy understood the phobia completely. He felt his stomach turn, and for a second nothing was stable, not even the buildings around him or the street below.
He snapped his head once to clear the irrational fear. His knuckles whitened from the tight grip he had on the railing. “Come on, man. Get it together.”
He moved faster and reached the ladder with a few more steps. It was held in place by a safety latch that looked anything but. The rusted clasp had all but eroded away and was now holding on by nothing more than a quarter inch of old iron.
Tommy grabbed one of the ladder rungs with one hand and pried the latch up with the other. The ladder released and screeched as it started its descent to the next level. Tommy tried to temper the speed of its movement by holding on to the top rung, but it did little good. He had to let go a second before the thing stopped with a loud clang. The platform swayed back and forth, causing another spat of vertigo to hit Tommy’s vision.
He wavered but didn’t lose his focus. Still holding on to the rail with a death grip, he spun around and placed his right foot on the top rung of the ladder and began his climb down.
The ladder shifted and vibrated with every step. Tommy did his best not to look down, as he’d advised Sean so many times before when the two were in a high place. On a ladder, though, that was easier said than done. He had to at least take a glance below every now and then to make sure his foot hit the next step.
Tommy felt his foot hit something more substantial than the ladder rungs, and he risked a look down to see the platform under him.
“One story down. That many to go,” he said as he stared down at the next nine floors.
Shouting mingled with the sounds of the street below. The voices weren’t coming from pedestrians on the sidewalk. They were coming from above.
He had no time to lose.
Tommy flipped the clasp on the next ladder and let it slide free down to the next level with a loud bang.
He couldn’t afford to be cautious now. As he wrapped his fingers around the ladder’s sides, he looked to the window above and saw a man poke his head out. Tommy knew what was coming next.
The guy leaped out onto the platform, causing the already unstable fire escape to shudder once more. A gun appeared in the man’s hand, and he fired down at Tommy repeatedly.
Tommy loosened his grip and let himself slide down the ladder like a fireman on a pole until he hit the ground with a heavy thud. The bullets raining down from above pinged off the metal grate above. A few sneaked through, ricocheting off the metal around Tommy. He jumped across the platform and kicked the next clasp, freeing the ladder.
He no longer cared how high up he was. He just had to get away.