Page 101 of Girl Lost
Corbin pressed his advantage, driving the man back toward the sparking cables.
60%.
Hitch’s eyes widened as he realized the danger. With a snarl, he lunged for Corbin, catching him off guard. His shoulder connected with Corbin’s chest. They hit the ground hard, Corbin on the bottom this time.
65%.
The impact sent shock waves of pain through his body. His vision swam. The taste of copper filled his mouth—he’d bitten his tongue in the fall.
70%.
Hitch’s hands closed around Corbin’s throat, squeezing with renewed vigor. Corbin clawed at the man’s arms, trying to break his grip, but it was like trying to bend steel.
Spots danced at the edges of his vision. His lungs burned, screaming for air.
75%.
Corbin’s fingers scrabbled for purchase, searching desperately for something, anything to use as a weapon. His hand brushed against something solid. The ASP baton.
80%.
With the last reserves of his strength, Corbin’s fingers closed around the baton. He tightened his grip, summoning every ounce of power he had left.
He swung. The baton connected with the side of the man’s head with a thwack. Hitch’s eyes rolled back, his grip on Corbin’s throat slack.
85%.
Corbin gasped, sucking in precious molecules of oxygen. His throat felt raw, each breath a painful rasp.
90%.
The gunman staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunk. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple where the baton had struck. His eyes were unfocused, dazed.
He took an unsteady step back.
Right into the exposed wires.
95%.
Hitch’s body went rigid. Muscles locking in place. A horrible, guttural sound escaped his lips as electricity coursed through him. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Corbin turned away, unable to watch. His stomach roiled, threatening to expel its meager contents.
98%.
The horrible sound cut off abruptly. There was a thud as the gunman’s body hit the floor, smoke rising from his twitching form.
100%.
The terminal beeped, the sound jarringly cheerful in the aftermath of violence.
Download complete.
Corbin crawled to the terminal and yanked the flash drive free. Panting, he tucked it securely in his pocket, patting it to reassure himself it was really there.
The hilt of Hitch’s gun stuck out from the tangle of cables beside the terminal. He crawled to it and picked it up. Checked the rounds.
Half a load. Good. Plenty of rounds.
