Page 86 of Anchor
Claire’s face went red. “Okay.”
He patted her shoulder gently. “You’re doing fine. Try to relax.”
“Tuck, thanks for everything.”
“My pleasure, darlin’.”
NORTH ACCESS CORRIDOR, SUBLEVEL 3 – 1343 HOURS
Reid stepped out of the secure meeting room, door sealing behind him with a quiet hydraulic hiss. The overheadfluorescents flickered. Then…
ALERT.
The wall panel strobed red.
“Unauthorized breach. North Sublevel. Repeat: North Sublevel.”The alert played continuously.
He was already moving. His boots hit the linoleum at a run, comms keyed to the channel. “Anchor, responding from Corridor 9. Who else is…?”
Static.
He tapped again. “Apex? Relay? Fuse?”
Nothing. Then the lights went out. Emergency generators kicked on a second later. Pale gold backup floods hummed, but it was too late. The hallway behind him sealed with a deafening slam of steel. Emergency lockdown.
He turned, weapon raised, and that was when the first attacker dropped from the ceiling. Boots. Fist. Baton.
Reid blocked high, caught the baton on his forearm, but the pain snapped down to his fingers. Fracture. Maybe two.He retaliated, drove a knee up, but another attacker surged from the shadows, blade already drawn. The knife carved a line across his flank. Warm blood spilled instantly.
He fired once—center mass. One attacker went down hard, but two remained. They didn’t speak. They didn’t posture. They just advanced.
He fired again. Center mass. The attacker barely flinched. Ballistic vest. The first attacker pushed up to his feet.
Reid’s back hit the wall. He ducked a strike, too slow, and took a baton across the cheekbone. He felt the skin split, and his vision blurred. His body screamed to give out, but instinct moved him sideways.
He swung and connected, elbow to throat. But the third attacker was already behind him. Something sharp sank into his shoulder. He gasped, pain stealing his breath.
He fired blind. Missed.
Another blow across his lower back. He staggered and dropped to one knee. Steel-toed boot to his ribs. He heard the crack, a wet crunch of cartilage. The pain burst behind his eyes like white fire. He went down hard, blood in his mouth, the taste of copper.
Then boots on either side of his head. They were going to finish it. Finish him.
The third attacker, taller, heavier, reached down and pulled Reid up by his collar. Slammed him into the wall, then did it again. Reid was a ragdoll, his head snapping back, bouncing off the concrete wall. The world pulsed black.
The man grabbed his jaw and turned his face sideways. Cold breath near his ear. “Vos says hello.” And then the knife came down low. His intent was to gut.
Reid twisted. Not far but just enough. The blade buried in his side, not his abdomen. His flank was ripped open. He screamed—rage, pain, survival, all one sound. He was bent over the attacker’s arm, forcing him to drop his gun.
He drew the blade from his boot. Steel flashed as he drove it into the attacker’s thigh.
A howl as the man went down. Reid collapsed on top of him, bleeding, dizzy, but not dead yet. The second attacker tackled him off, but not before Reid kicked him in the kneecap with every ounce of force he had left. It gave.
The first attacker behind him, the baton cracked across the back of his skull. The lights dimmed. He hit the floor again, feeling the warmth pooling beneath him.
Blood. His blood.This time, he couldn’t move.He was done. He saw Claire’s face as his eyes started to shut.
The last attacker stood over him. Raised the blade again, two hands now. Going for the kill.
