Sleeper Cell Super Boxset by Roger Hayden, James Hunt Page A

leaned back and rested his head on the license plate of the cruiser and closed his eyes. He couldn’t die here.
    A light breeze brought with it a waft of smoke, and Dylan choked from the virulent fumes. When he opened his eyes, the squad cars that had been set ablaze continued to keep a light smolder. Dylan cocked his head to the side then immediately checked his pockets. “I need a knife.”
    “What?” Diaz asked. “I already let you out of your cuffs. I’m not going to give you a weapon.”
    “I can get us out of here!” Dylan said, the hesitation and fear that had consumed him boldly turning to anger in the moment. “Just trust me.”
    Cooper rolled up her left pant leg and pulled a blade from the side of her boots. She extended it to Dylan, and when he grabbed it, she kept hold as he tried to tug it away. Her eyes locked with his. “Don’t make me regret this, Captain.” She released her grip on the blade, and Dylan flattened himself on the ground and pulled himself under the car.
    “Just don’t let them shoot me,” Dylan said. With the tires blown out on the driver side, he had to keep to the passenger side on his crawl. His stomach, legs, and arms scraped against the grainy, dirty asphalt, black grime smearing against his skin and clothes. He kept his head ducked low, and he could only turn it slightly sideways before his face smacked into the vehicle’s undercarriage, banging the corner of his forehead hard on the greasy underbelly.
    Dylan opened the blade then reached for the fuel line and sliced it in half. Gasoline splashed onto the ground, and the harsh scent stung Dylan’s nostrils as he did his best to quickly scoot backward. The echo of the gunfire that vibrated through the car was dulled while he was underneath, but the moment his head was out from under the bumper, the roar of the gunfire was in full effect.
    The moment Cooper and Diaz got a whiff of the gas that had leaked onto Dylan’s arm, Cooper flashed a grin and tossed him the lighter. “Just don’t catch yourself on fire.”
    “I’ll do my best.” Dylan thumbed the striker and brought the flame down to the gasoline that had followed his escape. The asphalt caught fire in a haze of waving blues and oranges. The fire followed the trail of fuel underneath the car, and smoke billowed up and around the sides. Dylan, Cooper, and Diaz covered their mouths and noses with the front collars of their shirts. Once the car was set ablaze, they used the cover of smoke and fire to run to the station.
    The terrorists fired blindly behind them as they skidded, coughed, hacked, and then collapsed behind the clustered cover of desks. Dylan rolled to his side, his lungs tight and his throat on fire, his brain still woozy from the inhalation of the gas and smoke. He rested his forehead against the tile while on all fours.
    Diaz and Cooper checked their weapons. “I’ve only got one magazine left,” Diaz said, sliding it into his 9mm.
    “Me too,” Cooper answered. “We need to head out the back before those assholes come in after us.”
    “There’s no transportation back there.”
    “Then we’ll have to hoof it on foot. Let’s move.”
    All three of them checked their six as they moved back through the station. Dylan bumped into chairs and stepped over and on desk trinkets that had been upturned in the chaos. A fine layer of dust coated everything in the precinct like white chalk.
    When Dylan placed his hand on the door handle, Cooper stopped him before he could exit. “Better let me check it out first. I wouldn’t want my one good suspect to get gunned down after all this.” Cooper cracked the door open slowly then rushed out, using the sights on her pistol to scan the area, and once it was cleared, she motioned for Diaz and Dylan to join her. “Let’s go.”
    Dylan had one foot out the door when gunfire sounded behind them. The terrorists had pushed their way inside and were advancing on their position. Diaz fired back, and as Dylan