think that’s right.”
“So we have to
fool the system, make it think that other door’s closed. You got any duct tape around here?”
“Of course we got
duct tape. What kind of rinky-dink
outfit you think we’re running here?”
Am I imagining things, or is his voice
changing?
Justin took in a
deep breath. He had to do this while
Petey remained in control of his faculties. Because once Petey stopped being Petey and lost the inclination to
operate the control board, Justin would have nobody to buzz him out. Even if he rammed one of those makeshift
stakes through Petey’s heart and made his vampire career a short one, he’d be
stuck in here. Maybe not in a cell, but
stuck anyway.
Claw marks .
“Can you get it
for me?” Justin asked. “Or tell me where it is?”
With what appeared
like a titanic effort, Petey reached under the table and came up with a plastic
bin of sundries. He pushed it down the
length of the table at Justin and collapsed back in his chair. The seat back groaned beneath his
weight. “Jesus,” he muttered.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m
just…fuck, man, I’m feeling like shit all of a sudden, you know? You think I could be having a heart attack?”
Where is it where is it where where where IS
THE FUCKING DUCT TAPE
At the bottom,
just beneath a dirty Burlington Royals ball cap, Justin located the tape. His right hand closed around it and he jerked
it out. “Naw, man. You’re nineteen. Folks like us don’t have heart attacks.”
“Yeah, but I’m a
big, fat, nasty pig. I ain’t got blood,
I got grease with pieces of bacon floating in it.”
“You’re all
right,” Justin lied. “Now get your
fingers to that control board. We’re
getting out of here.”
“That’s a big
ten-four.”
Justin exited the
control room and waited for the first buzz. When the door opened, he held it ajar with his body while he tore a
length of the gray tape and applied it to the security roller on the lock’s
striker plate.
One down, one to go. We can do this.
He stepped inside
the tiny vestibule and let the door close. Then he turned and knocked on the control room window. On the other side of the glass, Petey jabbed
at the button. But nothing happened.
“What’s
wrong?” Petey asked. It came out wass-ong , like a drunk.
It’s magnetic, not mechanical. If metal doesn’t touch metal, that damn thing
knows it’s still open.
I’m fucked.
His head swam with
a sudden surge of panic. It attacked
with such force that he nearly lost his balance. He steadied himself on the wall, resting his head
against the glass.
“Justin?”
No. He wasn’t fucked. Not yet.
He raised his
head. Then he walked back through
in-processing and into the control room.
“What’s wrong?”
“You got your
truck keys on you?”
“Uhh…yeah. Why?”
“Can you throw
them to me?”
Petey stared at
him.
His eyes are going to go black. Any minute now. He’ll blink and they’ll be solid black. And he’ll have fangs.
But then he
reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them onto the table, where they
fell with a jangle. Justin grabbed
them.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s under the
gloves, Petey? You got bit, didn’t
you? On the hand?”
Petey looked down
at his gloved hands. His head swayed
precariously, then rolled into a resigned nod.
“I’m going to get
help, all right? We’ll get the feds,
Center for Disease Control, all those people. We’ll get this fixed. Including
you, okay?”
“Gotta hurry,”
Petey said. His voice was almost a
whisper now. “I feel like ass.”
“I can do
that. But I need you to stay with me a
bit, okay? I need you to operate these
controls. Because the system knows
there’s still a door open. The duct tape
didn’t work.”
“Duct tape…always
works.”
“Not this
time.
“So we have to
fool the system, make it think that other door’s closed. You got any duct tape around here?”
“Of course we got
duct tape. What kind of rinky-dink
outfit you think we’re running here?”
Am I imagining things, or is his voice
changing?
Justin took in a
deep breath. He had to do this while
Petey remained in control of his faculties. Because once Petey stopped being Petey and lost the inclination to
operate the control board, Justin would have nobody to buzz him out. Even if he rammed one of those makeshift
stakes through Petey’s heart and made his vampire career a short one, he’d be
stuck in here. Maybe not in a cell, but
stuck anyway.
Claw marks .
“Can you get it
for me?” Justin asked. “Or tell me where it is?”
With what appeared
like a titanic effort, Petey reached under the table and came up with a plastic
bin of sundries. He pushed it down the
length of the table at Justin and collapsed back in his chair. The seat back groaned beneath his
weight. “Jesus,” he muttered.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m
just…fuck, man, I’m feeling like shit all of a sudden, you know? You think I could be having a heart attack?”
Where is it where is it where where where IS
THE FUCKING DUCT TAPE
At the bottom,
just beneath a dirty Burlington Royals ball cap, Justin located the tape. His right hand closed around it and he jerked
it out. “Naw, man. You’re nineteen. Folks like us don’t have heart attacks.”
“Yeah, but I’m a
big, fat, nasty pig. I ain’t got blood,
I got grease with pieces of bacon floating in it.”
“You’re all
right,” Justin lied. “Now get your
fingers to that control board. We’re
getting out of here.”
“That’s a big
ten-four.”
Justin exited the
control room and waited for the first buzz. When the door opened, he held it ajar with his body while he tore a
length of the gray tape and applied it to the security roller on the lock’s
striker plate.
One down, one to go. We can do this.
He stepped inside
the tiny vestibule and let the door close. Then he turned and knocked on the control room window. On the other side of the glass, Petey jabbed
at the button. But nothing happened.
“What’s
wrong?” Petey asked. It came out wass-ong , like a drunk.
It’s magnetic, not mechanical. If metal doesn’t touch metal, that damn thing
knows it’s still open.
I’m fucked.
His head swam with
a sudden surge of panic. It attacked
with such force that he nearly lost his balance. He steadied himself on the wall, resting his head
against the glass.
“Justin?”
No. He wasn’t fucked. Not yet.
He raised his
head. Then he walked back through
in-processing and into the control room.
“What’s wrong?”
“You got your
truck keys on you?”
“Uhh…yeah. Why?”
“Can you throw
them to me?”
Petey stared at
him.
His eyes are going to go black. Any minute now. He’ll blink and they’ll be solid black. And he’ll have fangs.
But then he
reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them onto the table, where they
fell with a jangle. Justin grabbed
them.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s under the
gloves, Petey? You got bit, didn’t
you? On the hand?”
Petey looked down
at his gloved hands. His head swayed
precariously, then rolled into a resigned nod.
“I’m going to get
help, all right? We’ll get the feds,
Center for Disease Control, all those people. We’ll get this fixed. Including
you, okay?”
“Gotta hurry,”
Petey said. His voice was almost a
whisper now. “I feel like ass.”
“I can do
that. But I need you to stay with me a
bit, okay? I need you to operate these
controls. Because the system knows
there’s still a door open. The duct tape
didn’t work.”
“Duct tape…always
works.”
“Not this
time.
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