the now-empty drawer trailing behind me. I fire a warning shot into the ceiling as I duck behind one of the desks. It’s enough to make the sheriff and his deputy take cover.
Purdy pulls a walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and yells something into it. Suddenly there’s a scream from the lobby, and I can see a couple of dark shapes on the other side of the frosted glass before they come bursting through the swinging door: two Mogadorians.
Shit.
I don’t hesitate to fire a few shots over the desk at the Mogs, just enough to keep them at bay. The kickback from the weapon is stronger than I expected, and I don’t manage to actually hit any of my targets.
Blaster fire fills the air and shreds the monitors, papers and picture frames on the desk. I hear a yelp behind me—Tony, the guy in the holding cell, is on the floor, hands over his head.
“Tony!” I shout. He seems genuinely startled to hear his name, but he looks up and locks eyes with me. I point to my handcuffs. “The key?”
He shakes his head, lips quivering. I don’t have time for this—I’m not going to get out of here dragging two feet of drawer behind me, and from what I can intuit, Tony’s something of a regular in this station. If he doesn’t help me out, my options are to lose my hand ortry to shoot off the cuffs.
I fire two more shots over my shoulder and then turn back to Tony, pointing the gun at him.
“The key,” I say firmly, directly.
His finger quivers as he points to the desk a few feet away from me.
“S-second drawer,” he says.
There’s a pause in the blaster fire. I peek around the desk corner to see that the sheriff and deputy have both gone white staring at the Mogs. In turn, the bloodthirsty bastards look back and forth between the lawmen and Purdy as if asking what they should be doing.
“Goddammit,” Purdy shouts. He’s crouched on one side of the cabinet, a bloody handkerchief up to his nose. The other agent is crouched nearby, covering him. “You weren’t supposed to see any of this. How many messes am I going to have to clean up tonight?”
I use the confusion and dart to the next desk. Blaster shots pepper the filing-cabinet drawer with holes. I open the desk and dig through a bunch of small packets of potato chips and candy bars until I find a little key.
Maybe luck is with me.
I toss the cuffs to the floor and take a fleeting look at my wrist, which is rubbed raw and deep red. I’m about to slam the desk door shut when I see another key—a car key with a tag on it that says 013.
I pocket it, just in case—if I can get to the parking lot, number thirteen might be my way out of here. I’m going to have to escape this little town somehow, and if this place is crawling with Mogs, I definitely won’t be able to get away on foot.
On the other side of the station, the cops have realized that the black-eyed, tattooed Mogs are shooting the blasters that likely killed their fellow officer, and they shout all kinds of questions at the bastards. The police train their guns on them. I use that to my advantage: I fire a bullet that shoots straight through the chest of one of the Mogs. He lets out a groan, and then he’s just a pile of dust on the floor.
The officers shout in confusion. Purdy orders the other agent to take me down, and I fire a shot in their direction. The mostly full coffeepot on top of the filing cabinet shatters, spilling glass and scalding liquid onto the other agent’s head. He cries out in pain as I throw the drawer that had been attached to me seconds before. It smashes out a window on the side of the office—no bars on the outside.
“Dammit,” Purdy shouts. “Take care of them. I’ll get the woman.”
The remaining Mog crosses over to the cops in a few quick bounds and swings a thick fist. The sheriff falls in a heap. I make for the window, shooting behind me in Purdy’s direction until the gun clicks. I miss him.Still, I caused him to take cover, which buys me a few extra
Purdy pulls a walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and yells something into it. Suddenly there’s a scream from the lobby, and I can see a couple of dark shapes on the other side of the frosted glass before they come bursting through the swinging door: two Mogadorians.
Shit.
I don’t hesitate to fire a few shots over the desk at the Mogs, just enough to keep them at bay. The kickback from the weapon is stronger than I expected, and I don’t manage to actually hit any of my targets.
Blaster fire fills the air and shreds the monitors, papers and picture frames on the desk. I hear a yelp behind me—Tony, the guy in the holding cell, is on the floor, hands over his head.
“Tony!” I shout. He seems genuinely startled to hear his name, but he looks up and locks eyes with me. I point to my handcuffs. “The key?”
He shakes his head, lips quivering. I don’t have time for this—I’m not going to get out of here dragging two feet of drawer behind me, and from what I can intuit, Tony’s something of a regular in this station. If he doesn’t help me out, my options are to lose my hand ortry to shoot off the cuffs.
I fire two more shots over my shoulder and then turn back to Tony, pointing the gun at him.
“The key,” I say firmly, directly.
His finger quivers as he points to the desk a few feet away from me.
“S-second drawer,” he says.
There’s a pause in the blaster fire. I peek around the desk corner to see that the sheriff and deputy have both gone white staring at the Mogs. In turn, the bloodthirsty bastards look back and forth between the lawmen and Purdy as if asking what they should be doing.
“Goddammit,” Purdy shouts. He’s crouched on one side of the cabinet, a bloody handkerchief up to his nose. The other agent is crouched nearby, covering him. “You weren’t supposed to see any of this. How many messes am I going to have to clean up tonight?”
I use the confusion and dart to the next desk. Blaster shots pepper the filing-cabinet drawer with holes. I open the desk and dig through a bunch of small packets of potato chips and candy bars until I find a little key.
Maybe luck is with me.
I toss the cuffs to the floor and take a fleeting look at my wrist, which is rubbed raw and deep red. I’m about to slam the desk door shut when I see another key—a car key with a tag on it that says 013.
I pocket it, just in case—if I can get to the parking lot, number thirteen might be my way out of here. I’m going to have to escape this little town somehow, and if this place is crawling with Mogs, I definitely won’t be able to get away on foot.
On the other side of the station, the cops have realized that the black-eyed, tattooed Mogs are shooting the blasters that likely killed their fellow officer, and they shout all kinds of questions at the bastards. The police train their guns on them. I use that to my advantage: I fire a bullet that shoots straight through the chest of one of the Mogs. He lets out a groan, and then he’s just a pile of dust on the floor.
The officers shout in confusion. Purdy orders the other agent to take me down, and I fire a shot in their direction. The mostly full coffeepot on top of the filing cabinet shatters, spilling glass and scalding liquid onto the other agent’s head. He cries out in pain as I throw the drawer that had been attached to me seconds before. It smashes out a window on the side of the office—no bars on the outside.
“Dammit,” Purdy shouts. “Take care of them. I’ll get the woman.”
The remaining Mog crosses over to the cops in a few quick bounds and swings a thick fist. The sheriff falls in a heap. I make for the window, shooting behind me in Purdy’s direction until the gun clicks. I miss him.Still, I caused him to take cover, which buys me a few extra
Similar Books
Unknown
Unknown
The Eden Series: The Complete Collection
Janelle Stalder
Kilting Me Softly: 1
Persephone Jones
Darkness Under the Sun
Dean Koontz
Sybil
Flora Rheta Schreiber
The Pyramid
William Golding
Nothing is Forever
Grace Thompson
Series of Unfortunate Events: The Grim Grotto
Lemony Snicket
The Tiger's Wife
Tea Obreht