Angel was down. Cora had taken care of the red-head with a shot that seemed to have surprised everyone in the hangar. And now Finn was beating seven shades of shit out of the Latino guy.

Lars turned his gun on El Lobo.

Zachary must have realized the odds weren’t in his favor anymore, because he was backing up toward the back of the hangar, a snarl on his face.

And then Cora did the most idiotic thing he’d ever seen. She went after fucking El Lobo.

“Fuck!” Lars took aim, and fired. But in that same instant, Zachary took a step forward, and his shot went wild.

Turned out, Cora hadn’t been going for Mr Fucking West. Oh no. She was after the pendant.

But Zachary brought his hand down on Cora’s hand. Twisted it a little.

Lars moved forward, sincerely hoping that Finn was keeping the Latino guy occupied so he wouldn’t get a shot to the back.

He took aim. Fired.

But, as if he’d had some kind of goddamn premonition, Zachary crouched. Lars’s bullet shot through the side of the hangar instead of Zachary’s face.

“Motherfuck!” Lars yelled. But even that sound didn’t pull Zachary’s attention.

He strode closer still, aimed, fired.

Zachary stood, lips moving as if he was speaking to Cora.

The man had a fucking guardian angel; his third shot went wild.

His fourth shot never happened, because he’d run out of bullets.

Grimacing, Lars surged forward.

Let him dodge a fist in the face.

That fancy fucking boot of Zachary’s came around and slammed into Cora’s head. She went down, laying there like a dead thing. He would have run to check her, but Zachary was backing up toward the shipping container.

Was there a space portal in there or something? Lars sped up but, before he could reach him, Zachary threw open a small door built into the back of the hangar and a rectangle of light swallowed him. And then he closed the door behind, giving Lars a vaguely fascinated smile a second before that slit of light disappeared.

Lars banged into the door, making that whole wall of the hangar reverberate. He slammed his palm against the door, and fumbled with the handle.

But it refused to open.

Not a space portal, but maybe a portal back to hell. Spinning around, Lars ran to Cora’s side. When he touched her, she jerked and came to with a gurgling moan. She turned to him, a shaking hand lifting to her face where Zachary had kicked her.

Blood coated her chin. It dribbled down her throat and between her breasts as she struggled onto her ass.

“You look like shit, bunny,” Lars murmured.

Cora laughed, choked, and retched. But what came up wasn’t puke and stomach acid. She spat a mouthful of blood into her cupped palm, and when that had run through her quivering fingers and splatted on the floor, it left behind two blood-coated teeth.

She laughed again, and the sound quickly turned hysterical.

“Cora,” Lars said carefully, reaching for her.

She didn’t seem to notice. She used her other hand to dig in her mouth, and when those blood-stained fingers came back, she was holding onto a third tooth.

Lars got to his feet. Took a step back. And then tried to force the sound of Cora’s maniacal laughter from his mind as he turned to look for Milo.

But that horrid sound chased him.

Had she never lost a tooth before? Granted losing three at the same time had to hurt like hell, but she didn’t seem to be in pain, despite the fact she looked like she’d been halfway through a meat grinder before the person operating it realized she wasn’t a sheep.

Milo was still busy slamming the Latino’s head into the concrete.

“Milo.”

No response.

Lars hurried over and tried to get Milo off the dead guy with a yelled, “Milo, stop!”

Cora retched again, and this time it sounded like she did empty her stomach. Lars glanced over his shoulder. She stared across the concrete at Milo, face too pale and jaw trembling.

“Fuck my life,” Lars whispered unsteadily. “Fuck my fucking life.”

Jesus, was he next to lose his fucking mind?

He finally got Milo up. The man staggered away like a drunk, wiping at his face. He looked like Carrie had when they’d dumped that bucket of pig’s blood on her. Well, not quite as bad, but—

From outside, came the growl of a car engine. Engines. Plenty of them. Revved to the max.

Someone was in a hurry to get to them.

“Go, go, go!” he yelled. He dragged Milo behind him, as much as he could with a guy weighing far north of two hundred, and managed to grab Cora by the back of her shirt as he passed.

She fought him—because why the fuck not?—and tugged herself free. Then she half-crawled, half-scrambled to her father’s limp body.

“He’s gone, Cora!”

“No! Papá!” She grabbed Tony Swan by the lapels of what might have been a dress shirt a week ago, and dragged him into her lap.

Lars gritted his teeth, hesitating between getting Milo out the door—the man had gone into a catatonic state judging from his vacant eyes and parted lips—or shoving him in the direction of that secret little door and hoping the oaf could remember how his legs worked while he grabbed Cora.

Angel took the decision from him.

“Now you wake up?” Lars yelled as the young man limped over to Cora, grabbed her by the arms, and hoisted her to her feet.

She screamed at Angel, fighting him to try and reach her father.

“He’s dead!” Angel said urgently. “Dead. Like us if we don’t run.”

But she was a blubbering mess.

They weren’t going to make it. Outside, car doors slammed. Javier’s men—he had no doubt that’s who they were—wouldn’t know which hangar they were in, but if Cora kept screaming—

Angel twisted her in his arms and slapped her. Luckily, on a different cheek to the one where Zachary had kicked her. She snapped her head back, gaping at him. And then he slapped her again.

“Run!” he yelled as he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

Lars bundled Milo through the back door, and cast a glance at the hangar’s gaping entrance. No one yet, but he could hear feet.

His heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. He saw the quivering IT guy still huddled on the floor, hands over his head, weeping.

Well, he couldn’t save the whole fucking world, now could he?

He ran outside. Angel hobbled out behind, dragging a shell-shocked Cora after him.

The hangar had been built at the base of a small rise. Lars pulled Milo up the slope, and then let him tumble down the other side, hoping the idiot would wake up when he hit the bottom.

Angel and Cora followed, both scrambling to stay upright on the slope. They’d parked the stolen sedan on the other side of the abandoned airport; there no way to get it without crossing paths with Javier’s men. They’d have to move on foot until they were in the clear.

Lars dragged Milo to his feet, and swiped his hands over the man’s face.

Milo blinked at him, and then frowned. “Cora!” He turned, searching until he found her.

Lars felt his shoulders slump when he spotted Angel leading her down the slope.

“She’s alive. We all are, thanks for caring.”

Milo glanced back at him, and then lifted trembling, blood stained hands.

“Yeah, you lost it again. But let’s leave the psychobabble for later. We got company.”

This time, Milo followed him when Lars ran forward. Then he realized Angel and Cora were lagging far behind and punched Milo in the shoulder.

“Get her,” Lars growled, as he turned and headed back for the injured two of their pack.

Angel put his hands up when Lars ran at him, but he fought back the guy’s feeble protests and scooped him off the ground. He was almost on a height with Cora, and lithe to boot, so he didn’t weigh much more than the girl. Milo grabbed Cora, and together they headed for the shelter of a nearby cluster of trees.

From there, they’d have to try and pick their way through the wilderness without being spotted by Javier’s men.

Lars set Angel down, and grimaced at the guy when he opened his mouth to speak. He lifted a finger, breathed hard, and said, “Not a fucking word.” Then he pointed between Cora—who Milo had just set down beside Angel—and the Latino guy. He wheezed a little before he could say, “Not from either of you idiots.”