The sound of steel ripped like linen sent shivers down my spine. Behind me a gust of wind blew out from the dark and steam burst from a severed pipe. In the wake of the sound, a figure dominated the hallway. Mauler stared me down while bathed in the dim glow of moonlight peeking through a broken window.
"You don't know when to quit, do you?" I asked. I meant for it to sound intimidating. It didn't come out the way I wanted it. It was more like pleading for my life than a threat.
He started towards me. I pulled on a stockpile of crates stacked to my left, sending them tumbling towards the pursuer and putting distance between us. It crashed onto the tight corridor's floor with a rumble that Cindi and Dharia must have heard too.
I bolted down the hall. Mauler vaulted the debris and chased after me without a word spoken. A turn in the hallway banked sharply right. Running at full speed, I slammed into the wall, bounced off a metal sheet like a rubber ball, and continued with my momentum into a maneuver--the likes of which would turn a recruiter's head at your local high school baseball game--around the corner.
Thumping, like a stampeding wildebeest, emanated behind me. Loud and pounding. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. The clamor kept me from looking back. If I glanced back, I would probably stop in my tracks and crumple onto the floor terrified.
I came across a door opened ajar. I slammed into it then swiveled to close it behind me and lock it. Another force slammed against the door nearly knocking it off its hinges.
I was trapped in a utility closet. I looked around to find some tools and cleaning equipment, hardly anything that would count as a self-defense weapon. I picked up a broom and held it like a spear at the ready. Silence. I couldn't hear him on the other side.
"If you're there I'm sure we can talk and come to some kind of understanding." I was terrified and clutching onto any semblance of hope I could muster. Hopefully he was in the mood for a conversation. A sudden bang at the door made me jump.
"What did you do with Lynn?" I called out. "Did you hurt him?"
Mauler groaned loudly from behind the closed door. "Face it kid. You're not cut out for this."
Inside the closet a set of cleaning supplies were packed into a large box. I felt a slight breeze tickle my neck coming from its direction. Near the top of the box was a vent. On a shelf beside me a screwdriver stuck out to me like a golden ticket. I got to work unscrewing it all the while my pursuer's knocking cascaded into a thunderous rapping at the door.
The screws dropped down with a slight clink. After opening the vent and climbing in, I noticed the knocking stop. He must have left.
The vents were tight and dark, but manageable for me to maneuver through. I used my phone as a light source. I shimmied on my elbows and knees deep inside, passing over another storage closet and hallway before coming to an open area of the warehouse. Removing the vent here was relatively easier.
I lowered myself down cautiously. I was back near where our small trash fire had been. The vent rose above a nest of dormant forklifts, pallet jacks, and other dangerous equipment that should have probably been removed from the warehouse before completely shuddering it down. Though, I could hardly complain in this instance.
I came around to where we had been settled and found our fire snuffed out. It must have been put out quickly since there were still a few blinking embers poking through the ash. Cindi and Dharia were nowhere to be found.
Should I call out to them? No, of course not. Mauler would find me. But what if he found them already? I pulled out my cell and texted Cindi. I waited a few minutes but she did not respond. I'm wasting time. I need to get out of this place. That's probably what happened to them. They must have left already.
Or did they go looking for me? Cindi wouldn't have left without me, right? So why did I humor the idea of leaving them to fend for themselves?
Face it kid. You're not cut out for this.
I'll show your mangy ass who's not cut out for this. Whatever "this" was. It must have been some sort of conspiracy. Just what kind of conspiracy I was not sure of yet. If the Saints were willing to sic this freak on us, the Hypercube must have been important enough to kill for.
Just how could I use this knowledge to my advantage? Think.
Clang! Something metal dropped on the warehouse floor. Someone was down here with me. I hid behind the nearest crate I could find and waited patiently.
I looked over the top of the box and noticed a shadowy figure stalking around the far end of the floor. It emerged from a hallway towards the back entrance. Where I had been hidden in the closet. It stalked closer and closer. He got close enough for me to see him in the dim half-light.
He was dirty. His clothes had a dark dampness to them from when he confronted us in the empty canal. His hair was oily and disheveled. Dirt painted his face. His eyes glowed in the dark, like a cat's.
He stood over our firepit, investigating the site as if he found our footprints in the mud. He rubbed a bit of the ash between his fingers and smelled it. He must have known we left quickly. His tiger eyes scanned the dark. "I know you're here, runt," he said aloud. "It's only a matter of time before I find you cowering and sniveling behind one of these crates. I've got my boys circling the warehouse in their car, eager to split some skulls. There's nowhere to run."
He could have been bullshitting but did I really want to risk that?
"You're friends left you. You're alone," he taunted.
Bullshit.
"Lynn's gone too. Probably assumed you three were a lost cause." Mauler circled a decommissioned forklift and tapped it with his toe curiously. "You know they told me to kill you? Said their Hypercube was too precious to just be left to a kid's own devices. Sorry, but it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you've caught yourself in the middle of it. A runt in a hound's world." He let out a bloodletting laugh.
As if you would know what it was like to be a runt. I clenched my fist till I drew blood. Mauler sniffed the air. A fanged smile curled around his lips.
"You want to be strong? All men do. All boys dream of breaking a bone or two," he said. Did I dream about something as stupid as that? No, of course not. He was pulling this out of his ass, trying to rile me up. He couldn't really believe that, could he?
"These gifts," he said, flexing his fingers, like he was squeezing a stress toy. "They make a man. Makes him strong. Help me and I'll show you what kind of man it can make you."
His hand--no…his claw gripped the box above me. Sharp fingernails like knives. His familiar smile peered down at me. "Found you."
Gripping the plastic handle of the screwdriver, squeezing it as hard as I could, I raised it as high and as quickly as I could. Thankfully it was dark enough for me to conceal it. If he had seen me holding it, I could have never gotten the jump on him.
I drove the screwdriver deep into his hand's hairy skin and buried it in the flesh beneath. Blood splattered onto the floor.
"FUCK!" he roared. His entire body tensed with fury and pain. His scream echoed throughout the warehouse--maybe the entire street.
I bolted for the back door. The copper stench of blood sent a shock of adrenaline throughout my limbic system.
He caught the back of my collar. I tripped and fell as he stumbled after me.
I landed beside the dying coals of our makeshift fire. As the Mauler loomed above me, nursing his mangled hand and reaching out for my neck, I grabbed a handful of the ashes, embers still blinking like distant streetlights, and threw them in his eyes. He reeled back in pain as I kicked back onto my feet. He howled like a wolf caught in a bear trap.
I started running again. My hand stung like hell. But I was so close. I was almost there. I slammed into the backdoor just as I slammed into the hallway door. I pushed against the exit as I turned the door's handle.
Nothing.
No budge. The door would not give way. I looked outside the broken window and saw that the door was trapped by a twisted metal bar, like a steel pretzel blocking my escape. Looked like a rusty pipe. I was trapped. The window, like the rest in the warehouse, was too small for a person to crawl through.
The hallway closet was close by. Maybe I could have hid in there again. I turned the corner and noticed that the door was lying flat on the floor like a discarded lid. He must have pulled it off of its hinges.
"Shit."
Mauler called out from the dark. His voice carried through the warehouse like a faulty pipe. "If you want to get out you'll have to get through me!" He laughed like a blender crushing concrete. "Backdoor won't save you now, runt!"
He was still in the warehouse. But he didn't follow me. He must have heard me slam into the door, though, so why wasn't he chasing after me? Why prolong it?
I slipped onto the warehouse floor, sticking to the shadows and to the back wall just as Lynn did on our way here. A shuffle of feet and boxes gave away the gangster's position. He cursed and a toolbox fell over, scattering wrenches and nails onto the concrete floor. He stumbled over them in the dark like a child stepping over a spilled toybox.
He shielded his eyes. Kept them hidden.
He was having trouble seeing in the dark. That's why he didn't follow me. Mauler prowled around the front entrance because he knew I had no other way to get out. Those ashes must have done a number on his vision.
"You had your chance to turn things around," he said aloud. "I'm going to ruin you. And those pathetic brats too."
I pushed off from the wall and reached a crate closer to the center of the room. He started to wander around the warehouse, checking behind equipment, boxes, anything I could use to hide behind. The screwdriver I pinned his hand with was nowhere in sight.
I got closer and closer, sticking to cover, praying that he doesn't see me. One step after another, one hiding spot after another, like I was playing manhunt with the other kids in Midtown.
The old building creaked as a pipe burst with a sudden flush of wind and clogged dust. It breathed like an injured animal as air rushed in through broken windows, carrying with it the outside smell of dewy rain and distant whispers of passing cars in the night. In the mess of senses, I caught a whiff of Mauler's musk. Wet dog.
I plugged my nose and inched closer and closer. I huddled beneath a raised machine a stone's throw away when my feet stopped dead in their tracks.
Mauler's nose perked up. He sniffed the air like a bloodhound.
"Found you," he whispered.
My hand brushed the machine I hid under. A decommissioned yellow forklift. I slinked along by the wheels and entered the open driver's seat. It's controls too rusted and fuel tank too empty to be of any use, though it still held a considerable weight in my proverbial arsenal.
Inside of the machine I absorbed in the mess of rusted metal shells, exposed wires like tangled vines, and naked buttons that would make a grown mechanic cry.
Then, my gaze skipped over the dashboard.
The forks were still raised. Way above head level. They were as high as they possibly could go. Higher than the other forklifts or jacks around me.
And in front of the forks I also noticed a panther prowling ever closer.
Mauler's combat boots scraped across concrete, slow and deliberate, savoring the hunt.
Closer.
And closer.
And even closer.
My fingers trembled as I wrapped them around the lift's emergency break. These older models use partially pressurized hydraulic seals that if given the right circumstances, could prove a useful safety hazard.
I prayed to whoever would listen. I reached my hands into the exposed wires, hoping that there was still a bit of juice left in the system, and I searched for what I presumed were the ignition and starter wires.
Please work. They connected…and silence.
Shadows stirred. A breathy whistle cleared the air.
Please.
Static. Static surged through my finger tips. My fingers went numb.
…and still, no spark. At least until…
One shadow, broad and towering filled the interior of the vehicle. Closer enough that he could reach over the dashboard and wring my neck.
Just this once…please help me.
The purr of metal kittens rose above the silence. Static like rolling thunder sparked the room alight.
The forklift's headlights lit up Mauler's dark scowl. I yanked the lever just as he brought his arm up to shield his eyes and the metal tongs snapped downward violently, crushing his shoulder and driving him into the concrete like a rag doll.
The forklift, woken from its slumbering coma, hummed with satisfaction like a big game hunter relishing in his victory.