command, cut the power, got it?" A masked head nodded. "OK Squad. Let’s move out."
Weapons ready, they crossed the street at a stealthy run and entered the complex.
"We need to get the hell out of here," Corg whispered urgently as the sound of feet on floorboards intensified and whoever was coming drew closer to his door.
"Damn straight," I agreed. "You got any more weapons here?" My scavenged one was empty.
Corg had an odd look in his eye but he still contrived to look exasperated, like I just asked something ridiculous. "No," he said, "You don’t shit where you eat."
"OK."
"But I do have an escape plan." He fixed me with one last, uncertain, look and left the blood soaked bathroom, studiously ignoring the gory tableau I had created.
Feeling somewhat relieved to be leaving myself, I followed him out of the room and down the hallway to what he had always described as a spare room, though I had slept in it a sufficient number of times, admittedly usually in a drunken stupor, that I considered it with a certain proprietary air. I even, I remembered suddenly, kept a spare work suit in a bag on the back of the door. I grabbed it, as Corg shut the door on the corridor behind us, and felt the comforting weight of a pair of old shoes in the bottom of the pile.
The room was painted with magnolia neutrality and sparsely decorated, the only furniture a steel bed, a nightstand, and a large cheap looking wardrobe that took up all of one wall of the small room.
It was to this closet that Corg now crossed, opening both doors wide to reveal nothing inside save a large and heavy looking lump hammer resting against the back wall. It was shiny and brand new, with an unused bright yellow handle and a dull black head.
"This is your exit strategy?" I asked, half amused despite myself and the events of the evening.
Corg managed a shaky grin too as he braced himself and hefted the hammer. "Always good to be prepared right?"
He swung, the heavy head connecting with what turned out to be little more than plasterboard, gouging a huge hole in it. Three more strokes and there was a splintered, jagged edged space big enough for the two of us to climb through.
"Shut the wardrobe door behind you," Corg said as he disappeared through his handiwork. "It might buy us a little time."
The closet snicked shut behind me as I followed in his wake.
The room in which we found ourselves was, aside from being completely empty, the mirror image of the one we had just left.
"That’s a very neat escape route," I said to Corg, brushing dust from my jacket sleeves.
"Yeah," he said mildly. "Never used it until today." He led the way across the room and out into the corridor beyond. Whispering now, he added, "Used to think maybe it was a bit paranoid, you know?"
"Until today?" I whispered back.
"Yeah, about now I’m feeling pretty vindicated." In a weird way, he sounded quite pleased. "We better hustle," he added, and we moved on in silence. The air was thick with dust that filled the grey half light of the abandoned building, filtering through sealed, grainy windows with a soupy heaviness.
I followed Corg carefully down a flaking staircase then through another hall of creaking boards to a door chained and sealed with a big, serious looking dull padlock. The key was taped with electrician’s tape next to it on the bare brickwork.
I gave Corg a look. He shrugged, "No one’s meant to come in from the outside. Think about it, I don’t want to be tripping over some bum who’s decided to squat in my escape tunnel." I thought about it.
"Makes sense."
"Course it does," he said, tearing the key from the wall and clicking open the lock. He cranked the door out into the dark street beyond then looked back at me, grinning, really getting into the spirit of things now.
"Let’s boogie."
Outside Corg’s front door, Quinn was making an executive decision. It was time to put covert considerations to one side.
"Take it down."
Wood splintered
Weapons ready, they crossed the street at a stealthy run and entered the complex.
"We need to get the hell out of here," Corg whispered urgently as the sound of feet on floorboards intensified and whoever was coming drew closer to his door.
"Damn straight," I agreed. "You got any more weapons here?" My scavenged one was empty.
Corg had an odd look in his eye but he still contrived to look exasperated, like I just asked something ridiculous. "No," he said, "You don’t shit where you eat."
"OK."
"But I do have an escape plan." He fixed me with one last, uncertain, look and left the blood soaked bathroom, studiously ignoring the gory tableau I had created.
Feeling somewhat relieved to be leaving myself, I followed him out of the room and down the hallway to what he had always described as a spare room, though I had slept in it a sufficient number of times, admittedly usually in a drunken stupor, that I considered it with a certain proprietary air. I even, I remembered suddenly, kept a spare work suit in a bag on the back of the door. I grabbed it, as Corg shut the door on the corridor behind us, and felt the comforting weight of a pair of old shoes in the bottom of the pile.
The room was painted with magnolia neutrality and sparsely decorated, the only furniture a steel bed, a nightstand, and a large cheap looking wardrobe that took up all of one wall of the small room.
It was to this closet that Corg now crossed, opening both doors wide to reveal nothing inside save a large and heavy looking lump hammer resting against the back wall. It was shiny and brand new, with an unused bright yellow handle and a dull black head.
"This is your exit strategy?" I asked, half amused despite myself and the events of the evening.
Corg managed a shaky grin too as he braced himself and hefted the hammer. "Always good to be prepared right?"
He swung, the heavy head connecting with what turned out to be little more than plasterboard, gouging a huge hole in it. Three more strokes and there was a splintered, jagged edged space big enough for the two of us to climb through.
"Shut the wardrobe door behind you," Corg said as he disappeared through his handiwork. "It might buy us a little time."
The closet snicked shut behind me as I followed in his wake.
The room in which we found ourselves was, aside from being completely empty, the mirror image of the one we had just left.
"That’s a very neat escape route," I said to Corg, brushing dust from my jacket sleeves.
"Yeah," he said mildly. "Never used it until today." He led the way across the room and out into the corridor beyond. Whispering now, he added, "Used to think maybe it was a bit paranoid, you know?"
"Until today?" I whispered back.
"Yeah, about now I’m feeling pretty vindicated." In a weird way, he sounded quite pleased. "We better hustle," he added, and we moved on in silence. The air was thick with dust that filled the grey half light of the abandoned building, filtering through sealed, grainy windows with a soupy heaviness.
I followed Corg carefully down a flaking staircase then through another hall of creaking boards to a door chained and sealed with a big, serious looking dull padlock. The key was taped with electrician’s tape next to it on the bare brickwork.
I gave Corg a look. He shrugged, "No one’s meant to come in from the outside. Think about it, I don’t want to be tripping over some bum who’s decided to squat in my escape tunnel." I thought about it.
"Makes sense."
"Course it does," he said, tearing the key from the wall and clicking open the lock. He cranked the door out into the dark street beyond then looked back at me, grinning, really getting into the spirit of things now.
"Let’s boogie."
Outside Corg’s front door, Quinn was making an executive decision. It was time to put covert considerations to one side.
"Take it down."
Wood splintered
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