Switch by Grant McKenzie Page B

cut through the paint at the seams. It took ten minutes, some muscle and the rest of the soap to grease the tracks, but eventually the window slid up high enough for him to squeeze through.
    Sam dropped to the ground. A narrow, two-foot-wide alley of broken bottles, discarded needles and scraggy weeds ran the length of the building. Being careful of where he stepped, Sam headed down the alley to the end of the block where a flimsy wire fence had been breached so many times it was practically a door.
    Sam crossed the side street to the next block and walked to the corner. A quick check told him the Mercedes was still parked under the tree.
    Sam took a deep breath, opened the larger blade on his knife until it locked into place, and moved forward.

21
    MaryAnn’s scream brought more movement: the shuffling of feet followed by the snap of a bolt and the sandpaper scrape of rusty metal.
    The sounds were followed by a stabbing square of blue light that suddenly appeared as a floating mirage in the curtain of darkness.
    MaryAnn shielded her eyes from the painful light, using her fingers to filter some of the glare.
    ‘You’re awake,’ said a male voice. Its cadence was slow and husky. ‘Feeling sick?’
    MaryAnn swallowed, her throat dry.
    ‘Who are you?’ she asked timidly. ‘Where am I?’
    ‘Unimportant. How do you feel?’
    MaryAnn bit back an indignant retort.
    ‘I’m very thirsty and . . . there are rats in here.’
    ‘I’ll bring water.’
    The square of light vanished and the darkness returned even deeper and more foreboding than before. MaryAnn struggled not to cry, fearing that if she started, she wouldn’t know how to stop.
    Soon, the square of light returned.
    ‘Don’t cause trouble,’ said the voice, ‘and you’ll be fine.’
    MaryAnn heard the metallic clunk of the lock.
    ‘Where’s my mom?’ she asked.
    ‘Don’t worry about it.’
    The square of light shifted and grew into a large rectangle. Inside the rectangle and blocking most of the light was a hulking silhouette.
    The man ducked and entered the tiny cell. He had to remain bent over, as the ceiling was too low. Hunched over, his muscular body took on the shape of an ogre.
    MaryAnn had difficulty taking her eyes off the man as he approached, but she forced herself to scan her surroundings while she had light.
    The cell was a rough square carved out of the earth, barely six feet wide and around the same height. The four corners were supported by thick wooden beams, the rough lumber so dark and slick with creosote it looked like fossilized bone. Decaying panels of oil-soaked wood made a rough skirt around the base. Above the wood, the walls were nothing more than dried mud and flecks of rough stone.
    MaryAnn glanced up and gulped. The dirt ceiling had so many cracks it reminded her of a giant spider’s web.
    The sudden thought that she might die there sent a steel spike through her carefully maintained control, and MaryAnn felt herself begin to crack.
    The man handed her a bottle of water. He stood so close that she could smell his cloying aftershave. He had a square of plastic bandage on his neck, the centre of it spotted with dried blood.
    ‘I want my mom and dad,’ MaryAnn said weakly.
    The man shrugged.
    MaryAnn stared up at him, a sudden surge of anger igniting a fire in her pale green eyes. She unscrewed the cap on the bottle, took a deep drink of water to slake her thirst, and then unexpectedly sprang to her feet.
    Before the man could react, MaryAnn’s mouth opened and a high-pitched, ear-piercing scream punched from her throat using the full capacity of her adolescent lungs. The startled man lurched in surprise, his head smashing into the low ceiling.
    He grunted as broken slabs of dried mud rained down in a dirty shower around him.
    MaryAnn didn’t hesitate. She ran for the light, breaking through the doorway into a narrow, dimly lit passage as ancient as the cell. The floor was the same hard-baked mud and occasional wooden