Chapter 265: Customer Support Has a Flamethrower

The guard with the flamethrower asked me to move away from the exit, which suggested he hadn’t noticed that fire was the reason I wasn’t coming closer. I drifted behind the concrete doorframe and told Pike to hold the bus inside the channel until we’d improved the atmosphere.

[System: Nuh-Uh stops the whack, not the barbecue, mate; find water before Captain Charcoal out there discovers the trigger isn’t a bloody personality trait.]

We just drained the place, so next time I want the fucking problems numbered in the order they intend to murder me. A shallow stream still ran beside the channel wall, but splashing it with my tail would only give the guard something funny to remember at lunch.

The pipe above the exit carried the camp’s emergency wash supply, with a red valve behind a wire guard. I asked Pike whether opening it would flood the escape road, and he said the outlet drains could handle the flow if nobody blocked them with a vehicle.

I moved as mist along the sheltered upper corner, keeping solid again before entering the hot air near the doorway. A narrow tendril reached behind the wire guard and turned the valve, sending a heavy sheet of water down between us and the guard’s next burst.

The flames hissed against the falling water without making the passage safe enough to stroll through. It did force the guard to move sideways for a clear angle, taking his boots across the wet concrete while I watched the hose dragging behind his heel.

"Your demonstration looks expensive, and I’d hate to interrupt before you burn through the whole training budget," I called. He followed my voice towards the wall, lifting the weapon while I let a coil form around the loose hose behind him.

I pulled sideways instead of towards the bus, making him turn to protect the tank on his back. His next burst went into an empty stack of metal pallets, and I used the opening to slip behind a concrete block nearer his legs.

[System: Leave the tank alone, champ, because exploding the bastard beside your passengers is the kind of solution that gets remembered for all the wrong reasons.]

I was planning to steal his balance, which should be easier than finding wherever he left his conscience. I caught one boot with a coil and pulled it across the slick patch while Lukas dropped a web-line from the doorway onto the weapon’s front grip.

The guard fell hard enough to lose his hold before the flame could swing back towards us. Lukas anchored the line around the doorpost and dragged the weapon clear using the fixed support, keeping his injured chest out of the contest over who could pull hardest.

Hollis reached us with the last group from camp and ordered the man to release his harness. He stayed on the ground with both hands visible while she disconnected the weapon, apparently much less committed to the order now that somebody could ask him about it by name.

I wanted to leave him tied beside a sign saying poor customer service, but Hollis put him under guard and cleared the exit. The bus moved through the falling water slowly, earning cheers from passengers who had apparently accepted a free wash as an improvement to their travel package.

Bridget drove our utility vehicle ahead and checked the turning space beside the fuel trailer. She called back that the yard opened onto a lower service lane, safely below the automatic gun, and that the first truck could climb to the quarry ridge without crossing its marked boundary.

The captured guard asked whether the captain would punish him for surrendering, which explained something ugly about the way he’d held the weapon. Hollis told him he would answer for his own decisions, then gave him water while another soldier checked the cut above his eye. [System: He’ll answer for the fire, mate; giving him water doesn’t wipe the slate, it just stops you becoming another prick who enjoys withholding it.]

Twelve minutes remained before the strike warning expired, and the last residents still needed transport from the camp gate. Pike pointed to a small fuel cart beside the trailer and said its tow bar would fit the recovery truck if we removed the generator attached behind it.

I started examining the generator’s latch before he explained that its cable powered the shelter’s medical refrigerator. Taking the whole unit would make our departure faster and somebody else’s treatment considerably worse, which was an annoying detail for a perfectly useful theft to contain.

"Fine, we’re stealing only the portable bit, but I refuse to become the sort of criminal who leaves a thank-you note," I said. Pike separated the cart while I held the tow chain steady, keeping the generator running and its cable clear of the wheels.

[System: Selective theft, mate, and it’s lovely to see you developing a specialty. Another few jobs and you’ll know which bits of a hospital not to nick.]

I’m learning because every decent bit of loot has a life-support cable attached, and nobody mentioned that in the fucking induction. Bridget passed me a bottle of water when I returned to the vehicle, then drank from it while I held it steady. She caught me watching her mouth and quietly suggested I save that concentration for somewhere we weren’t being shot at.

She said the last camp truck was loaded, and Lukas had stayed beside the channel entrance until every person on the shelter runner’s list was accounted for. That gave us a convoy rather than a collection of hopeful departures, which felt disturbingly close to competent work.

Hollis sent her patrol vehicle ahead with the injured passengers while the bus turned towards the ridge road. I rose above its rear window to watch the service yard, expecting another argument from the guard we’d left sitting under supervision.

Instead, an armoured truck rolled into view at the top of the slope, its gun mount turning towards the bus’s exposed side. Rusk stood behind its cabin shield, and the first round struck the road close enough to throw gravel through the open window behind the driver.