Lupi 06 - Blood Magic

others doors had. They weren't fully closed - but they weren't fully open, either, dammit. There was a dim rectangle of light maybe a foot wide. His eyes were tearing from the smoke, but he could see that pale rectangle.
    Like many hospital elevators, this one was deep enough to accommodate a gurney or hospital bed. Rule hung in the center of the shaft about five feet from that dim, tantalizing opening.
    He'd intended to get above the opening and launch himself out and down. That would have worked if the doors had opened all the way. As it was, he thought he could have squeezed through sideways - if there had been anywhere for him to stand on this side.
    There wasn't.
    He could go back down to the third floor, take the stairs up. That might make sense, but the urgency pounding through Rule kept him hanging there, staring at the opening, gripping hard with his legs to spare his arms, which were beginning to tire.
    Same plan, he decided. He'd just have to twist as he fell so he could get an arm and a leg through that opening - and yank himself through. If he missed, well, falling one and a half flights wouldn't kill him. Probably. Unless he was knocked out and the fire caught him - shut up, he told himself, but his mouth was dry with fear.
    He did not want to burn. He really, really, did not want to burn.
    So get it right.
    That was Benedict's voice, Benedict's words, the sort of thing he'd said often enough when Rule trained under him. Rule found himself nodding, agreeing with that laconic inner voice.
    He pulled himself higher, not thinking anymore. This was the body's job, not the brain's. The moment the arc looked right he stopped, shifted his grip to position himself - and flung himself out.
    His right arm whipped out, reaching for that pale rectangle. The ball of his right foot struck the metal track with jarring force, but his knee flexed, absorbing the impact, as he shot his arm through that opening - and even as his weight tried to pull him away, his forearm slammed onto the other side of the door. He clung there, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
    Damn. He'd made it.
    Not done yet. Move.
    He pulled his foot through first, then his body. The doors were completely inert, not sliding back as they should have, so it was a tight squeeze. By the time he emerged he'd noticed two things.
    The smoke was much less here, and seemed to be coming mostly from the elevator shaft. And it was way too quiet. The hall that led to Cullen's room was dark, probably too dark for human eyes - there was enough smoke to keep light from the single window from penetrating far - but he could make out two crumpled forms on the floor.
    There were voices, people calling out in fear, but they were few - and they all came from the far west end of the hall. The east side, where Cullen's room lay, was totally quiet.
    "Help me," said a male voice. "Help me. She won't wake up. None of them will wake up."
    The voice came from behind the nurses' station, which looked empty. When Rule moved closer, he saw over the high counter. A dark-skinned man knelt beside a woman who was sprawled on the floor. Another woman was sitting, slumped forward onto the counter.
    "They're still breathing?" he asked.
    The man nodded, his eyes round with fear. "But they won't wake up. Mr. Peterson in 330, he's on a ventilator. The power's out. I don't know what to do, and they won't wake up!"
    How long had it been since the lights went out? Maybe five minutes, Rule thought. It felt like much longer, but Rule had been in enough crisis and combat situations to know how time stretched. "Can you ventilate your patient by hand?"
    "I change the damned sheets! I don't know how to do that other shit. I came here to get someone, but they're all asleep!" His eyes were damp. He was ready to cry, scared out of his wits - but desperate to get help for the helpless.
    A good man? Or a killer bent over the woman he'd just put to sleep?
    Rule took a breath. He'd decided the sorcerer wasn't using his illusions for some reason. He'd proceed on that assumption, which meant he was looking for a short Asian man, not a gangly African American. "I don't know how to do that shit, either."
    "Then what do we do? What do we do, man?"
    Whatever had knocked everyone out, it wasn't gas. With the air-conditioning out, gas would have still been present. Rule might throw off the effects of such a gas much faster than a human, but it would still affect him. At the least, he'd be woozy. And he wasn't.
    A sleep