Chapter 5
The acrid smell of gunpowder instantly filled the damp air of the warehouse, mixing with the scent of stagnant river water. Arthur dropped to one knee, pulling Miller down beside a stack of water-damaged cardboard boxes. The red laser dot danced frantically across the concrete floor, tracing a deadly path toward where they crouched.
"Where's the shooter?" Miller whispered, his knuckles whitening around his service pistol as he peered into the murky gloom of the rafters.
"Catwalk, east sector," Arthur replied without hesitation, his eyes scanning the shadows with the cold precision of a trained combat veteran. "There are two of them. One on the floor near the container, and one above us."
"Who the hell are you, Arthur?" Miller hissed, pressing his back against a concrete pillar. "You move like an operator, not an accountant."
"An accountant doesn't survive twenty years running from the most dangerous syndicate in North America," Arthur muttered, keeping his voice dangerously low. "Now listen to me carefully. When I count to three, you fire three rounds into the metal water tank on the left. It'll create enough noise and steam to blind their thermal scope."
"I take orders from the badge, not an old man in a cardigan!" Miller snapped.
"You take orders from whoever wants to see tomorrow morning!" Arthur shot back, his eyes flashing with a fury that made Miller swallow his objections. "One... two..."
Arthur lunged to his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs to draw the sniper's fire, while Miller emptied his magazine into the rusted water tank.
A deafening metallic roar echoed through the warehouse as high-pressure water exploded outward, instantly filling the lower level with a blinding wall of thick, hot steam. Gunfire erupted blindly from the catwalk, bullets chewing through the corrugated metal roof and sending a shower of sparks raining down around them.
"Now!" Arthur yelled, diving through the steam toward the corner where Ellie's cries had originated.
He slid across the concrete, his hands scraping raw against the rough floor, until his fingers brushed against a small, familiar object. He picked it up: a frayed, damp brown teddy bear with one missing button eye. Barnaby.
May you like
"Grandpa!" Ellie’s voice sobbed from inside a rusted shipping container with its heavy door pried half open.
Arthur ripped the container door aside, ready to pull her into his arms, but his blood ran completely cold. The container was entirely empty except for a glowing laptop screen flashing a terrifying countdown timer: 00:04:50.
