“The locations. Take it. Get out.”

Avery’s eyes flashed. The sight of the folder seemed to give her a burst of energy. She crawled across the floor, took the folder, drew a shallow breath, and coughed again.

William put a hand on her shoulder. “Go.”

Peyton pressed her lips to Desmond’s mouth again and began giving him rescue breaths.

From her peripheral vision, she saw William push Avery away. “Go. Before it’s too late.”

Avery stood on unsteady legs and staggered out of the office wing.

Peyton rested on her haunches, gathering her own breath as she gave thirty more chest compressions. A tear ran down her face. Desmond was going to die, right here, in her arms.

Her father’s eyes met hers.

“Please, Dad. Find an AED. He’ll die without it.”

Chapter 91

Chapter 91

William was pretty sure his ankle was sprained. Not broken, but it throbbed and spiked with pain every time he put weight on it. In the smoke-filled office wing, with Peyton leaning over Desmond, trying to save his life, he limped to a desk and found what he needed: an overturned table lamp and some clear packing tape. As quickly as he could, he disassembled the lamp and jammed the metal pole in his boot, parallel to his calf. He wanted to cry out from the pain, but he simply gritted his teeth, grabbed the tape, and wrapped his lower leg and ankle tight, ensuring it couldn’t move.

He put weight on it, testing it. The pain was manageable.

He turned and began searching the walls for an AED, hopping along like a peg-leg pirate from an old movie.

With each step Avery took away from the fire, she could breathe easier. In the stairwell, she drew out the folder and scanned its contents.

Past the cubicles, William hurried along the wall, searching. A minute later, he read the Russian letters for AED, pulled the device off the wall, and returned to where Peyton was still giving Desmond mouth-to-mouth. She looked up when he approached. Her face was covered in tears. The sight was heartbreaking.

She took the device from his hand, tore Desmond’s shirt open, and attached the patches to his chest. She made sure she wasn’t touching him, then hit the large green button on the box.

It emitted a short squeal, then popped, causing Desmond to arch his back and inhale violently. His head thrashed about as he screamed—a ragged, raspy yell like that of a lifelong smoker.

Peyton took his face in her hands.

“Hey.”

His chest heaved. His eyes were barely open. A tired smile formed on his lips. He said a single word. It sounded like “Scully.” William didn’t know what that meant, but Peyton seemed to like it. She laughed, and the tears flowed faster now. Tears of joy, William thought.

“We need to go,” William said. “I can walk. Peyton, can you help him?”