Molly ran into the powerhouse, pulling water in front of her body like a shield. It wouldn’t do much to protect her, but it might at least make her a harder target to hit. She hurtled toward the edge of the catwalk and vaulted over it, shoving water under her to soften the landing.
It still hurt—the impact jarred her knees, ankles, even her shoulders. But she kept her feet and crouched into a fighting stance, water swirling around her.
Well, she’d surprised him, anyway. He turned toward her, drawing his gun so fast she felt a jolt of terror through the adrenaline. “How many of you are there?” he yelled.