Chương 17: Doors, Doors, Doors

The corridor stretched between us at one end, backs against the locked door, and the killer at the other end by the stairwell. The masked man tilted his head slightly, black coat brushing the dark pants underneath when he moved. Then he walked toward us, unhurried, like he was confident we'd run out of time before he did.

"TRE!" Isabel's voice broke.

"He's here!"

"I'm trying!" Tre shouted from inside the vent.

"The latch is jammed!" Isabel and I pressed our backs against it, eyes on the killer, and kicked backward at the bottom panel. The killer continued to advance.

"TRE!" I screamed, kicking harder.

"Got it!" He confirmed. The door gave way, and we fell backward into the room, hitting the floor in a tangle, as Tre tugged it open from within. Isabel spun around, dived forward, and slammed it closed. She fumbled with the knob before the lock finally clicked into place.

"BLOCK IT!" I barked." This!" Tre yelled. He was already standing near a heavy workbench a few feet from the door, covered in dust and pink insulation fluff. Isabel and I moved to it, but our combined weight was barely enough to shift it an inch. WHAM. Something threw itself into the other side of the door. WHAM. It wouldn't budge. We had no time. I abandoned the barricade idea.

"Come on," I called over my shoulder as I sprinted toward the fire equipment cabinet in the back corner.

"Grab and GO." The Sharpened Bone materialized in my grip, a grotesque reminder of the violence I'd already committed. I felt a similar flare of revulsion from this morning, but it was strangled silent by necessity. The cabinet's handles were locked. I didn't have the luxury of being squeamish anymore. I jammed the bone into the seam and pried with all my strength. The thin sheet metal doors bent, the lock cracked, and the doors sprang open.

Inside: a fire axe, crowbars, a couple of pry bars, bolt cutters, and flashlights the size of soda cans. Real weapons. Finally. A flashlight, an axe, and a crowbar were the first things I grabbed. I quickly summoned the butcher knife from my inventory and held the handle out toward Isabel.

"Don't want to be empty-handed." Isabel accepted the weapon with an anxious nod. Tre, still covered in dust and insulation fluff, grabbed the smallest pry bar off the bottom rack. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.

"There!" Isabel pointed at a second door, opposite the one we'd come through. Right as we reached the back door, the first door went quiet.

"Why'd it stop?" Isabel whispered, hand hovering over the knob.

"Who fucking cares? GO!" Tre demanded.

"Open it." She did and— The masked figure blocked the door as if he had been there the whole time. Tre screamed. The killer raised the Bowie knife. But I swung first. Sadly, my axe caught the doorframe with a splintering crunch. It felt like hitting a car with a baseball bat. Drywall and old wood showered my face with splinters. But the killer jerked back, unreadable behind the mask. I tugged the axe free and swung wildly. Metal hit metal in a shriek of friction that made my molars ache.

The Bowie's blade kissed the side of the axe head and sent the swing wide.

"OTHER DOOR!" I shouted. Isabel shoved past me, sprinting back toward the door we came in through. The killer surged toward me. I backpedaled frantically, boots skidding on the floor. Hoisting the axe, I forced my shaking arms into a defensive guard. But lead had settled in my shoulders. The axe was an anchor, dragging me toward the floor. The Bowie cleaved the air. I shoved the axe handle up just as the steel bit in.

Shockwaves jolted through my bones, turning my grip to goop, and for a moment, I worried the axe would spin out of my tingling fingers. But the Bowie's blade skidded off the axe handle and buried itself in the table with a deep thwack. In a blur of desperate motions, Tre appeared and swung the pry bar at the killer's kneecap with a grunt of effort. The impact made a sickening, watery crunch—a sledgehammer smashing a melon. The killer buckled, a snarl tore from behind the mask, but he didn't drop.

Before Tre could recoil, the killer's boot lashed out, catching him flush in the temple. Tre's head snapped violently back, and he launched into the air, body colliding with something hard and metal in a discordant metallic clang.

"TRE!" Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I swung with everything I had, a two-handed arc I hoped would cleave the killer in half. But there was no give on impact, only a dead plastic clunk. Was he wearing armor?

"NORA! HERE!" Isabel's voice pulled the killer's focus. He swiveled toward her, the Bowie knife already stained red from the emergency lights.

"No!" I threw my entire weight into his spine, aiming low for his center of gravity. He staggered, boots scuffing the floor, and I didn't stop. I kept pushing forward, my shoulder in his back, forcing him toward the heavy industrial table saw. We collided into the machine, my hip caught the operation paddle, and the saw roared to life. The killer reared back from the spinning blade, pivoting around to face me, still wrestling for the knife.

I gripped, pushing back to keep the blade away from my chest, even as he used his weight to push me back, moving himself away from the blade.

"RUN!" I screamed over the din of the shrieking saw. Isabel took off down the hall. Then the Bowie knife found me. It ripped across my shoulder blade, the fabric of my jacket and shirt separated. Dad's jacket. Fuck! Then a warm wetness, as impossible pain temporarily blinded me. My grip faltered. The killer used the opening to his advantage, shifting his weight to pivot me around, until my heels skidded through sawdust, reversing our positions. Now, I had my back toward the screaming silver teeth of the saw.

The high-pitched whine vibrated my entire skull. I could feel the cold air from the blade's rotation against the back of my neck. A shadow detached itself from the darkness across the opposite side of the shop. Tre sprinted toward the killer, every molded feature on his face somehow radiating fury, and slammed the pry bar into the back of the killer's exposed calf. The killer's leg buckled.

"NOW!" Tre yelled. Foot planted against the table's cast-iron base, I gave a back-breaking shove. The masked man stumbled back, and I twisted free from his grip. I charged him. Sending him careening backward over the open mouth of the scrap bin. He struggled, causing the massive plywood box to pitch forward, crashing to the floor. It buried him under a mountain of heavy oak offcuts, legs pinned to the floor by the bin's heavy frame.

"Go! Go!" I gasped, the wetness on my back spreading fast, as I sprinted toward the back exit. We slammed into the hallway. The axe slipped from my fingers, clattering away across the tile, but I didn't stop to look back. Tre was behind me, limping, one arm held against his side. He scrambled up my back, avoiding my injured shoulder, and we tore down the hallway. Blood continued to soak through my shirt. Warm and sticky, spreading fast. FEAR: 74% HEALTH: 73% STATUS: WOUNDED – Bleeding (Minor) Minor. Right.

"West wing stairs," Isabel panted.

"This way." She led us around a corner, and I followed mindlessly. My legs moved on their own now, one half-step behind her. My left shoulder was sticky and hot and getting worse by the second. Every movement gnawed at the gash, fresh pain radiating down my arm. Take a Salve, Tre's voice urged in my head. Your shoulder's fucked up. We reached the west wing stairs and took them two at a time to the ground floor. Isabel sprinted to the fire door, kneeling at the override panel.

"Crowbar! Hurry!" I jammed the crowbar under the cover plate and popped it free. Inside was a manual crank. Of course. A grunt escaped between my gritted teeth as I started cranking with my right arm, my left hanging uselessly at my side. The gash across my shoulder screamed every time I shifted my weight, so I kept my arm still and let my good side do the work. Isabel's hands joined mine on the crank, and together, we found a rhythm, but the gears were built to lift a few thousand pounds.

Speed wasn't part of the design." Sameer!" Tre hopped off my back." We're opening the door! Get ready to slide under!" Gears protested against the door's weight as it rose in lurching increments.

"It could be faster," Tre groused. Isabel laughed once, shaky. For a split second, it felt like maybe we'd make it. As I watched the gap widen, inch by agonizing inch, my eyes caught a red lever mounted on a small bracket near the door track. The lever was maybe seven feet up the wall, and was covered by a plastic safety guard that had yellowed with age. Below it, a faded label read DROP CLOSE. Emergency release button, huh? Then, the stairwell door opened. Those slow footsteps stalked closer.

This fucking asshole again. Grabbing the crank with both hands, my left shoulder detonated, the gash tore wider, and the edges of my vision flared white. A half-scream came out of me as I cranked. But the door moved faster.

"Nora…" There was a new level of fear in Tre's tone that made me look back. The killer was sprinting, boots hammering the tile, knife clutched in one fist." He's running!" Isabel screamed." Faster!" I yelled, throwing my weight into the crank. Isabel's hands slammed down on top of mine; our combined, frantic effort made the gears scream as the door rose. But it was only a foot off the ground. We weren't going to make it. I let go of the crank and shoved Isabel behind me. My left shoulder was just a dull throb.

I noted that distantly, the way you note the weather through a window. I summoned the Sharpened Bone to my other hand. Isabel backed away, bringing the butcher knife up in a shaking grip. Then Tre stepped forward, all two feet of him. He raised the pry bar like it weighed nothing, putting himself between the killer and me.

"Back off, asshole." The killer increased his speed, head down in a full-tilt run. Tre planted his tiny feet and swung for a sprinting ankle. A bone snapped loud enough to hear with a revolting crunch. The killer's charge broke mid-stride as he lurched sideways into the wall. The porcelain mask's empty eye holes turned to Tre, who held his ground, weapon raised.

"What now, motherfucker?" Tre crowed with balls-of-steel resolve. Dipping his head for a second, the killer reached one hand beneath the mask. Then he pushed off the wall, ankle bent at an impossible angle, but he somehow put weight on it anyway. One step. Then another. I'd heard the break, but he wasn't even limping. How the hell—"Oh shitfuck," Tre said.

"He's coming!"" Sameer!" Isabel had moved back to the crank, raising it another inch or two, just enough room to roll under.

"Under the door! Now!" I screamed at Isabel.

"What?" I shoved her to the floor.

"Sameer, move BACK!" Isabel yelled as she army-crawled under the door. Her hips caught for a second, and she twisted, clawing at the floor on the other side, pulling herself clear.

"Tre!" He was already by my feet. He slid under the gap on his knees. It was pretty badass. Risking a glance back, the killer was less than four feet away. I lowered myself to the floor; the concrete was cold against my chest. The gap was just under two feet wide, but I shoved myself through, headfirst, the bottom edge of the door scraping my back.

I flipped onto my back on the other side, my injured shoulder hitting the floor, erupting into a throbbing agony, and planted one foot on the door, pushing off and clearing the gap. I looked up, and there it was: a matching red lever. DROP CLOSE. Except it was about seven feet up on the door. And getting to my feet was an ask my body would reject on principle." Isabel! The lever!" Her eyes followed mine. Then she grabbed Tre under his arms and hoisted him up." Pull the lever, Tre!"

His little hand flipped the plastic guard up. He grabbed the lever underneath and yanked it down with both hands, hanging off it for a second like that one Bulls guy in that old basketball poster Dad had in the garage, legs dangling mid-air. A heavy clunk echoed above Tre, as something mechanical in the door disengaged. The door started to drop. A blade shot through the shrinking gap. The Bowie knife slashed in a wild arc aimed at my legs.

I jerked my knees up, and the steel bounced off the rubber sole of my boot instead. Isabel left Tre hanging and tried to pull me away from the gap.

"Sameer, help!" The door was at fourteen or so inches now. The killer shoved both arms through, gloved fingers gripping the floor, and dragged himself under on his belly. His head snapped up off the floor, the mask's red-rimmed black voids fixed on me. Sameer's hands joined Isabel's, and I was suddenly sliding away from the door. Ten inches. The bottom edge of the door pressed down across the shoulders of his trench coat.

He held his stare at me a half-second longer, then scrambled backward, gloves pushing him back to the other side, just as the door met the floor with a deep, final thud. Tre released his grip on the handle and plummeted seven feet, landing gracefully into a roll. He stood up, dusting off his shaking hands. A fist knocked the metal from the other side. It was a single hit that ominously rang through the hallway, and then nothing else.