Relief sang through his veins. He’d saved the little girl—given her the means to escape.
Just then the Terraphage spun around as if sensing their escape. It let out a high-pitched, hissing howl as it leapt toward the Beacon.
Anne screamed, her terrified voice rising to a deafening pitch that clawed at Ryder’s ears. Jordan scooped up her daughter and huddled in the corner, trying to shield the child with her body.
It wouldn’t do any good. The Terraphage would gobble them up together, swallowing them whole.
Hell, no. He was not going to watch this happen.
Ryder shot out from under the table, grabbed one of the chairs, and hurled it at the Terraphage’s back. It roared in anger, swinging its lumbering body around as that razor-tipped tentacle shot out at his head.
He lifted another chair and batted it away. The tentacle cut through the wooden seat, leaving the wood singed and smoking at the edge.
Holy shit!
Ryder had always refused to learn to fight in his grandfather’s inherited plate mail, and at this moment, he wanted to kick his own ass for not listening. No way was his leather jacket going to stop that weapon from slicing him down to the bone. If it managed to hit something vital, game over.
Behind the monster, Jordan made a run for the kitchen. He prayed there was another way out, and if so, he was going to need to hold the doorway so they had time to get away.
With that thought in mind, Ryder flung the remains of the chair at the Terraphage’s orange eyes and made a break for the kitchen. He slid through the opening and slammed the door shut behind him. It was made of wood, nice and solid, but after what he’d seen that thing do to the chair seat, he was convinced it wouldn’t hold long.
A stainless-steel shelf stocked with supplies sat next to the door. Ryder grabbed the top shelf and toppled it over in front of the door.
“What are you doing?” asked Jordan. She was breathless, and panic raised her voice an octave.
“Giving you time to escape.”
“There’s no way out of here.”
The door shuddered under the Terraphage’s first attack.
“Then why the hell did you run in here?” he demanded. He needed more barriers to pile in front of the doorway. Something—anything to put in the path of that thing.
“I thought we’d be safe in here. It would give you time to kill it.”
“Listen, lady. There is no killing it. I tried to tell you that before. You run or you die.” He grabbed a sack of flour and piled it onto the toppled shelving. “Is there a window or anything you can use to get out?”
“No.”
“Then you’d better start tearing a hole through the wall.”
“It’s brick.”
“Hope you’ve got some dynamite, then, or we’re all dead.”
Anne whimpered, making Ryder feel like shit for scaring her more. She already knew she was going to die. He didn’t need to make it worse by scaring her more.
Ryder pushed a giant, freestanding mixer across the floor, ripping the cord from the wall. He shoved it onto the sloppy pile, knowing even as he did it that the effort was futile.
Jordan cradled her daughter. Her face was pale as death. “Closest thing I have is a propane tank I use on the grill in the summer.”
Ryder froze as the beginnings of a plan slithered into his mind. “Where is it?”
“Pantry.” She pointed toward an open doorway.
He ran to the pantry, found the tank. He couldn’t tell if it was completely full, but it was their best shot.
“Get in the pantry and stay there,” he ordered.