Zig reached out again. In a blur, she spun around, her left hand letting go of the saw, her right wielding it like a metal whip, slicing a bloody slash across Zig’s forearm.
It was a brutal hit, but as she wound up again, it left her exposed.
Zig plowed forward, tackling her, colliding chest to chest and never slowing down. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her off her feet, hiking her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. So far, so good—keep everyone safe.
“Get . . . off!” she growled, thrashing, pounding at his back as he ran, the thin metal saw waving behind them like a flag. Reagan was still holding the saw with her right hand, fighting to grab the other side with her left.
Zig was moving too fast, barreling up the aisle, past the—
Reagan’s eyes narrowed when she saw it. The vaccine cages that lined each aisle. They had metal doors. With a slash of her arm, she sent the saw whipping outward. If the saw’s steel teeth hit the metal just right, a spark would—
“Reagan, no!” Zig shouted, jerking his shoulder to keep her off balance.
She lashed out again. And again, the saw flailed, never quite landing. She wound up again.
Zig was almost at the door. The ammonia smell was rancid, his eyes tearing, blurring everything in front of him. Just a few more steps. Get her outside . . .
Reagan jerked her arm, pounding down with one final shot. The flexible saw rat-tailed toward the cage, its metal teeth catching, taking a bite . . .
And then . . .
Nothing.
Thank God.
Zig was moving full speed, his head down as he rammed through the plastic slats. They parted around him, around Reagan, warm air waiting for them as they reentered the warehouse, where—
Boom.
The explosion was a lightning bolt. Zig saw it in his peripheral vision, felt it as the floor began to vibrate. Before he could even process what was happening, the heat shoved him from behind, pushing him, lighting his back ablaze, a firestorm of tendrils engulfing him and Reagan . . . He tried screaming, but it was like being in outer space.
I’m on fire.
That was Zig’s final thought as his feet left the ground and the world went black.
102
“Huck, get out of here!” Tessa yelled at her son, her gun still on Nola, her finger tightening around the trigger.
“I saw you. In Black House. That was you,” Nola said, still locked on Huck as the walls of the maze came crumbling down. When a cheating husband returns to his family, his wife isn’t the only one who benefits. His kids benefit, too. “You found your dad’s Black House account. You saw his texts . . . that he was seeing Rashida. Then you started using that account—you knew how private it was. You were the one who hired Zion.”
Huck shook his head over and over. He had the same open face, the same ice-blue eyes as his dad. He was taller, though, thinner, with bony arms like a scarecrow. Swaying in place, he kept running his hands over the lines of his own throat, like he was choking himself. Scared. No. Something worse.
“I-I was trying to help. This wasn’t— Zion was just supposed to scare him . . . No one was supposed to get hurt—”
“Huck, shut your mouth!”
“I-I was trying to help . . . You have to believe me. I just wanted to help!”
“Huck!” Tessa screamed.
“That last meeting in Black House . . . when you saw us . . . I told Zion I was turning him in! He killed my dad!”
“I believe you,” Nola said flatly. “It’s over, though.”
“Nonono, he’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he—” Tessa cut herself off, still holding her pistol with two hands. “You can’t prove he did anything.”