out and tugged on the door handle. It opened a little. Carl closed it and looked down. There was a small bolt. He pushed it down with his foot, driving it home and locking the doors.
There was another crash behind them.
“GODDAMMIT.”
It was Barnes. The mountain of a man had come crashing down behind the countertop. Smithe and Munger rushed around to the opening in the countertop.
Carl ran over. He heard Barnes gasping in pain. “You all right?”
Barnes tried to get up, but he winced in pain and fell back down. “I think my leg’s broke.”
“Great,” Munger said, “now we have to drag his huge ass around while we run from the ID.”
Munger was right. Barnes was a large man, an asset in hand-to-hand combat with the ID. However, with a broken leg, he became their biggest liability.
“Did Pete make it into the shaft?” Carl asked, hopeful.
Munger and Smithe helped Barnes up, who was balancing on his good leg. “I don’t know. I told him to go first, but he insisted I go.”
That was Peter. The hero. Everyone’s big brother. Carl began to pace back and forth. Barnes sensed his anxiety.
“Your brother’s a tough bastard, kid. I’m sure he made it.” But Barnes’ sentiment offered Carl no comfort.
“Birdsall was just saying that picking the ID off one-by-one won’t work. We need to find a way to kill lots of them at once,” Smithe said.
“He’s right,” said Barnes, “There’s too many of them for this cat-and-mouse bullshit.”
“What are we going to do? Kill them with paper clips and staples?” Munger remarked.
Carl was lost in his own thoughts.
“What are you thinking, kid?” Barnes asked.
“The steakhouse.”
“What about the steakhouse?”
“Check it out. Birdsall’s hungry,” joked Smithe.
“There are steaks. Lots of meat.”
“Yeah, so? What do you have in mind?” Barnes asked.
“We can put it all out in one pile. It would attract the ID. They’d smell it.”
“But that would just buy us some time,” said Munger.
“No, it would get them in one place,” Barnes corrected. “But then what?”
“We blow the steakhouse,” Carl said gravely.
“How,” Munger began.
“The gas still works,” Barnes said. “The power’s out, but I bet the gas still works.”
“But wouldn’t the government have turned off the gas with the power?” Smithe reminded.
“The Lieutenant said it wasn’t the government that cut the power, remember? It was Lorenzo.” Barnes said.
Peter. Carl was wondering what was taking him so long. He continued explaining his plan.
“The government would only cut the gas in the event of an earthquake. We fill the restaurant with gas, get as many of those ID in there as we can, and we blow it up.”
“But the fire,” Barnes said, “we wouldn’t be able to control the fire. We have a convention center filled with hundreds of tourists down the hall.”
“We grab as many fire extinguishers as we can, and we wait outside. We spray any fire that tries to make it down the hall.”
“I don’t know, kid. It’s awful chancy. Things can get messy.”
“Barnes, if we don’t do something, those tourists are as good as dead anyway, and you know it.”
Barnes looked down at his feet, weighing the options. Smithe and Munger were Indians, not Chiefs. Barnes was the oldest, and the closest thing to a leader without Peter. They looked at Barnes for his approval.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“But what about Pete? We have to wait for him,” Carl interrupted.
Barnes, Smithe, and Munger all exchanged nervous glances.
“I don’t think he’s coming, kid.”
Carl did not believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? He’ll be here any minute.”
“He would’ve been here by now,” Smithe said, the humor in his voice replaced with sympathy. “It didn’t take us that long to get here.”
Dammit. Carl didn’t want to believe it, but he knew they were probably right. But there was no time for panic or grief.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Help me up,” Barnes said. Smithe and Munger each put an arm around their shoulders and hoisted him up.
Carl ran behind the counter, looking for something.
“What are you doing?” Smithe asked.
Carl grabbed a marker and a piece of paper.
“He’s leaving the Lieutenant a note,” Barnes explained. Smithe shook his head but said nothing.
After Carl scribbled on the paper, he taped it to the countertop just below the airshaft.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
They made their way to the steakhouse without incident. The ID from the gym had apparently not made it back around yet. Night had fallen, and everything was dark. They walked by the illumination of their shoulder lights.
As they entered through the broken glass doors, they heard