respects—was the promised arrival of the police. But Kimberlain had something else he could turn in his favor:
The unfinished dorm building itself.
The first floor, and all those above, he imagined, were comprised of large room suites; a series of bedrooms around a larger living area. Many had walls or parts of walls missing, in effect creating a labyrinth. The ceiling was present in parts, missing in others. There looked to be five or six floors in all. Kimberlain was able to see up through all of them at some openings in the corridor.
Sawdust and what might have been the remnants of fiberglass insulation stuck to his eyes and then threatened his nose. The Ferryman covered his mouth and kept moving. An unfinished staircase rose before him, and Kimberlain took it, careful with his steps. The stairs angled to the left and then lifted straight again. He glided toward the second floor.
The sounds of screeching tires and slamming doors reached him from below. He heard garbled reports over radio sets and walkie-talkies coming toward the site, footsteps crunching over rock and gravel.
Don’t come in here! he wanted to yell out to the approaching policemen. Don’t come in!
Kimberlain leaned over, very close to verbalizing his warning.
A hail of silenced bullets coughed splinters from the wood around him, fired from the basement of all places. His pursuer had found a route down into it and had been trailing him, shadowing him, this whole time, from below. The Ferryman spun onto the next set of stairs and climbed faster, legs churning as if to kick the bullets from their path.
"Help me! Please help me!"
The shout echoed up from below; the gunman wanted to draw the police inside.
“I’m on the first floor… . Please hurry! ”
“We’re coming in!” one of the policemen shouted as more continued to arrive.
“No!” Kimberlain screamed down, but it was too late.
Automatic fire echoed from three floors down. Screams of pain and death followed instantly. The ill-prepared policemen had been dropped in their tracks. No more would follow for a while now. The killer had what he wanted.
Kimberlain scrambled up to the fifth floor and stopped inside an open space the size of four unfinished rooms. Huge table and band saws rested atop massive piles of sawdust, the residue of the most recently completed work. Too bad they were too bulky to hoist and use as weapons.
That thought gave him a idea. He dragged a table saw closer to the doorway he had passed through and covered the blade with handfuls of sawdust. Next he made sure the plug was out and flipped the power switch to ON. Then he scampered to the electrical outlet the plug rested by and had just reached it when the footsteps of his adversary could be heard down what would eventually be a corridor.
Kimberlain glimpsed the figure passing into the darkness, the meager light in the hallway just a memory. He continued to glide forward warily, machine gun sweeping before him. His steps made a swishing sound as they grazed over the construction debris layering the floor. Kimberlain counted the seconds until he would cross through the doorway near the table saw.
The killer had drawn up even with the saw when the Ferryman jammed the plug back into the socket. The table saw spun with a grinding wail, coughing the sawdust away from it in waves that crested in all directions. The gunman maintained the presence of mind to bring only one hand up to his ravaged eyes, while the second stayed on the machine gun. But Kimberlain was in motion by then.
The gunman saw him at last and brought the gun round. Kimberlain locked a hand on its stock and forced it down. The clip drained into the floor, as his other fist slammed into the man’s jaw. The Ferryman felt the teeth give and jaw retract. The man gasped and uttered a scream inaudible beneath the constant raging of the saw.
The gunman gave up on the machine gun and whirled in against Kimberlain. The two were equal in size and, as
The unfinished dorm building itself.
The first floor, and all those above, he imagined, were comprised of large room suites; a series of bedrooms around a larger living area. Many had walls or parts of walls missing, in effect creating a labyrinth. The ceiling was present in parts, missing in others. There looked to be five or six floors in all. Kimberlain was able to see up through all of them at some openings in the corridor.
Sawdust and what might have been the remnants of fiberglass insulation stuck to his eyes and then threatened his nose. The Ferryman covered his mouth and kept moving. An unfinished staircase rose before him, and Kimberlain took it, careful with his steps. The stairs angled to the left and then lifted straight again. He glided toward the second floor.
The sounds of screeching tires and slamming doors reached him from below. He heard garbled reports over radio sets and walkie-talkies coming toward the site, footsteps crunching over rock and gravel.
Don’t come in here! he wanted to yell out to the approaching policemen. Don’t come in!
Kimberlain leaned over, very close to verbalizing his warning.
A hail of silenced bullets coughed splinters from the wood around him, fired from the basement of all places. His pursuer had found a route down into it and had been trailing him, shadowing him, this whole time, from below. The Ferryman spun onto the next set of stairs and climbed faster, legs churning as if to kick the bullets from their path.
"Help me! Please help me!"
The shout echoed up from below; the gunman wanted to draw the police inside.
“I’m on the first floor… . Please hurry! ”
“We’re coming in!” one of the policemen shouted as more continued to arrive.
“No!” Kimberlain screamed down, but it was too late.
Automatic fire echoed from three floors down. Screams of pain and death followed instantly. The ill-prepared policemen had been dropped in their tracks. No more would follow for a while now. The killer had what he wanted.
Kimberlain scrambled up to the fifth floor and stopped inside an open space the size of four unfinished rooms. Huge table and band saws rested atop massive piles of sawdust, the residue of the most recently completed work. Too bad they were too bulky to hoist and use as weapons.
That thought gave him a idea. He dragged a table saw closer to the doorway he had passed through and covered the blade with handfuls of sawdust. Next he made sure the plug was out and flipped the power switch to ON. Then he scampered to the electrical outlet the plug rested by and had just reached it when the footsteps of his adversary could be heard down what would eventually be a corridor.
Kimberlain glimpsed the figure passing into the darkness, the meager light in the hallway just a memory. He continued to glide forward warily, machine gun sweeping before him. His steps made a swishing sound as they grazed over the construction debris layering the floor. Kimberlain counted the seconds until he would cross through the doorway near the table saw.
The killer had drawn up even with the saw when the Ferryman jammed the plug back into the socket. The table saw spun with a grinding wail, coughing the sawdust away from it in waves that crested in all directions. The gunman maintained the presence of mind to bring only one hand up to his ravaged eyes, while the second stayed on the machine gun. But Kimberlain was in motion by then.
The gunman saw him at last and brought the gun round. Kimberlain locked a hand on its stock and forced it down. The clip drained into the floor, as his other fist slammed into the man’s jaw. The Ferryman felt the teeth give and jaw retract. The man gasped and uttered a scream inaudible beneath the constant raging of the saw.
The gunman gave up on the machine gun and whirled in against Kimberlain. The two were equal in size and, as
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