Page 84 of Stay in Your Lane!

“I’m good!” There was some rustling and rattling. Then thewhooshof the fire extinguisher activating. When I peeked around the counter, I found him battling back the flames, his hands protected by oven mitts.

That gave me a little chuckle; there were moments when Everett was definitely smarter than people gave him credit for.

“Come back this way,” I shouted over the noise. “You don’t want to get cornered if it spreads or flashes!”

The response was a nod, and he started backing in my direction.

A few feet away, Carol’s extinguisher sputtered out. She swore and tossed it aside, then ducked behind the counter. The flames started to pick up again.

“Hurry, Everett! We need to get out!”

He picked up the pace, backing quickly in my direction. His hip bumped a counter, but he only stumbled for a second before recovering. When he was close enough, he whipped around toward me, extinguisher still in hand, and he ducked behind where Carol and I were hiding.

“We have to get out,” he said, breathing hard. “There’s all kinds of shit in there that could blow up.”

I nodded. “Let’s go out the back. The way we sent everyone else.”

“No.” Everett shook his head. “Guaranteed there’s cops out there if they’ve seen people come out. They’ll?—”

“I’d rather take my chances with the cops than the fire.”

He chewed his lip, but one glance at the kitchen seemed to persuade him. “Okay. Let’s go.” He looked at Carol. “You good?”

“I’m good. But let’s get the hell out of here.”

None of us had any argument against that. I shooed them both toward the other end of the restaurant. First Carol, then Everett. With my gun in hand, I followed.

We’d made it about three steps before another window shattered. I ducked, covering my neck and head, and glass rained down on my back. I thought I heard Everett yelp in surprise, and Carol swore.

“Go! Go!” I shouted. “Be careful of the glass!”

We started moving again, faster this time as glass crunched beneath our feet.

Something clanked on the counter. Then it clanked again on the floor just inches away from Everett’s leg.

It only took a heartbeat for me to recognize it—a fucking flashbang.

“Everett, get down!” I shouted, and I tackled him from behind in the same instant I kicked at the flashbang. I covered his ears with my hands, squeezed my eyes shut, and ducked my head as much as I could and?—

POW.

In an instant, the world was silent except for a high-pitched whine. My head hurt like hell, as did my ears. Then I was moving. I was vaguely aware of being tossed around. Landing on the ground. Something moving—crunching?—beneath me, but all I could see were spots and all I heard was that whine.

Someone shook me. On some level, I knew someone was shouting, but I couldn’thearit.

Then hands grabbed me under the armpits, pulling hard at places that already hurt. I was moving. Being dragged? Couldn’t make sense of anything.

Something broke through the silence, and I realized it was the concussion of a gun being fired.

I blinked a few times, trying to clear away the spots. The gun fired again, close enough to make the darkness behind my eyelids flash red, and when I opened them this time, I could make out some shapes.

Everett was crouching partway over me, and he had my pistol up and ready. He was saying something, too. Shouting, maybe?

He glanced over his shoulder and gestured at someone. A motion I recognized as “go, go.” Carol, I thought? Good, maybe she was getting to safety.

I wiggled my jaw, then wiggled my finger in my ear. My finger came away wet. When I squinted—blood.

Oh, fuck. Was my eardrum ruptured? That would explain the pain. And the near deafness.

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