Jack lit a candle, letting the melted wax drip onto a plate. Before it could solidify, he fixed the candle upright in the middle. He placed it at the center of the temporary holding area's corridor. The small flicker of light wasn't much, but it was better than complete darkness—it helped calm nerves.
"See? The damn corporations running this country can't even keep the lights on. And the government? All talk, no action," the junkie inmate whined, gripping the bars tightly.
"This isn't a blackout, idiot," the young Black woman snapped back. "Someone cut the power. Something bad is about to happen."
"Hey, pretty boy, do you know what the hell's going on?" the guy calling himself Smiley asked Jack from the adjacent cell.
Jack pointed to the large Black man leaning silently in the corner of his cell. "You'd get better answers from your neighbor. I'm guessing he knows more about what's going on. Maybe if you ask nicely, he'll take you with him when his boys bust him out."
"You've got it all wrong, sir," said the big man—Bishop—surprisingly calm. "My people wouldn't point a gun at me. If that officer hadn't walked in with a food tray just then, I'd be a corpse right now."
"Well then," Jack clicked his tongue as he picked up a broom and began sweeping up the mess. The tray had been scattered during the chaos, food trampled all over the floor. "Sounds like you've made some enemies."
He didn't particularly care whether the two gunmen were there to rescue or silence Bishop. Either scenario didn't concern him. If it weren't for the uncertainty about how many enemies were outside, and the fact that John might be overwhelmed protecting the group inside, he'd have gone out on his own already.
As he swept closer to the corridor leading to the storage room—where the two intruders had entered and escaped—Jack suddenly paused. Kneeling, he picked up a deformed bullet from the ground.
"Jack, you'd better come here," John's voice called from the corridor.
Jack pocketed the bullet and cast a meaningful glance at Bishop, who had already retreated into the shadows of his cell. Then he followed John back to the front office.
The festive vibe of earlier was long gone. Only a few candles flickered weakly. The blinds were all down, the front door barred, and the smashed window now blocked by a filing cabinet.
Captain Ronick was pulling on a bulletproof vest. Since most of the station's equipment had already been packed and moved, there weren't even any extra ballistic plates. So he wore two vests stacked together. Nearby, old Officer Jasper was muttering nonstop.
"You don't need to do this. This isn't the time to be a hero. There's another way to end this," Jasper urged.
"I'm not letting a cop-killer walk out of my station like it's nothing," Ronick mumbled, tugging his uniform on over the two vests, his tone brooking no argument.
"What's going on?" Jack asked, a bit taken aback by the scene.
John explained, "Captain Ronick wants to drive the bus parked at the back door and go for help."
Jack raised an eyebrow. The young captain had shown signs of PTSD earlier—how'd he suddenly turn bold? Did he stash some extra painkillers somewhere?
"There's a radio in the bus. If I can get far enough, out of the jamming range, I can contact headquarters," Ronick said, explaining his plan.
"It's a good idea," Jack nodded slowly. "The prisoner transport bus is likely reinforced against rifle fire. But the weather's awful out there. You sure you can handle it?"
The snowstorm raging outside was both an advantage and a risk. Visibility was terrible—good for avoiding sniper fire, especially with the large vehicle body to use as cover. But the snow-covered roads were treacherous, and the windshield wasn't bulletproof. One wrong turn and they'd be stuck in a ditch.
"We need reinforcements. If I don't try, that trooper could die," Ronick said with a bitter smile, gesturing toward the unconscious officer on the couch. Then his eyes flicked toward Alex. "And we've got civilians here."
Jack opened his mouth, tempted to say the wounded cop would probably make it until dawn. But he thought better of it. Ronick's plan did have a good shot—especially with his help.
"This is too dangerous. There are at least—" Jasper started again, but his words trailed off as Jack dragged over his suitcase and pulled out a heavy case with a coded lock.
The group stared as Jack opened it, revealing an FN Five-seveN pistol, several attachments, and two boxes of ammo.
"Who are you, exactly?" Jasper asked, the only one in the room who still didn't know Jack's identity.
"Just a passing FBI agent," Jack replied, calmly attaching a red-dot sight to both his Five-seveN and SIG Sauer P320. John helped load SS190 rounds into the mags.
"More guns won't change anything," Jasper scoffed.
"Maybe not," Jack agreed, not bothering to argue. "But just because the Five-seveN is only accurate up to 50 meters doesn't mean the rounds are harmless past that."
In a storm like this, Jack figured no sniper would be posted too far away—maybe 100 meters tops. In that range, sustained suppressive fire would be more than enough to cover an escape.
"You and Officer Nolan stay here and guard the front. They don't know what's happening inside—shouldn't risk charging in yet," Ronick said, hugging Jasper to silence him, then chambering a round in his pistol before nodding at Jack.
"Let's go. Hope your aim's as good as your field surgery."
John thumped his chest and gave Jack a thumbs-up. "We got this."
The two moved quickly through the station—past the holding cells, around the corner, and through the storage room. They reached the back door. Ronick removed the chair blocking the latch and turned to Jack.
Jack nodded once, and Ronick yanked open the iron door.
The howling wind and snow slammed into them. The bus was just ten meters away, nose facing the rear entrance. The tracks from earlier were still faintly visible.
That was where the Black trooper had fallen earlier after trying to shoot the intruders—right in front of the bus.
"Hold on," Jack said, grabbing Ronick's arm as he started to crouch and sprint. Jack peeked quickly to the right from the doorframe, then switched sides to check the left.
They weren't alone.
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