Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) by Brett Battles (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

“Jar!” I yell as I rush over to Evan and Gina. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Gina looks at me in surprise, a man in a ski mask clearly not what she was expecting.

“I’m Evan’s friend,” I say as I crouch beside them. I look at Evan. His eyes are open, but he’s having a hard time breathing. “Hey. You’re okay. You’ve just had the wind knocked out of you.” He also has the beginnings of a nice bruise on his cheek, but that’s not the info he needs right now. “Here, let me help you sit up.” I put an arm around him and shift him to an upright position. “Deep breaths. Push your stomach out as you breathe in, and tug it in as you breathe out. That’ll help.”

He does as I suggested, not so successfully at first but that can take a little time.

I glance at the fire. It’s only a few feet away and expanding.

“We need to get out of here. I’m going to stand you up, all right?”

Evan lets out a breath, nods, and sucks in air for a longer period than he did before.

I put an arm around his back and drape his arm over my shoulders. Gina does the same on the other side, and we lift him to his feet.

“I’ve got him,” I say to Gina. “Climb out the window. We’ll be right behind you.”

She hesitates.

“Go,” Evan ekes out. “I’ll be okay.”

She runs over to the window, where Jar—wearing her ski mask—is waiting with our backpacks.

“Can you walk?” I ask Evan.

“I-I think so.”

I let him take most of his weight, but I hold on to him just in case.

By the time we get to the window, Gina is already outside.

“I’ll lift you out,” I tell Evan.

I grab him by the waist and hoist him up. I’m sure it hurts him but he makes no complaints. He grabs the frame and, with Gina’s help, pulls himself outside.

“You’re next,” I say to Jar.

She glances over at Chuckie. “What about him?”

“I’ll get him.”

She narrows her eyes. “Maybe we should leave him.”

I can’t tell you how tempting that is. It would be so easy. But as poetic as it may be to rid the world of Chuckie this way, we both know we’re not going to do that. Have we taken lives in our line of work? Sure. But only when there was no other choice.

I wonder if Chuckie will think our saving him is a mercy after the courts are finished with him.

I make a cradle with my hands and lift Jar to the window. After she’s outside, I pass out our backpacks and turn back to Chuckie.

Most of the bookcase is on fire now, and the flames are flicking against the ceiling. Smoke is building up, too, and it won’t be long before breathing down here will become impossible.

You need to get out of here, Liz says near my ear.

“You think?”

I roll Chuckie onto his back, and work his waist over my shoulder so that his legs will dangle down my chest. It takes an extra effort to get to my feet, but I manage it.

To get to the stairs, we have to go past the shelving unit that’s on fire. As much as I would like to run to the steps, with Chuckie’s bulk I’m limited to more of a plodding walk.

I don’t know if it’s the smoke or the heat or just plain stubbornness, but before I take more than three steps, Chuckie stirs. This would be more understandable if I hit him with the first dart, as that one contained only enough juice to knock him out for about thirty minutes. The one that did hit him contained a full dose, and was supposed to keep him under for half a day at least.

As he sways, I hear him mumbling. He’s only half conscious, but he’s moving enough to threaten my balance. I lean forward as much as I dare to lower my center of gravity, and continue toward the exit.

When we’re about to pass the fire, Chuckie tries to slap me with his arms. He’s an uncoordinated mess so he barely connects with me. He swings his right arm out again to gain some momentum—and rams it right into burning shelves.

Fire jumps from the wood to his jacket and he screams.

I want to stop to douse the flames, but the more pressing matter is to get us the hell out of here.

With a surge of adrenaline, I whack my elbow into the side of his head, cutting off his bellowing, and power the remaining distance to the stairs and the steps. Before I reach the top, Jar opens the door from above. Her eyes widen at the sight of Chuckie’s burning sleeve as I cross the threshold.

She points to the right. “Side door is open!”

I lumber through the house and out into the yard, where I drop Chuckie on the grass and roll him back and forth until the flames go out. The sleeve of the jacket is ruined, and he has some fairly serious burns on his arm and hand. But he’s alive.

I’ve been scorched a little, too, but not enough to leave a permanent mark.

We are still too close to the house, so Jar helps me carry Chuckie to the front of the workshop, where Evan and Gina wait.

“I thought the plan was to stop him before the fire started,” Jar says after we set him down.

I give her the evil side-eye but say nothing.

So far, the fire is only visible through the basement windows. But it won’t stay that way for long, and it’s only a matter of time before someone calls it in. Which means we need to finish up here and leave.

I feel Liz nearby again. All her anger and urgency have left her. I sense concern and relief. Also…longing? I’m not sure—I think that’s what it is. But for what, I don’t know.

And then she’s