The Final Twist

The Steelworks

After the third guard draws his weapon and fires, Shaw returns one shot, missing, and he and Nita step into one of the empty storerooms. Shaw looks out occasionally, Glock ready. One or two of the men near the office will fire his way, but casually without aiming. It’s covering fire only, to keep them down, to keep them back.

And it’s working.

Shaw called 911 and reported the shots.

Why, though, are the three not charging him? Moving forward, shooting... They could overwhelm Shaw and the young woman. She’s crying, shivering.

Rock, Paper, Scissors...

Still not charging them. Shaw then looks around the corner and sees why.

A man walks down the stairs, listing under the weight of a five-gallon gasoline can. He takes it into the TV room.

Because he’s armed, they must assume that Shaw is an undercover cop, or at the least he’s called the police. So the order has come from the owner of the place to destroy the physical evidence, the computer files.

Everything has to disappear.

Including the witnesses.

And in the process, they can avoid getting shot by charging Shaw.

With a crisp whoosh, the massive fireball fills the office and rolls into the corridor. Orange, black, yellow. Uncontrolled boiling, mesmerizing if it weren’t so deadly. The men vanish.

Down here, Shaw notes, there are no sprinklers.

Shaw calls 911 again and reports there’s now a fire.

For what good it will do. The entire building will be a pile of cinders in twenty minutes.

The stampede above them is a roar and is accompanied by muted screams. He believes he hears, “We have to get out. Help us!” The smoke will be rising to the dance floor.

The flames illuminate the basement. Shaw hopes he’ll be able to see another exit. There is one but it’s chained, and his lock-picking skills only go so far.

There’s one way out.

“Come on.” He takes Nita by the arm and leads her straight toward the conflagration.

“No!” she screams.

He tugs her more firmly. “Our only chance.” She comes along.

They approach the turbulent flames, the heat scraping their skin. Just before it becomes unbearable, Shaw turns to the right, into the storeroom across from the office. The flames are lapping at the outer wall but have not yet eaten through.

He moves to the side facing the stairs and begins to kick the Sheetrock. This wouldn’t work if he were in his rubber-soled Eccos but his boots’ leather soles, the heels in particular, make indentations in the wall. Again, again. Finally he breaks through. It’s a small hole. He ducks and looks through it. Yes, the area at the foot of the stairs — only ten feet away — is empty of hostiles. But soon it will be engulfed in flame.

More kicking. The hole grows slowly larger.

Nita helps. She’s strong. When Shaw cracks a piece, she pulls it free. The hole is now about eighteen inches around. Almost big enough to fit through.

Kick, pull.

Both are coughing. His eyes sting and stream. The fire is stealing the oxygen. He feels light-headed.

Kick, pull...

Now, finally, it’s big enough for them to fit through.

“Go on.”

She wriggles through and collapses on the other side.

The pounding feet on the dance floor above them have stopped. Everyone has evacuated. The roar of the flames is the only sound.

Shaw turns to the hole they broke open in the Sheetrock and says to Nita, “Up the stairs now, fast. There’ll be police.”

“But... what about you?”

He smiles to her. “Not yet.”

And turns back, jogging to the far end of the corridor.