CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHANCE
I wake to someone knocking on the trailer door.
I do my best to get out of bed without waking Sam and make my way down the front. I pull the curtain across and look outside. It’s Morgan.
I open the door and check my watch. It’s 11:30pm. “I didn’t order room service, sorry.”
He averts his eyes. “Jesus H. Cover that thing up, will you? I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”
I grab a tea towel from the kitchen counter and hold it in front of myself. I’m surprised everyone isn’t walking around in their birthday suits given this heatwave. “What is it?”
Morgan takes a step up into the doorway. “Just a quick courtesy call to let you know the second guard won’t be in tonight. He called in sick and they can’t find a replacement on such short notice.”
I lean out of the trailer door over Morgan’s shoulder and scan the carpark. “Tony?”
“Yeah, stomach bug or something, but,” Morgan points to the security box near the gates, “Anthony’s there as usual. I’m sure everything will be okay.”
There hasn’t been a hint of trouble since Sam moved into the trailer. I doubt anything’s going to go down tonight, especially given it’s one-hundred-and-ten out.
“Any word on the AC?”
Morgan shakes his head. “These guys are useless, I tell you. I didn’t even hear back from the last company.” He leans back and looks towards the stadium. “The old girl is getting on, but it’s a god damn air-conditioner for crying out loud. How different can they be?”
I nod. “I hear you.”
Morgan takes a step down. “You looked solid in training today.”
“It’s all thanks to Sam and her magic hands.”
Morgan makes a gagging motion. “I do not want to know what you kids are getting up to.”
“Ignorance is bliss, hey?”
Morgan chuckles, rapping the doorframe. “Where you’re concerned, it sure as hell is. Good night.”
“You hanging around?” I repeat, watching him go.
He turns. “Believe it or not, son, I do have a life outside of this stadium, so no. I’m afraid I won’t be here tonight.”
“A life outside this stadium, huh?” I tease. “Could have fooled me.”
“Good night,” he repeats.
“Good night,” I follow.
I head back into the bedroom and slide back into bed, ultimately deciding to ditch sheets altogether, lifting them off Sam to reveal the soft curves of her body, now mine. But it’s a different kind of possession I feel now, a need to protect her, not own her per se. I can only hope I can find her a way out of this. The last thing I want to do is condemn her to this damn trailer for the rest of her life.
*
“Chance?”
I wake groggy, sticky on the mattress.
Sam holds my shoulder trying to wake me, her breasts alabaster in the darkness.
And that’s just the thing. There’s no light, nothing but the moon outside.
What the fuck?
I start to take things in. Normally the security lights around the parking lot are on, but they’re off. The fans at the end of the bed, too. Even the alarm clock is dead.
I look down at my watch, the luminescent hands showing it’s just past 1 AM.
“Chance?” calls Sam again, voice low. “What’s going on?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and press myself up to look out the window. I can see Anthony in the security box at the entrance to the stadium, but he’s little more than a silhouette, what looks to be a phone to his ear. It’s pitch black out there.
“Chance?”
“I think it’s a blackout.”
“A blackout? What does that mean?”
Without the fans, it’s stifling in this tin can. My skin’s prickly with the heat, my forehead wet and clammy. I notice the boom gate is up. The blackout must have screwed with it.
Shit.
“Chance, what’s happening?”
It clicks. What’s happening is that the security system around the stadium, the alarms and cameras, are all down. It means we’re sitting ducks again, but I’m not about to let this on to Sam. “Everything’s okay. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Just as I say it there’s a flash of light in the security box followed by the telltale crack of a gunshot.
I see Anthony flung against the window, a dark figure standing in the guard box doorway with pistol raised.
It has to be.
“Chance!” screams Sam, sensing the danger.
“Dress,” I tell her, trying to remain calm. “Quick as you can.”
I swipe my jeans off the floor and step into them, watching the security box as I do. Anthony doesn’t reappear and once more the scene is cast into shadow, but there’s a car at the boom gate, an Oldsmobile, a driver and the gunman getting into the passenger side. It has to be the two from the alleyway that night, the Eizo and Michael characters the Feds were talking about. How the fuck did they find out she was here?
I don’t know, but we’ve got maybe a minute to get the hell out before they cover the few hundred feet between us.
If they know you’re here.
They must. I can’t take the chance.
I turn, Sam standing there in a white dress. “You good?”
She nods, eyes wide and terrified.
I take her hand. “Listen to me. We’ve got to go, right now. Follow me. Just do exactly what I do. Can you do that?”
Although the situation is dire, an odd sense of calm comes over me. More than that, it’s comfort in the fact I excel under pressure. It’s where I thrive, regardless of the circumstances. I’ve been up against a lot more than these two fucking bozos. I’ve got this.
“It’s those men, isn’t it?” asks Sam.
“We’re going to be okay.” I look out the window. The Oldsmobile’s headlights flicker to life, lighting up the parking lot. “Come on.”
I pull Sam through the trailer and down the stairs into the open, the headlights swinging and lighting us up momentarily before I manage to get us around the side of the trailer, sprinting for the access door to the stadium.
The Oldsmobile’s tires screech as it accelerates hard towards us.
I come against the door and push, but it’s locked. I slam my fist against it. “Fuck.”
“What is it?” says Sam, the panic clear now in her voice.
“The blackout’s fucked up all the electronics.”
I drag her down to the next door, but it too is locked. We’re running out of time.
I head us for the old door at the far end that joins to the locker rooms. It’s been busted for years. As we’re running I hear the car rev behind us, its headlights once again illuminating us.
“Come on!” I yell, pulling Sam harder.
Tires screech again as the car comes to a halt, doors opening.
This is it. If this door doesn’t open we’re caught in a dead end.
We stand in front of the door.
Please.
I grab the handle and yank down, but it’s locked. Morgan must have had it fixed recently.
Fucking hell.
“Chance!” screams Sam again.
I look at the door. It’s old, bent out of shape from water damage.
Here goes nothing.
I can hear the sound of footsteps running towards us. I’m waiting for the gunshot as I stand back and lift my leg, use all my weight and power to kick hard into the center of the door just like we used to back in Afghanistan.
To my relief, it works. The kick manages to smash the door open. It hangs loosely off the top hinge as I push Sam in front of me and send her through. “I’m right behind you,” I tell her.
She’s running down the hall in the dark. “Where am I going?” she yells, her voice echoing in the small space.
“Take the first left.”
She stops and heads down the hallway leading to the left. I can’t quite remember where it leads. Everything looks so different in the dark.
I follow her white dress, use it like a beacon as voices echo behind us—male voices, gruff and harsh. They’re coming, but they’re not going to find us.
I consider who might be around, but this is Saturday night. Apart from Anthony and maybe another guard inside, I doubt there’s anyone else here.
We come into what must be a kitchen behind one of the food outlets on the lower floor, stacks of cups and plastic utensils rising to the roof.
I place my hand on Sam’s back and direct her down behind a chest freezer. I squat down beside her and press her in behind me, putting a finger to my lips.
She nods, hair sticking to her face, pupils huge.
I listen, but the footsteps seem distant. We might be okay if we can just wait them out. There’s a game tomorrow. The staff will start arriving at six. That’s five hours away.
I pat down my jeans pockets and find my cell, pulling it out only to find it’s dead.
Of fucking course it is.
I see a phone on the wall, but it’s only for internal calls within the stadium. I can’t remember where to find a phone to call out. I know there’s one up in Morgan’s office, but to get there we’d have to head back out into the open and up the stairwells. It’s way too exposed.
It’s a fucking mess, but at least we aren’t outside. At least in here we have a chance. For now, we just have to hunker down and hope the hitters don’t find us.
I look around and stand up cautiously, moving to the counter at the front of the outlet.
Sam’s tugging my jeans. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
I place my finger on my lips again and make my way over, opening the drawer below and hunting through it with my hand until my fingers fall on the handle of a knife.
I pull it out, the blade glinting in the darkness.
I tuck it down the back of my jeans and crab-walk back to Sam.
If they do find us, I’m sure as fuck not going down without a fight.