The new room was empty, untouched except for a chaotic series of bullet holes in the wall where the Partials’ battle had punched through. They ran to the far side and went to work on that wall, opening a ragged gap that Woolf peered through. He grinned. “It’s the hallway, and it’s empty. Move!” They tore into the wall with everything they had, Marcus hacking awkwardly with his left hand, his right still hanging uselessly—and painfully—at his side. He wanted to stop and patch it up, to at least give himself a shot of painkillers, but there was no time. He chopped at the wall as if he were escaping from hell itself, with all the devils behind him.

They crawled into the hallway and ran toward Trimble’s room, gripping their shovels like axes. The noise of the battle was loud behind them. Vinci stood at the end of the hall, tucked behind an armored corner, and called out as they approached.

“Where are you headed?”

“Somebody landed a transport in the waiting—”

“I know,” said Vinci. The double doors into the battle hall burst open and Vinci motioned them forward, dropping his questions and handing them some spare handguns. “There’s no time!” he shouted. “Fall back into Trimble’s room and lock the door!”

Woolf grabbed Marcus by his wounded arm. The pain was excruciating, and he couldn’t stop the commander from dragging him through into Trimble’s room. Woolf turned back to close the door, and Vinci slipped through, slinging his gun over his shoulder. They slammed the door shut and locked it tightly. They heard pounding on the other side almost immediately. “These doors will hold for a few minutes, but we need another way out.”

“Is there another way out of this room?” asked Woolf.

“Let’s hope so,” said Vinci.

“Great,” said Marcus. “The only guy we find to help us has the same ‘hope for a miracle plan that we do.”

“General Trimble!” shouted Vinci, jogging to the center of the room. The old woman sat in the same position as before, watching the citywide revolution play out on hundreds of screens, from dozens of different angles and viewpoints. “We have to get you out of here!”

“You must have a way out,” said Woolf, close behind him. Marcus hurried after them, trying to stay close enough to hear.

“There’s a Rotor in the room above us,” said Trimble. Her voice was soft, and Marcus almost didn’t catch it. She sounded even more disconnected than earlier, speaking through a haze of confusion.