Chapter 13 - The Engine of Truth
Thomas crouched behind the thick brick wall of an inactive annealing kiln, shielding Lily with his body. He was fifty yards from the circle of light. There were four armed men surrounding Marcus, all focused on the exchange of a leather-bound journal that Marcus held in his outstretched hand.
Lily peeked around Thomas's arm. Her eyes went wide. ""Daddy,"" she breathed, the word slipping out before Thomas could gently place his hand over her mouth.
The sound was tiny, but inside the cavernous, echoing glass cathedral, it carried.
One of the armed guards instantly snapped his weapon toward the shadow of the kilns. ""Who's there?""
Thomas knew their position was blown. He looked down at Lily, his face hardening with absolute resolve. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the emergency flare he had taken from Bus 402's roadside kit.
""Lily,"" he whispered with immense tenderness, ""when I tell you to run, you run straight to your daddy. Don't look at anyone else. Just run to him. Understand?""
She nodded, tears brimming in her hazel eyes, her small legs trembling with fear.
Thomas ripped the friction cap off the flare. A blinding, hissing burst of brilliant red phosphorus erupted into the gloom, casting violent, leaping shadows across the acres of broken glass.
""Run, Lily!"" Thomas roared.
He hurled the flaming flare directly into the stack of wooden transport pallets soaked in ancient machine oil beside the center kiln. The dry timber caught instantly, an explosive wall of fire erupting between the armed men and the kiln corridors, blinding their night vision and sending thick black smoke billowing toward the glass ceiling.
Lily darted across the concrete floor like a small pink ghost, her sandals slapping against the stone.
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""Marcus!"" Sarah screamed, her head snapping up through her swollen eyes.
Marcus dropped the ledger, diving forward across the floor to wrap his massive arms around his daughter, shielding her small body with his own as the first gunshots shattered the remaining panes of glass overhead, raining razor-sharp shards down like frozen hail.
