Her hand clamped over his mouth while her other arm locked around his throat in a rear naked choke. He thrashed, but her grip was iron. Within seconds, he slumped unconscious. She lowered him silently to the floor. "Joey, you see something?"
The second guard called out, moving closer. Trina waited until he was just past her before stepping out. He spun, raising his weapon, but she was already inside his guard. Her palm strike crushed his nose. As he staggered, she grabbed his rifle barrel, twisting it away while driving her knee into his solar plexus.
He doubled over, gasping. A precise strike to the base of his skull put him down. Screams echoed from somewhere ahead. Trina moved faster, checking corners as she advanced. The corridor opened into a processing area filled with rusty hooks and ancient machinery.
A third guard stood there holding a terrified teenage girl in front of him like a shield. His pistol pressed against her temple. Stop right there, he shouted. One more step and I'll kill her. The girl sobbed, trembling in his grip.
Trina raised her hands slowly, appearing to surrender. "Let her go," Trina said calmly. "You don't want to make this worse for yourself." "Shut up. Put your weapon down now."
Trina carefully lowered her Glock to the floor. As she straightened up, her hand brushed the smoke grenade on her belt. In one fluid motion, she pulled the pin and rolled it toward them. Dense white smoke erupted between them. The guard instinctively loosened his grip on the girl.
That split second was all Trina needed. She surged forward as the girl broke free, tackling the guard before he could aim. They crashed into a metal table. His pistol skittered away across the floor. The guard was bigger, but Trina had years of combat training.
She blocked his wild punch and countered with sharp elbow strikes to his face. When he tried to grapple, she used his momentum against him, sweeping his legs and taking him down hard. A quick arm bar hyperextended his elbow until something popped. His scream cut off as she choked him unconscious. "Are you hurt?"
Trina asked the girl, who huddled against a wall. "No," she stammered. "There are others in the freezer. Show me." The girl led her to a massive walk-in cold storage unit.
The heavy door was secured with a padlock. Trina shut it off and pulled the door open. The blast of frigid air carried the sounds of whimpering and quiet sobs. 12 girls huddled together on the frozen floor, dressed in thin clothes. The youngest couldn't have been more than 10.
Their eyes were wide with terror as Trina entered. I'm FBI, she said softly, showing her badge. I'm getting you all out of here. Can you walk? They nodded, helping each other stand on trembling legs.
Trina guided them through the smoke-filled corridors toward the loading dock where her truck waited. The trailer was equipped with emergency supplies, blankets, water, food, and first aid kits. Stay quiet and stay together, she instructed as she helped them climb inside. Lock this from the inside. Don't open it for anyone but me.
I'll knock three times, pause, then twice more. Understand? They nodded, wrapping themselves in blankets. Trina secured the trailer and headed back inside. On a security monitor near the loading dock, she spotted Faulner in what looked like a central office, barking orders into a radio.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted from multiple directions. Four men in tactical gear appeared at both ends of the corridor, rifles raised. Trina dove behind a concrete pillar as bullets chipped away at the edges. "You're dead, Fed!" one shouted. "No way out!"
Trina touched her wounded side, feeling fresh blood. She'd lost too much already, but giving up wasn't an option. She pulled her last smoke grenade and threw it, using the cover to sprint toward a side passage. A rifle stock swung at her head. She ducked, grabbing the weapon and driving her knee into the attacker's groin.
As he doubled over, she wrenched the rifle away and slammed the butt into his face. He went down hard. The second man charged, trying to tackle her. Trina sidestepped, using his momentum to throw him into a wall. His head crashed through a rusted pipe, releasing a spray of pressurized steam.
He screamed, clutching his scalded face. More bullets forced her into a roll. Pain exploded in her leg as a round grazed her thigh. She came up firing, catching the third attacker in the shoulder. He dropped his weapon, stumbling backward.
The fourth man had a clear shot. Trina threw herself sideways as his rifle barked. The bullet missed her head by inches. She crashed through a rotting drywall partition, buying precious seconds. Her hands found a length of broken pipe.
When he stepped through the hole after her, she swung it like a baseball bat, connecting with his temple. He crumpled without a sound. Steam continued spraying from the ruptured pipe, filling the corridor with scalding mist. Somewhere in the distance, flames began to lick at exposed insulation. The fire would spread quickly through the old building.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, Trina checked her weapon and started limping toward the central office. Each step sent fresh agony through her thigh, but she pressed on. Faulner was waiting up ahead. It was time to finish this. The command office loomed ahead, its grimy windows flickering with fluorescent light.
Trina pressed her back against the wall beside the door, steadying her breathing. Her leg throbbed where the bullet had grazed her, and fresh blood trickled down her side. She tightened her grip on her Glock and kicked the door open. Don't move, she commanded, sweeping her weapon across the room. Faulner stood behind a metal desk, his arm locked around a young girl's throat, a hunting knife pressed against her skin.
The girl couldn't have been more than 14, tears streaming down her face. Well, well. The fed [ __ ] found her way upstairs. Faulner's draw dripped with contempt. His uniform was splattered with blood. not his own.
Drop the gun or I open her throat. You're surrounded, Faulner. FBI tactical teams are already in position. Trina kept her voice steady despite the burning in her wounds. It's over.