“What the fuck are you doing, ese{10}? ” the cook asked, very much awake now and more bewildered than angry.

Something slammed against the door from the outside. The door smacked against the back of the freezer in turn. The freezer stood firm.

Riley huffed out a breath of relief.

“What’s it fucking look like?”

“Looks like you’re barricading our back door,” the guy next to the cook said. A man of keen observational skills, that one.

Stampede them, McClane suggested, sounding almost giddy. Riley briefly wondered whether his passenger might be riding the high of Riley’s adrenaline rush, then he caught up with what McClane was saying.

“What?” he asked.

The cook gave him a look. “What, what?”

We gotta get out of here, McClane explained, already nudging Riley to pull out his gun. We gotta make a break for it before they’ve deployed all their soldiers. The diner’s a death trap. Stampede the customers, we can maybe make it out with the crowd and get lost in the confusion.

“We don’t even know they’re here for us,” Riley argued, desperately.

He was opposed to the notion of waving a gun at innocent bystanders on

principle—and to the idea of running straight at all those guns, for that matter.

“Who, they?” the cook demanded, and took a step forward. “Are you trippin’?”

They’re military. Wanna bet? McClane’s anxious twitch sent ripples through Riley’s back muscles. I admit it, I underestimated them. I’m sorry.

So, so sorry. Now, please, let’s run. Something warm and probably metallic slithered down his spine. It felt as if McClane was coating the skin there with armor. The bitter taste of terror bled through the connection between them. Please, Riley. I don’t want to go back into a lab again. I don’t wanna die.

Another hit shook the door behind them, hard enough to make the freezer vibrate. Angle and the lack of a proper battering ram were on Riley’s and McClane’s side, but it was only a question of time before the soldiers forced their way in. Riley’s survival instincts jumped into overdrive. The way the three men were staring at him told Riley they thought he was nuts, anyway. They’d rabbit the second they saw the gun.

Wasn’t like he’d have to shoot at anybody. Not that he could’ve, seeing as the fucking gun wasn’t even loaded and he wasn’t going to load it, either.

Riley’s fingers closed around the grip of the weapon before he’d consciously decided to do so. The cook saw the movement and was backing away before Riley had even completed it. By the time the gun was out, all three kitchen workers were halfway across the room and headed for the door.