CHAPTER 73

The pain stabbed at Marcus’s legs and chest. The pressure made it hard to breathe. He struggled to move but found himself pinned to the ground. His eyes fluttered open. He felt as if he had just stumbled through a doorway into Hell.

A haze of smoke hung in the air. The room was like a furnace. Emily Morgan sat on the floor in front of him and clutched a wounded leg. Her breathing was ragged, and she shook all over.

Flames danced around the edges of the room, but it seemed as if the falling debris might have smothered some of the fire.

He tried to free himself from the pile of debris on his back. He pressed with all his strength.

The pile inched upward but then fell back against him. The sudden return of the weight expelled the breath from his lungs.

He glanced around the hospital room. A large section of collapsed roof buried the main entrance. He knew that each room shared a bathroom. But a quick look in that direction showed that a smaller pile of debris blocked the bottom of the bathroom door as well. He knew that he could lift the crumbled section of rooftop out of the way, if he were free. “Can you help me lift this?” he said.

Emily Morgan shuffled to him, and they pushed together. He pressed with every ounce of passion left in him, but it was no use. He couldn’t lift it by himself, and Emily was in no condition to help. She had no strength left to offer him.

“Okay. Okay,” he said in a choked whisper as the pressure returned to his chest.

This can’t be the end. Not like this. Please God, not like this.

His mind raced for a solution. He scanned the room, calculating, analyzing. He couldn’t concentrate. The answer wouldn’t come. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred.

There’s no way out. Hope abandoned him. He prayed that they would die from smoke inhalation before the fire took them.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a breathless whisper.

“For what?”

“I can’t save you. I failed. I failed everyone.”

She smiled down at him and chuckled. “You remind me of my husband. He always had to be the hero, and he never understood either. Winning doesn’t matter. It’s not whether you win or lose. It’s how you play the game.”

He considered her words for a moment. He sensed profound truth beneath their surface. “You’re one tough lady, you know that. I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“Emily. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper followed by a deep cough. “We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?”

He didn’t answer.

A strange whoosh and whir originated from the other side of the bathroom door.

What now? At first, he couldn’t identify the noise, but then he realized. A fire extinguisher?

The bathroom door shook as someone tried to push through it.

Oh, thank God. Firemen. A wave of hope flooded the shores of his despair, and tears of joy cascaded down his cheeks.

“We’re in here.”

“Please, help us.”

An axe blade thrust through the door—then another strike, and another.

He laughed with delirium. “We’re gonna make it.”

Within a matter of seconds, the axe had torn through the barrier, and a shadowy form stepped into the room. Marcus and Emily Morgan gazed up through the smoke at the man who had just entered. Light from the flames danced across his face.

Francis Ackerman stood over them, an axe dangling from his right hand.