Avery went after them, then the two women, and once more Desmond brought up the rear.

One of the two soldiers was waiting for them at the next landing, pushing other soldiers and two civilians back to make a hole for them to pass.

“Stay back—McClain’s orders,” he barked.

The moment they cleared the landing, he took off up the stairs again, running past them.

The second guard was standing on the next landing, running similar interference.

It was working. They were going to make it out.

The next flight of stairs passed without event. And the next. The crowds were growing thicker though. The stairwell was clogged with people, civilians mostly, trying to get to the upper deck.

Avery was increasing her pace. Desmond had to urge Peyton and Hannah on. They trudged up the stairs, gripping the metal rails tightly, both women panting now. The bandage on Hannah’s shoulder oozed blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried but failed to pull in a deep breath that Desmond knew must have been agonizing.

As they approached the next landing, a tall man entering the stairwell yelled, “Avery! Stop where you are.”

She pointed at him and shouted back. “Traitor! Mutineer!”

The uniformed guards around him looked confused for a moment. The man raised his gun, but Avery was quicker. Her shot caught him center mass, right in the chest, propelling him back into the crowd, which scattered. People shouted and ran out into the corridor or up the stairs—except for four soldiers, who must have been with the fallen man.

They raised their rifles, ready to fire on Avery. But the corporal she had enlisted stood in front of her, his own rifle raised at the four soldiers.

“Weapons down, right now,” the corporal said.

“She’s lying to you,” one of the other soldiers said. “She’s breaking them out.”

The corporal hesitated, glanced back at Avery. It was a lethal mistake. One of the men shot him in his chest. He staggered back, went over the rail, and spun as he fell to the landing below.

Avery’s rifle erupted.

Two soldiers dropped, then a third. The last man retreated out of the stairwell.

Avery moved even faster now, pumping her legs.

As she passed the bodies of the four fallen soldiers, she yelled up the stairs, “Cover us, Sergeant!”

The sergeant peered over the railing from above. He looked hesitant, but nodded.

The four of them barreled up the stairs, which were now empty. They were exposed.

He quickened his pace.

Avery reached the landing first. Sunlight poured through the open hatch. Freedom lay beyond the hatch. Or death, Desmond thought. They all hugged the wall, careful not to give anyone outside a shot at them.

“Good work, Sergeant,” Avery said. “Take up position one flight down and cover our backs.”