Trust Me

41

It took Mouser only seconds to reason it out. The two bastards – the old man and the nine-lives punk – had entered the elevator shaft from the roof.

He forced the doors open with a mighty shove. It took all his strength but he peered down into the darkness of the elevator shaft.

He heard the crack of a shot, saw Drummond, sliding from the roof of the cabin sliding into its interior. The hatch clanged shut.

‘Snow!’ He screamed down the shaft. It made an echo: No. No.

He could see the support rails inside the shaft. He leapt inside, landed on metal, and grabbed hold. He began a mad, spidery scramble downwards.

Seventh floor. They ran for the stairwell. The floor was a huge, empty open space. Soft light made squares on the concrete floor. There was no place to take cover.

They moved quietly but quickly down the stairs. Several floors below them, they heard the clang of a door.

‘Hell,’ Drummond whispered, leaning against Luke. The injuries to his head and his shoulder made his voice thick, his walk shaky. ‘Don’t let your heart guide you. Stay cool. Remote. Always.’

‘Shut up with the advice,’ Luke said.

‘By the way, my gun is empty.’

‘I have the one you gave me.’

They reached the third floor. Storage space, empty of tenants. Crates and boxes everywhere. Plastic-wrapped office furniture – chairs, desks.

Drummond listened. ‘I hear them coming. I think they’re in the stairwell.’

‘Then we go out the window.’ Luke hurried along the windows, peering down. One side of the building was scarce of foot traffic.

He stripped plastic from a heavy desk, he braided the fire hose through the drawer’s opening and he rammed the desk through the window. Glass exploded and the desk plummeted, unfurling the heavy hose. The desk stopped ten feet above the pavement, dangling like a broken pendulum against the building.

‘Come on!’ Luke yelled. ‘On my back.’ No time for them both to climb down the rope. Luke felt Drummond’s solid weight go on his back and he threw himself out onto the makeshift rope.