There was a silence on the other side of the door.

Then, the torch hissed back to life with a louder roar.

He was not going to stop.

I stepped back toward the rear bulkhead, near the high-frequency transmitter racks.

The metal cabinets hummed with electrical current, vibrating against my back.

The blue spark at the bottom of the door grew into a steady, bright flame.

The steel was beginning to melt, dripping in white-hot beads onto the concrete floor.

“Hayes,” I said quietly.

“I see it, Doc,” Hayes said.

He stepped back two paces, keeping his body between me and the door.

The lock assembly groaned.

A loud snap echoed through the room as the internal bolt sheared under the heat and pressure.

The door swung inward an inch, stopped only by the safety chain Hayes had set.

Through the narrow gap, I could see the corridor.

The air outside was thick with white smoke from the cutting torch.

Captain Turner stood in the center of the hallway, his face red and slick with sweat.

His service cap was gone, his gray hair damp and messy.