AS I AIM my pistol at Llewellyn Carpenter’s face, I’m tempted to do as he says. I’d willingly sacrifice my own life to keep the evil son of a bitch from kidnapping any more women. But if I pull the trigger, the explosion will not only kill us; it might also kill Ava and Carlos.
Assuming they’re still alive.
Carpenter has a look of demented glee on his face as he steps back from the window.
“Carlos!” I shout. “Ava! Get out of the building!”
My throat is thick with mucus, making it hard to breathe. My eyes stream tears, blurring my vision. My head pounds with the worst headache I’ve ever experienced.
I keep my light on Carpenter, who wears a small knapsack and has a large set of bolt cutters tucked into his belt. Next to the tool is a sight that stops me cold.
Carlos’s Colt sticks out of his waistband.
“Ava!” I scream so hard my vocal cords feel like they’re going to shred. “There’s a gas leak. Carpenter is going to blow the building up!”
Working with a bemused grin on his face, Carpenter sloughs off his knapsack and reaches inside, pulling out a small rectangular canister of what looks like lighter fluid. He pops the top off the canister and squirts a stream toward the door. Then he pulls out Carlos’s gun and begins ascending the stairs, leaving a trail of flammable liquid behind him.
“Ava!” I roar. “It’s a trap. Get out!”
I shake the door with all my strength, but the chains won’t budge. I might be able to punch out the window—even with the reinforcement wire—but that wouldn’t do me any good. It’s too small for me to crawl through, and I couldn’t simply reach through and unlock the doors. I would need something to break the chains. If not for the gas, I’d shoot through the door until I hit the chains. But the moment the first spark ignites inside the gun, flames would fill the basement and burn me alive. The concussive force might blow the whole building off its foundation.
I pull out my phone to warn Ava, but—it must be because I’m in the basement—I don’t have any service.
I spin around and shine my light throughout the room. If my flashlight wasn’t already on, I’d worry that it might be enough to ignite the fumes. But it’s waterproof, and I assume no gas can get inside where there might be sparks between the contacts.
I’d been so preoccupied lately with all my close calls in gunfights, I figured a bullet was waiting for me in my future. I never dreamed that the way I’d go would be natural gas poisoning—or being incinerated in a fiery explosion.
It’s hard to see because my eyes are streaming water, but I search for windows high on the walls. I don’t remember seeing any low windows along the base of the building, and I don’t find any here, either.
There’s no way a building like this would pass fire code without two exits from the basement. So there must be another way out. The question is can I find it before I pass out?
As I try to take my first step, I collapse onto my hands and knees. I retch thick soapy bile.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Ava and Carlos are out there—I refuse to believe that Carlos is dead—I would just take a deep breath and fall asleep. But as long as my partners are still at risk, I can’t give up.
I crawl forward through the tables. When I get closer to the kitchen, I notice another door. It’s one of those kitchen doors that swings either way, and I put a weak hand against it. On the other side is a long hallway and at the end, a short staircase runs up to what I assume is an outside door. Although I can only see the bottom foot or so of the exit, it looks like another set of double doors.
I rise to my feet and stagger down the hallway, falling on the steps and crawling upward.
The gas is so thick that every breath hurts my lungs. My brain feels like it’s on fire inside my skull. I reach the doors and rise to my knees to find the push bar.
But the doors are chained together.
If the doors budged an inch, I might be able to wedge them open and at least put my face to the crack to inhale fresh oxygen.
But the doors won’t open at all.
It’s over.
I’m going to die.