Fuchs saw dark-clad figures stumbling up the path, coughing, staggering. He scrambled to his feet and picked up one of the nearly spent pistols.
“Stop where you are!” he shouted, coughing himself.
The closest man tossed his pistol into the bushes. “Let us out!” he yelled. “The fire…”
The others behind him also threw their guns away. They all lurched toward Fuchs, coughing, rubbing at their eyes. Behind them the flames inched across the flowers and grass, climbed nimbly up the trunk of a tree. Its crown of leaves burst into flame.
“The hatch is locked,” Fuchs told them. “We’re all trapped in here.”
The security guards didn’t believe him. Their leader rushed to the hatch, tapped frantically at the keyboard panel.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he growled. “Of all the sonofabitch fuck-ups…”
“It’s automatic, I imagine,” said Fuchs, resignedly. “Nothing we can do about it.”
The security guard stared at him. “But they should have emergency teams. Something—”
At that moment a voice rumbled through the heavy hatch, “This is Selene emergency services. Is anybody there? Rap on the hatch.”
Fuchs almost leaped with sudden joy and hope. He banged the butt of his pistol against the steel hatch.
“Okay. We’re setting up an airlock. Once it’s ready we’ll be able to start taking you out. How many of you are there?”
Fuchs counted swiftly and then rapped on the hatch eleven times, thinking, We might live through this after all. We might get out of this alive.