wasn’t familiar
with the nocturnal activities of corporate security but leaving one’s post unattended
didn’t seem to be standard operating procedure. I ran past the desk and
hesitated when I saw the elevators. The elevators had security cameras and I
wasn’t ready for that kind of exposure. I threw open the door to the stairwell
and pounded up one flight after another.
At the seventh floor, I paused to catch my breath. I reached
under my shirt and unholstered the Glock 26. In the movies, the heroes always
checked to make sure the gun was loaded or pulled back the slide to chamber a
round before leaping into the fray. In reality, you don’t get this far only to
realize you came with an empty gun. Either you’re ready, or you’re not. I
reached for the door and readied myself for what waited on the other side.
I threw the door open and came in low, moving to my right,
away from the doorway, into the shadows until my shoulder hit the far wall.
The Glock was pushed out in front of me, scanning for targets. I saw none.
Nothing was moving. The place was dark and quiet, just as it should be.
For a moment I wondered if it was a sick joke on Chris’
part. Had he called me to hassle me? To make me leap out of bed and look like a
fool, rushing to save him from some imaginary demise? Chris could be a
jokester, but he wasn’t the sort to do something like this.
I kept low, in a crouch, and followed the line of cubicles
down one side of the office space. Nothing. I paused, peeked up over the top of
the partitions. Prairie-dogging, they called it, when you poked your head up to
look out over the cubicle farm. It was then that I saw movement across the
office. A figure running.
I ducked down an aisle, keeping low, then came out the end
with the pistol leading the way. The figure was gone. I glanced around. We were
alone. I ran for the door the figure had gone through. It was a conference
room. Plenty of places to hide. I stopped outside. Breathe… ready… go! I ducked
inside, gun up and scanned the room. The figure was disappearing out the door
on the far side of the room. Before he was out the door, he hit the light switch
and the banks of fluorescent lights, blazed to life in the ceiling, blinding
me. I ducked out of the room, trying to recover whatever bit of nightvision I
could retain, my eyes struggling to adjust.
The intruder was doubling back to the stairwell where I’d
approached minutes before. I circled back, careful not to blunder into an
ambush. I saw the man duck into the stairwell, but I noticed something wrong
with him. He seemed to hobbling, as if in pain. I wondered if this could be
Chris, thinking I was after him, trying to gun him down.
“Chris?” I said aloud, my voice wavering. “Chris?”
I pushed open the door and found Chris there, but it took me
a moment to recognize him. His face had been beaten in a way that takes time
and malice. Someone had worked him over… someone who wanted to extract
information from him. His face cracked into the smallest of smiles when he saw
me and he let out a sigh of laughter, but it only lasted a moment, before being
overtaken by a wince of pain as he tried to walk. I realized he had been able
to run… run when he thought it was for his life, but here in the presence of a
friend, the relief took his legs from him.
He reached for me to steady him and I saw that his hand was
covered in blood. I tried not to react, to let him see my face as I assessed
him, but the horror of it was too awful to keep it hidden. Chris had been shot
once in the side, the bullet passing through flesh without hitting vital
organs. He was bleeding badly, but it was the pain that crippled him more than
the wound.
Chris took a step toward me and his knee buckled. I stepped
in, trying to catch him, but the sheer weight of the man brought us both to our
knees. I cursed under my breath, tried to tell him that it would be alright and
knew that I was the worst liar for having said it.
with the nocturnal activities of corporate security but leaving one’s post unattended
didn’t seem to be standard operating procedure. I ran past the desk and
hesitated when I saw the elevators. The elevators had security cameras and I
wasn’t ready for that kind of exposure. I threw open the door to the stairwell
and pounded up one flight after another.
At the seventh floor, I paused to catch my breath. I reached
under my shirt and unholstered the Glock 26. In the movies, the heroes always
checked to make sure the gun was loaded or pulled back the slide to chamber a
round before leaping into the fray. In reality, you don’t get this far only to
realize you came with an empty gun. Either you’re ready, or you’re not. I
reached for the door and readied myself for what waited on the other side.
I threw the door open and came in low, moving to my right,
away from the doorway, into the shadows until my shoulder hit the far wall.
The Glock was pushed out in front of me, scanning for targets. I saw none.
Nothing was moving. The place was dark and quiet, just as it should be.
For a moment I wondered if it was a sick joke on Chris’
part. Had he called me to hassle me? To make me leap out of bed and look like a
fool, rushing to save him from some imaginary demise? Chris could be a
jokester, but he wasn’t the sort to do something like this.
I kept low, in a crouch, and followed the line of cubicles
down one side of the office space. Nothing. I paused, peeked up over the top of
the partitions. Prairie-dogging, they called it, when you poked your head up to
look out over the cubicle farm. It was then that I saw movement across the
office. A figure running.
I ducked down an aisle, keeping low, then came out the end
with the pistol leading the way. The figure was gone. I glanced around. We were
alone. I ran for the door the figure had gone through. It was a conference
room. Plenty of places to hide. I stopped outside. Breathe… ready… go! I ducked
inside, gun up and scanned the room. The figure was disappearing out the door
on the far side of the room. Before he was out the door, he hit the light switch
and the banks of fluorescent lights, blazed to life in the ceiling, blinding
me. I ducked out of the room, trying to recover whatever bit of nightvision I
could retain, my eyes struggling to adjust.
The intruder was doubling back to the stairwell where I’d
approached minutes before. I circled back, careful not to blunder into an
ambush. I saw the man duck into the stairwell, but I noticed something wrong
with him. He seemed to hobbling, as if in pain. I wondered if this could be
Chris, thinking I was after him, trying to gun him down.
“Chris?” I said aloud, my voice wavering. “Chris?”
I pushed open the door and found Chris there, but it took me
a moment to recognize him. His face had been beaten in a way that takes time
and malice. Someone had worked him over… someone who wanted to extract
information from him. His face cracked into the smallest of smiles when he saw
me and he let out a sigh of laughter, but it only lasted a moment, before being
overtaken by a wince of pain as he tried to walk. I realized he had been able
to run… run when he thought it was for his life, but here in the presence of a
friend, the relief took his legs from him.
He reached for me to steady him and I saw that his hand was
covered in blood. I tried not to react, to let him see my face as I assessed
him, but the horror of it was too awful to keep it hidden. Chris had been shot
once in the side, the bullet passing through flesh without hitting vital
organs. He was bleeding badly, but it was the pain that crippled him more than
the wound.
Chris took a step toward me and his knee buckled. I stepped
in, trying to catch him, but the sheer weight of the man brought us both to our
knees. I cursed under my breath, tried to tell him that it would be alright and
knew that I was the worst liar for having said it.
Similar Books
