She led the charge with Tay by her side, but it was Zip who threw a trash can through the building’s front window. Glass showered onto the tile floor and glittered like cutting frost. They ran through the empty foyer past a reception desk, froth on a human wave. If they stopped running they’d be trampled by those behind, ground into the glass. Not that Chel wanted to stop. Night after night standing guard, pacing through the camp, all that over in an afternoon. She ran, and offices broke behind her. The charge spent itself down side passages and up stairs. Wood splintered and drywall burst and shattered pipes sprayed precious water onto bathroom floors. The Major’s people did most of the damage, hunting trophies, stripping the office accoutrements with which the King in Red’s contractors defaced this ancient temple. Holes in drywall bared carved stone beneath. Chel ran through galleries and past open workspaces, and her red-arms followed. “I don’t see the door,” Tay shouted.
