Before I even realize what’s happening, I feel a sharp tug on the back of my shirt. DeSanctis tosses me backwards. He’s trained to go after the threat. As I crash to the concrete, he turns to Charlie and aims his pistol for the killshot. Now my brother’s in the black hole of the barrel. Instinctively, he holds up the plank as if it’s a shield. Realizing what’s happening, I scramble to my feet. I don’t have a chance. Without hesitation, DeSanctis pulls the trigger. The shot explodes with an ear-splitting boom.

The wood thunders violently and something whizzes directly over Charlie’s head. By the time he opens his eyes, the plank flies from his hands, cleaved in half by the gunshot. As the wood thunks against the ground, his palms are burning, stinging with dozens of splinters from the force of the impact. He looks up at DeSanctis, who’s already readjusted his aim. Straight at him.

“Don’t!” I yell, plowing into DeSanctis from behind. The gun jerks, and a shot goes off – tearing at the wall on my right and sending a storm cloud of loose concrete crumbling into the corner. The impact keeps DeSanctis off-balance enough for me to jump on his back and grab him in a quick choke-hold. Within seconds, though, training overtakes surprise. DeSanctis whips his head back, cracking me in the nose. The pain is ferocious. I don’t let go.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard!” DeSanctis shouts as I continue to hold on. Reaching backwards and clawing over his shoulder, DeSanctis still tries to get at me. That leaves his gut wide-open. It’s all the distraction Charlie needs. Picking up the broken wood plank, he rushes forward… plants his feet… and swings away. As the plank collides with DeSanctis’s stomach, he doubles over, and I swear his feet leave the ground. I fly off the bucking bull and tumble to the concrete – but DeSanctis clearly took the worst of it.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, offering me a hand.

I nod repeatedly, still unable to catch my breath.

Behind Charlie, there’s a sharp scraping noise. He spins around and spots Gallo on the floor, crawling to reach his gun.

Scrambling next to him, Charlie scoops up Gallo’s gun and stuffs it in the back of his pants.

“Charlie…!” I call out.

“Y-You’re both dead,” Gallo whispers, coughing up blood.

“You sure about that?” Charlie asks, winding up for another crack of the bat. I’ve never seen him like this. He lifts the plank over his head like a woodchopper and-

“Don’t!” I shout, grabbing him by his shoulder. DeSanctis is already climbing to his feet. We’re way out of our league. “C’mon – let’s go!”

Charlie drops the wood, and we fly for the heavy metal door in the corner. Once I hear his shoes clicking behind me, I don’t look back. All I want is out. With a quick shove, I’m through the door and across the catwalk. Just as Charlie’s about to follow, he takes one last scan of the room. I can hear it from here. Gallo’s already up and about, coughing uncontrollably. DeSanctis isn’t far behind.

“We got trouble,” Charlie calls out.

In full panic, I leave the construction trailers behind and leap out of the rabbithole, into the food court. Back in the hallway, we hear the metal door crash against the wall. They’re faster than we thought.

“Check the trailers!” Gallo’s voice bellows. That takes care of DeSanctis.

Right there, I make a sharp left and race back the way we originally came.

“Wrong way!” Charlie shouts.

“Are you…?”

“Trust me,” he calls out, heading to the right.

I pause, but it’s a simple choice. We both know where we spent our Friday nights.

Checking to make sure I’m behind him, Charlie takes off up the hallway, and old instincts flood back into place. At the far end of the hall, he leaps for the nearby escalator and scrambles up the moving steps two at a time. Behind him, my shoes clack against the metal grooves. “They still behind us?” he asks.

“Just get us out of here,” I say, refusing to look.

At the top of the escalator, which dead-ends into a cluster of magazine shops and newsstands, the only clear path veers to the left, back to the Main Concourse. Charlie keeps running straight – toward the beige service door in the corner.

“It looks locked,” I say.

“It’s not,” he insists. “Or at least, it never used to be.”

Praying that things don’t change, I watch him plow into the door. It swings open and leads into an industrial beige hallway. Charlie’s strides get longer. He’s back on home turf. And I’m more lost than ever. Refusing to fall behind, I squeeze my fists tighter and pick up speed. My nails dig deep into the palms of my hands.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, feeling the instant vibe.

“Yeah,” I tell him, still staring dead ahead.

In front of us are two automatic swinging doors. We stomp on the sensor-mat and the doors blink open. I immediately smell gas fumes. Through the doors, the lights dim and the cavern expands. Brick walls, no windows, and an old wooden teller booth with a punch clock on the outside. Charlie glances around at the fifty or so cars that’re parked bumper-to-bumper in the underground garage.

“You got a ticket?” a man with a Puerto Rican accent shouts from the teller booth.

“No, thanks,” Charlie says, catching his breath. Over his shoulder, he checks the automatic doors and searches for Gallo and DeSanctis. The doors mechanically close. No one’s there. At least, not yet. But before we can relax, my stomach lurches and I heave uncontrollably. There’s a violent splash against the pavement as I vomit up the milky-brown remainder of this morning’s Raisin Bran. The smell alone makes me want to do it again. I clench my jaw to keep it in.

“You sure you’re okay?” Charlie asks for the second time.

Bent over, with my hands pressed against my knees, I spit out the final chunks as a string of saliva dangles from my chin.

“Don’t think I’m cleaning that up,” the Puerto Rican guy warns from his booth.

Ignoring him, Charlie puts a hand on my shoulder. “They’re gone,” he promises. “We’re fine.” The words are nice, but he’s missing the point.

“What?” Charlie asks, studying my green coloring. “What is it?”

My stomach’s empty, and I’m about to pass out. But it’s not until I backhand the spit from my bottom lip and slowly struggle to stand up that my brother gets his first good look at my eyes. They wander around the garage, dancing anxiously in every direction.

Without a word, he knows why I wouldn’t look back while we were running. Sure, I was scared – but it wasn’t just from what was chasing us. It was from what we left behind. Shep. I stare down at the splatter of throw-up by my feet. Forget fear – this is all guilt.

“It’s not your fault, Ollie. Even when you were willing to hand them the account, Shep told you to stay quiet.”

“But if we weren’t – Dammit, how could I be such a meathead? I’m smarter than that! If we weren’t there… If I wasn’t so stupidly enraged about Lapidus…”

“If, if, if. Don’t you get it yet?” he asks. “It doesn’t matter what you were thinking – or why you talked yourself into it – Shep was stealing that money whether we were there or not. Period. End.”

I pick my head up. “Y-You think?”

“Of course,” he shoots back with a throatful of instant Charlie confidence. But as the words leave his lips, his expression falls. Reality hits hard. And fast. Now he’s the one who’s suddenly green.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he motions toward the steep ramp that leads up to the snow-lined street. “You ready to go?”

Before I can nod, Charlie takes off and runs straight up it. Behind him, I once again close my eyes and picture Shep’s shattered body, twisted like a broken puppet across the floor. Unable to shake the image – or the rash decision that got us there – I chase my brother, racing as hard as I can to the top. Too bad for us, there’re some things you can’t outrun.