Page 134 of The Outsider
Fresh adrenaline flooded my system. “Which way did she go?”
Kimmy pointed towards the Red Zone. “Go. I’ll stay and help. I don’t know how long she has before they find her, or someone gives her up. They offered a reward for her.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking around the corner for an opening.
“Where’s Asha?” Kimmy asked, as if afraid of the answer.
This wasn’t the time for the truth. “I didn’t find her.”
Kimmy nodded, obviously worried, and my stomach twisted.
One problem at a time.
Chapter 39
Claire
Ilost track of time. It could’ve been minutes or hours that I stayed there, crouched uncomfortably behind the totes. I worried about John and Asha, not knowing where they were, and about Kimmy, stuck in the Post. I could only hold myself together and hope they were alright.
But I could hear people outside now. Talking, moving, searching. They gradually grew closer, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t leave without being discovered. I could only hope they moved on, and if not…be prepared to fight for my life.
I jumped at a loud bang sounding at the outside door. I chanced a peek from a small gap between the totes concealing me. The totes I’d used to barricade the door hadn’t budged. My heart pounded in my ears as another bang sounded, and then another. There were male voices right outside, angry and impatient. I breathed a sigh of relief when they receded after a moment, seeming to give up on the door.
For a while, all was quiet again except for the distant sounds of the search that continued outside. Then I heard the same male voices again, coming from the hallway outside the theatre door.
“…the last room,” one of them said. “We’ve searched everywhere else.”
I swallowed hard and tried not to panic.Think like John.
I peered through the gap in the totes, but I didn’t have a good view of the theatre door. I shut my eyes and held my breath as a colossal bang echoed through the room—then another, and another, so much louder than the first attempt. It sounded like were using something as a battering ram.
They’re going to get in.It was a matter of when, not if. I steeled myself and looked through the gap again, trying to gauge where they’d come into range of my pistol. I raised the gun to the gap, preparing myself.
Boom.The totes stacked by the theatre door went flying, scattering piles of old clothing, props, and ancient lighting equipment everywhere. I listened carefully as two men entered the room.
“Nothing here but more Old World shit,” one of them said dismissively, and for a brief moment, I let myself hope that they’d move on.
“Who barricaded both doors, then?” the other man replied. “I swear, Emerson, you’re the laziest motherfucker alive. Help me move this shit.”
I froze as one man’s legs appeared in the small gap between the totes. Without another thought, I fired off a round. The bullet bit deep into the soft flesh of his thigh, and he collapsed with a scream. Blood sprayed from the wound like a firehose. I’d hit an artery.
“What the fuck!” the other man cried, and I instinctively flattened myself to the ground, covering my head. Shots rang out, blowing holes in the totes above me, and I was showered with plastic debris.
Ears ringing, I held my breath. Heavy footfalls told me that the second man took off running, leaving the first groaning on the floor. Even through the small gap, I could see that the floor was becoming rapidly soaked with blood.
I had to move—he could be back any second—but getting out from behind this tower of totes wouldn’t be easy or graceful. I threw myself against them, once and then again, and they toppled over with an enormous crash.
The floor was covered with plastic totes, random debris, and hot, sticky blood, making it hard to navigate. I stumbled my way toward the outside door, scrambling. I’d cleared the totes in front of it and closed my fist around the handle when I heard that cold, mocking voice behind me.
“Claire Ainsley. Where could you be going?”
My heart in my throat, I spun around on my heel, raised my pistol, and spotted Jim J standing in the doorway, flanked by the masked man who must’ve fled and called him here. I fired—once, twice—at Jim J’s centre mass, the way John had taught me.
Jim J’s body jerked violently, and blood instantly began to soak through the front of his white shirt. I turned back toward the exit, prepared to make a run for it, and nearly jumped out of my skin as a blade slammed into the door, inches from my head.
“I wouldn’t run, if I were you. My family is waiting outside,” Jim J said, his voice only slightly roughened. “Even if you could escape, my dear…do you think I won’t still hunt you? Still crave you? I’ll never stop.”
Horror was choking me as I stared at the blade embedded in the door. It was a meat cleaver…and it already had blood on it.
