Page 84 of Out for Blood
He knows it, I know it, but there’s no time left to argue.
“Go.”
We sprint through the rain.
Water sloshes beneath our boots as we come up to the side entrance at the gate. Tyler swipes the stolen keycard.
The lock buzzes, and the heavy metal clicks.
Then Tyler coaxes the gate door open.
Rain batters against the warehouse roof as Tyler leads me along the outer wall of the building.
The metal siding groans beneath the storm while floodlights smear gold across puddles and broken asphalt.
We stay low, moving like the predators we hunt, unseen, ghostlike, and closing in.
Ahead of us sit three massive rolling bay doors lined side by side along the warehouse.
Each one secured with a thick steel side latch.
Tyler stops near the farthest bay door and hunches next to it.
“This one,” he breathes out.
I survey the lot intentionally while he slips the duffel bag off his shoulder.
Nothing moves except the rain.
The rescue van stays in position two buildings over sitting tight for Tyler to text them.
Tyler unzips the bag and removes a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters.
The storm roars overhead as he fits the steel jaws around the thick side latch securing the bay door shut.
I keep watch while he braces one boot against the concrete and determinedly squeezes down onto the handles.
The metal groans, strains and then, CRACK.
The latch splits clean apart.
Thunder detonates at the same moment, covering the sound perfectly.
Tyler catches the broken piece before it can hit the pavement.
My pulse escalates at how close we are.
Tyler lowers the bolt cutters back into the duffel before gripping the bottom handle of the rolling bay door.
He glances at me once.
“You ready?”
No.
Not even remotely close, but I nod anyway.
Tyler bit by bit lifts the bay door upward, just enough for us to slip underneath.
