Part 24 (1/2)

”What do you mean?”

”I mean you've got to hit a puddle and you've only got one shot.”

Cornhole.

”Okay,” I said.

What the h.e.l.l else could I say? It wasn't exactly the best time to raise my hand and question how water could turn this liquid into a small bomb. Sometimes you've just got to go with the flow.

We grabbed our bags.

”Maybe there's only one guy out there, but I'm guessing more. We draw their fire, and we fire back,” he said. ”You throw left, I throw right, and then we both run straight as fast as we possibly can.”

”What about the car?” I asked.

Owen looked at me, and of all things cracked a smile. We were at death's door-quite literally-and yet somehow he managed to seem more excited than scared, like a mad scientist about to flip the switch.

”Dude,” he said. ”If this works ... there won't be a car.”

CHAPTER 73.

HERE GOES everything ...

I yanked open the door, barely jumping back into the bathroom in time to evade the barrage of bullets littering the hallway.

Owen had it pegged; there was definitely more than one shooter. The crisscrossing of all the red laser sights looked like a Pink Floyd concert, complete with the tear gas as smoke.

It was Us and Them, all right. They had a small army and automatic weapons. We had pistols.

Oh, yeah. And socks.

The split second the first wave ended, I crouched low and peeked outside with the xenon light, squeezing off shots while looking for the nearest potholes filled with water.

Not too near, though. Collateral damage is no way to die.

I jumped back as the second wave came; this one was even more furious than the first. The drywall was literally disintegrating all around us, every bullet launching a bit of white chalk through the air. Mixed with the tear gas, it was like we were in a snow globe from h.e.l.l.

”Where?” yelled Owen.

”Fifteen feet at ten o'clock,” I yelled back.

”And yours?”

”Twenty feet at two.”

He lit the bottom of his sock and tossed me the lighter. ”I'll throw first, then you,” he said.

”Fine. Age before beauty, dude.”

I flicked my thumb. The sock caught fire immediately. I'd say the feeling was like holding a live grenade, but it wasn't like that. It was that.

Spinning around again, I sprayed bullets back and forth like a winds.h.i.+eld wiper before stepping aside so Owen could throw. I was giving him light from my Glock the best I could. As soon as he released his sock, he unloaded the rest of his magazine and peeled to the side.

My turn.

There was no time to aim, but there was also no time to think about it and choke. I just let it fly.

It was the second little fireball tossed through the air. Who knows what they must have thought? Maybe nothing at all. They were too busy trying to gun us down as we dove back out of the doorway.

I tossed another magazine to Owen, who quickly reloaded. There was one thing he'd forgotten to mention. When this CTF stuff mixes with water, how long does it take before- BOOM!.

The explosion shook and shattered everything around us. Every wall, every nearby window. Suffice it to say, anyone standing outside was no longer on their feet. The proverbial rug not just yanked out from beneath them, but incinerated.

But how long until one of them got back up? Good question.

Run! Right now!

Owen and I did our best Butch and Sundance, launching out of the building with guns blaring. We were sprinting as fast as we could, hoping against hope that we'd bought ourselves enough time. That made for an even better question.

Was that boom the result of one sock or two?

That was when I saw him. Looking over my shoulder-it was one of the shooters. A clone of the two guys up in New York. Was there a factory somewhere?

Dazed but clearly determined, he was staggering to his feet with his arm raised, and it wasn't to wave h.e.l.lo.

Thank G.o.d it was only one sock.

BOOM!.

Owen and I caught the edge of the second blast; it seared our backs and sent us hurtling forward across the pavement for the Evel Knievel of road rashes. It hurt like a son of a b.i.t.c.h, like I was being skinned alive.

And I'd never felt luckier in my life.

As we helped each other up, we looked back to see we were the only ones still standing. Not that we were about to linger.

”I'd high-five you, but I have no skin left on my palms,” said Owen.

”Me, neither,” I said. ”C'mon, I know a doctor we should see.”