Page 136 of The Rut in the Road

“Not gonna happen, Cassie,” is what Hart said, his voice low and firm. I couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t cursed, and it was that, almost more than Cass’s horrified face, that made me realize how truly dire the situation actually was.

If something didn’t change, we were going to die.

Or maybe just Hart. Or Hart and Cass. Or me. Or… It didn’t matter. At least one of us was going to die if we didn’t somehow stop it, and I didn’t want to have to choose who.

There were already enough dead in this city.

This whole damn city was built on the dead, sport.Archie’s words echoed in my mind.

We might not be in Richmond, specifically, since the warehouse was on the outskirts of Chesterfield town, but this whole area had been built on the backs of enslaved people and in the aftermath of genocide by both disease and violence.

I’d heard enough of Mason’s conversations with our clients to know that there wasn’t a block or square mile in the area that hadn’t been touched by both.

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm myself enough to get control of my magic as Cass and Hart moved through the office space toward the stairs that led down to the warehouse floor below.

I flinched at the report of a gunshot that sent both Hart and Cass scrambling for cover—Hart behind a filing cabinet and Cass under another desk, away from the now-shattered glass of the office window that looked down over what had once been a factory floor. Seeing them taking shelter, I immediately did the same, tucking myself under the desk closest to me, then looking back toward Cass and Hart, to see if I’d done the right thing.

Hart looked angry. Cass’s face was a mask of pain, her hand over one bicep. Blood began to ooze out between her fingers.

I wanted to ask if she was okay, but I didn’t know if that would break some sort of rule about what you were supposed to do when someone was shooting at you. Hart hadn’t said anything, so I didn’t, either.

“Come out, sinner!” came a booming voice. “Come out and face God’s judgment!”

“Fuck that,” Hart muttered, drawing his gun and thumbing the safety. “Any fucking judgment I’m accepting ain’t yours, dickhead.”

“Hart…” Cass had also drawn her gun, but she looked scared. And pained.

Another gunshot made all three of us flinch. And then two more came in rapid succession.

“Any idea how many dickheads are down there?” Hart asked Cass.

Her lips pressed together. “Too many.”

“Any chance you can be more specific?” he asked her.

“A dozen? Two?”

He let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the radio from his belt and thumbing the button. “This is Hart, we’ve got upwards of a dozen armed assailants at the warehouse off Dock, shots fired, requesting backup.”

The radio crackled. “Sending backup, Agent Hart. ETA twenty-nine minutes.”

Even I knew that was way too long.

“Fucking hell,” Hart muttered, letting his head fall back against the half-wall. “This isnothow I want to go out.” He looked guiltily over at me. “Kid?—”

More shots. More glass shattering. Hart flinched as a shard nicked his arm, red seeping through the white of his shirt sleeve.

I heard the sound of feet on metal stairs.

This city was built on the dead.

I wasn’t ready to join them yet.

From where I huddled half-under the desk, I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and reached out.

Archie hadn’t lied.

The whole area was full of dead.