Thick, suffocating, smoke burning my throat as I ran.
My ears were still ringing from the explosion, but there was no time to stop. William was right behind me, his breathing ragged, his side still bleeding. The hangar was in chaos—men shouting, sirens wailing, shadows moving through the smoke.
Bernard was gone, Greg was gone.
And my mother?
I turned sharply, eyes scanning the hazy outlines of the airstrip. Where was she?
Then, I saw her.
A dark figure pushed a wheelchair toward a black SUV near the far end of the tarmac.
James Langley.
He had my mother.
Rage surged through me, burning hotter than the flames rising behind us.
“William,” I gasped, grabbing his arm. “She’s there. They’re taking her!”
William followed my gaze, his expression darkening. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
I did
