I awoke looking down on Essex, who waited at the end of one of the aisles of shelving. Light was streaming in from the opposite end of the warehouse. Squinting, I could see the fire doors open, the light from the street lamps filtering in. The interior lights off, Essex bathed in shadows.
I wanted to wretch. Sonia would come through the back door that Essex had propped open, she’d see me up there and head toward me. And the blade would find her, same as it had Tabitha and Farraday and who knows how many others. And I’d have to watch from the catbird seat as Essex cut into her and reduced her to the same nothing as the rest of us.
I didn’t want to see that. I thought of Chris Chambers, sending his woman away before pulling the trigger. Hoping to spare her that sight.
“Dave?”
Sonia was calling my name. I turned my head and saw her in the doorway. Saw Essex approach her from the end of the aisle.
They met, Essex gesturing, playing the wounded victim. She pointed up toward me.
Sonia started forward, Essex lingering a few steps back.
Warn her—
I worked my leg up, drawing it toward my chest, and used its weight to turn myself onto my belly. The knife tore and did what it was going to do. I clasped the guardrail and pushed and pulled and shredded myself along the scaffold toward the bank of light switches by the door.
It was agony. I felt myself separate, smear across the steel. I could still hear Sonia’s voice. Through blurred vision I saw the beam from her flashlight dance off the shelves.
I reached the wall, reached up and dragged my hand down across as many of the switches as my fingers could touch. I waited for illumination, for the war drum sound of stadium lights.
There was nothing, only a crackle of static. I looked back and felt light on my face, knew she was looking up at me.
I reached up and pawed the switches again. No light. They didn’t work the lights. She was heading toward me. Essex toward her. I leaned up and held the switches down, and screamed into the intercom and heard my voice reverberate through the enclosed space.
Sonia
it’s her
run
she’ll cut you
don’t turn your back on her
get the police, get a gun,
please
don’t
take
another
step
What came out was nonsense, anguished babbling. I fell back, my head lolling in her direction.
Sonia had stopped halfway down the aisle, looking back. Essex was nowhere in sight. Sonia started toward me with the penlight off, cautiously, but still looking at me. I heard myself whimpering. Just go.
I saw Essex dart out to her left, saw her free arm swing out and clasp Sonia’s shoulder. Sonia leapt back as the knife shot toward her, catching her clothing, maybe catching her.
Essex came for her like a boxer, open hand jabbing for her eyes, for a handhold, for an opening, the speed of their movements madcap and Chaplinesque, charging and backstepping cartoonishly.
Then the blade swept out toward Sonia’s face and I knew Essex had cut her. That open hand grabbed her hair and the blade came up toward her chest, and her arm took the force of the blade, and Essex pulled Sonia toward her.
I heard a snap and Essex reeled back, the blade falling from her hand. Sonia was clutching her baton. She’d extended it into Essex’s eye. She spun and caught Essex in the face and dropped her. Essex’s hands felt out along the cement for the knife and Sonia hit her again across the bridge of the nose.
When Essex reached again there was no force left in her. Sonia cuffed her, kicked the blade away.
Then I lost all focus and my eyes began to close. I hoped to hell I hadn’t dreamed it.