Chapter 3 - The Heat of the Asphalt
The magnetic lock failed with a heavy thud as the circuit breaker tripped. The glass door slid open an extra foot under the force of the blast. Maya slipped through the narrow gap, tearing the fabric of her white shirt on the jagged metal frame, and burst into the blinding daylight.
The heat was suffocating, wrapping around her throat like a damp wool blanket. She sprinted across the parking lot, her knees trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. ""Grandpa!"" she cried, dropping to her knees so hard on the asphalt that the rough grit tore straight through her jeans, biting into her skin.
Arthur lay unresponsive, his skin pale and clammy despite the scorching midday temperature. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead, and his breathing was a faint, raspy whistle. His eyes were half-open, glazed and unfocused, gazing at the empty sky above the strip mall roof.
""Grandpa, look, I got it. I got the water,"" she sobbed, fumbling with the bottle's plastic cap. Her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't break the safety seal. She clamped her teeth down on the serrated plastic, twisting her head until the seal snapped with a sharp pop, cutting the inside of her lip. Blood mingled with the lukewarm water as she spilled a few drops into her palm.
She gently lifted his head, cradling the fragile bones of his skull against her chest, and pressed the rim against his dry, cracked lips. ""Drink, please. Just swallow.""
A trickle of water ran down Arthur’s cheek, pooling in the deep wrinkles around his mouth. His throat moved faintly, a reflexive gulp that signaled life was still clinging inside his frail frame. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered. ""Maya..."" he rasped, his voice barely audible beneath the blare of the store’s alarm. ""Run... don't stay...""
""I'm not leaving you,"" she insisted, pouring more water into his mouth.
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A heavy shadow fell over them both. Maya looked up, expecting Derrick with a broom handle or a security guard with handcuffs. Instead, a stranger stood towering over them, blocking out the sun. He wore a faded canvas utility vest and carried a heavy military-grade duffel bag, his eyes hidden behind polarized dark sunglasses. In his right hand, he held a sleek handheld radio that crackled with police frequency static.
""You've got about three minutes before the regional enforcers arrive, kid,"" the man said, his voice deep and completely devoid of emotion. ""And they aren't coming to offer medical aid.""
