Page 102 of Rescuing Rebel

We press deeper into the maze with seven former Angels in tow.

A final locked room labeled simply “Holding” echoes with muffled pounding and cries. I blow the door, and the panicked cries of the last eight girls sound out in a rush. Relief washes over me—we found them all.

These Angels, however, are unguarded and chained to the back wall, wrists raw and bleeding. Their wide, streaming eyes flip between us and the open door, certain their tormentors will return any second.

An uneasy silence fills the small room. Hank and I take a moment to slam our last mags home. Locked and loaded, but dangerously low on ammo.

“Let’s move quickly.” Hank nods, face grim. This detour has already cost us too much time.

I step toward the first girl to free her. It’s a simple lock. Pulling out my multitool, I find what I need and get to work. Iris stands beside me, watching, When the world erupts in a rain of gunfire, I leap back to defend.

“I’ll free them.” Her voice shakes and is low enough I strain to hear what she says.

“How?”

She reaches for my hand and her tiny fingers wrap around the multitool.

“Do you know how to use that?”

With a jerk of her chin, Iris steps up to free the women. Her courage allows me to defend us all.

While deafening gunfire hammers beyond the doorway, she frees the remaining girls. A squad of guards pins us down. Hank and I flatten against the walls while waves of bullets chew the room to shreds between us.

The Angels who are free plaster up against the wall. Only Iris stands in front of the deadly rain of lead. She stays there until the last Angel is free from her chains. The two of them dive for the floor and roll to the walls. It’s the best cover they have.

The Angels scream and sob.

Hank and I exchange fire with the guards, ruthlessly dropping targets. But it’s never enough. For each we kill, more arrive.

Soon, my rifle coughs on an empty chamber. Hank is down to his sidearm. Our position rapidly deteriorates under the endless assault.

We’re caught in a kill-box, outgunned and outmanned. Still, the girls cry for salvation behind us.

“Gabe…” I yell desperately into comms. “We need you now.”

“On our way.” His terse reply sounds in my ears, but relief is too far off. We’re going to get eaten alive under the barrage of bullets.

Hank meets my eyes across the devastated room, blood and sweat mixing on his grim face. We’re going to lose this battle and the mission with it. All I can do now is buy the Angels a few more seconds.

With a roar, I draw my pistol and charge into the fatal corridor, determined to meet my end on my feet with bullets flying.

An unearthly shriek joins me. It rises rapidly, hurting my ears. The guards scream and fire wildly as five sleek metal forms burst into the room—the Rufi have arrived. One of them stops by my side, delivering a fresh supply of ammunition.

Lord, I love the Rufi.

Mitzy’s Rufi unleash a savage assault with integrated guns instead of “jaws.” Their black metal armor bristles with weapons, bullets shredding concrete and bodies. The Rufi carve through the panicked defenders with precise robotic execution.

When the deafening chaos ceases, Gabe and Blake follow them in. I shake my head in awe at the carnage. “Remind me not to piss off Mitzy.”

Gabe grins tightly. “Robots don’t leave witnesses.”

“You’re supposed to be with Walt.” I glance at Blake.

“And miss all the fun?” Blake grins. “Left a Rufi with Walt. He’s good. You, however…”

“Needed the assist.” I incline my head in a mock salute.

The Rufi stand guard in the hall, heads swiveling, optics glowing blue. Artificial intelligence stares back at me through those eyes. I thank Mitzy’s ingenuity, but the gleam in the dogs’ gazes leaves me unsettled.

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