around the bastard’s jowly neck and squeeze.
Cursing again, he leaned into the car, patting at the shadows around and below the seat and letting out a relieved grunt when his fingers finally closed on plastic.
Click.
Ross frowned.
There it was again. Still distant, but perhaps a little closer than before? Someone moving toward him?
Straightening, he turned, putting his back to his vehicle and slipping his ID into his pants pocket. He peered out across the lot intently.
“Hello?”
No response.
Which was exactly the response that Ross had expected. After all, his was one of only a handful of cars in the vast underground lot: the plant was on downtime for routine maintenance, and there was only a skeleton staff on duty. For Ross, though, downtime didn’t really exist: he was part of the cleaning crew, and in any nuclear power plant, the cleaning process never truly stopped. The giant structures were built with reinforced concrete that could withstand a direct impact from a passenger jet, but inside , in the building’s soft, vulnerable gut, even a grain of dirt getting into the generators could provoke a total shutdown. The cleaning crew painted walls and scrubbed at floors continuously, on a loop, fighting an eternal battle against a microscopic foe.
He glanced around the lot once more. Empty.
Ross shook his head and slammed the Toyota’s passenger door shut, far harder than was necessary. The car rocked in protest.
Beep.
Engaging the central locking, he started the short walk toward the distant stairwell that would take him from the third subterranean parking lot up to the surface, his mind dreaming up pithy retorts to Fred Darnell’s inevitable better things to do today, Carney?
Damn, he hated that bastard.
Click.
Click, click.
Ross froze, and felt a sudden surge of anxiety as his mind jolted him back to his surroundings. The bizarre clicking noise definitely sounded like it was moving.
“Is someone there?”
No response, but this time the silence was unmistakably ominous. Heavy somehow, as if it hinted at some subtext that Ross was aware of, but could not decipher. He glanced back at his car, half-tempted to jump back inside it and lock the doors. To wait until some other folks showed up to keep him company.
You’re being ridiculous, Carney.
The voice in Ross’ head had a point. If someone had made it past the power plant’s formidable front-gate security with the intention of doing harm to either the company or its employees, why would they be waiting on the third basement level of the parking lot? And if there was someone out there who wished to do Ross himself harm—some unlikely assassin who specialised in hunting down life’s awkward nobodies—how could they possibly have known that he would show up to work late? Or that he would even park down here?
Click…click.
It sounded farther away this time.
Ross blew out a long, slow breath and forced his tense shoulders to relax. The noise had to be mechanical or structural. Pipes, perhaps. Air-conditioning; whatever. The sort of noise the building made routinely, but which nobody would even notice when the lot was full of cars and people. Ross smiled to himself. That had to be it. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, and tiredness was making him paranoid, that was all. Making him perceive threat where there was none.
You really are an asshole, Carney.
He snorted out a quiet laugh, and started walking.
The underground parking lot was creepy, though, he decided. He had never really noticed before just how creepy. The company had installed motion sensors to control the lights, ensuring that only those that were strictly necessary were ever in use—part of the company’s Greener Thinking initiative; a series of half-assed directives that were supposed to somehow offset the fact that it was a fucking power plant .
Right now, Greener Thinking meant that the only part of the huge space which was currently lit was that which Ross
Cursing again, he leaned into the car, patting at the shadows around and below the seat and letting out a relieved grunt when his fingers finally closed on plastic.
Click.
Ross frowned.
There it was again. Still distant, but perhaps a little closer than before? Someone moving toward him?
Straightening, he turned, putting his back to his vehicle and slipping his ID into his pants pocket. He peered out across the lot intently.
“Hello?”
No response.
Which was exactly the response that Ross had expected. After all, his was one of only a handful of cars in the vast underground lot: the plant was on downtime for routine maintenance, and there was only a skeleton staff on duty. For Ross, though, downtime didn’t really exist: he was part of the cleaning crew, and in any nuclear power plant, the cleaning process never truly stopped. The giant structures were built with reinforced concrete that could withstand a direct impact from a passenger jet, but inside , in the building’s soft, vulnerable gut, even a grain of dirt getting into the generators could provoke a total shutdown. The cleaning crew painted walls and scrubbed at floors continuously, on a loop, fighting an eternal battle against a microscopic foe.
He glanced around the lot once more. Empty.
Ross shook his head and slammed the Toyota’s passenger door shut, far harder than was necessary. The car rocked in protest.
Beep.
Engaging the central locking, he started the short walk toward the distant stairwell that would take him from the third subterranean parking lot up to the surface, his mind dreaming up pithy retorts to Fred Darnell’s inevitable better things to do today, Carney?
Damn, he hated that bastard.
Click.
Click, click.
Ross froze, and felt a sudden surge of anxiety as his mind jolted him back to his surroundings. The bizarre clicking noise definitely sounded like it was moving.
“Is someone there?”
No response, but this time the silence was unmistakably ominous. Heavy somehow, as if it hinted at some subtext that Ross was aware of, but could not decipher. He glanced back at his car, half-tempted to jump back inside it and lock the doors. To wait until some other folks showed up to keep him company.
You’re being ridiculous, Carney.
The voice in Ross’ head had a point. If someone had made it past the power plant’s formidable front-gate security with the intention of doing harm to either the company or its employees, why would they be waiting on the third basement level of the parking lot? And if there was someone out there who wished to do Ross himself harm—some unlikely assassin who specialised in hunting down life’s awkward nobodies—how could they possibly have known that he would show up to work late? Or that he would even park down here?
Click…click.
It sounded farther away this time.
Ross blew out a long, slow breath and forced his tense shoulders to relax. The noise had to be mechanical or structural. Pipes, perhaps. Air-conditioning; whatever. The sort of noise the building made routinely, but which nobody would even notice when the lot was full of cars and people. Ross smiled to himself. That had to be it. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, and tiredness was making him paranoid, that was all. Making him perceive threat where there was none.
You really are an asshole, Carney.
He snorted out a quiet laugh, and started walking.
The underground parking lot was creepy, though, he decided. He had never really noticed before just how creepy. The company had installed motion sensors to control the lights, ensuring that only those that were strictly necessary were ever in use—part of the company’s Greener Thinking initiative; a series of half-assed directives that were supposed to somehow offset the fact that it was a fucking power plant .
Right now, Greener Thinking meant that the only part of the huge space which was currently lit was that which Ross
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