by Jason Dean
He passed the elevator bank and the second nurse station without seeing anybody and pushed open the door to the stairs. Once he reached the ground floor, he stuck his head out and listened. No alarms. No running people. He stepped into the corridor and turned right. Fifty yards to the rear emergency doors. He didn’t run, just walked at a steady pace like he belonged. Just a doctor going about his business.
Bishop finally reached the doors and stood under the sensor. They slid open and he stepped outside. Then he turned at a movement at his left and something struck the base of his skull. His legs went and as he fell to the ground his final thought was, Didn’t this happen already?
Then everything went black.
THIRTY
Bishop’s own coughing woke him up. He must have been hacking away for some time. His lungs already ached from the effort. Then he heard the crackling roar of flames all around him. It was also unbelievably hot. He raised his head from the concrete floor and tried to focus, but all he saw was black smoke in every direction. Swirling around like a furious living organism. It thinned at his left for a moment, revealing writhing orange ribbons in the background. Then the gap closed and he was staring at the smoke creature again.
Last thing Bishop remembered was coming out of the hospital and feeling a sharp sensation at the back of his skull. And now he was here. In a burning building somewhere. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head Bishop got up and turned a complete circle, trying to make out details, but it was impossible. There was just too much smoke. He could see a few feet in front of his face and that was all. His eyes were already stinging.
And there was that nauseating stench of burning rubber everywhere. The air was thick with it. He remembered those stacks of tyres he’d seen at the Bannings place and wondered if that’s where they’d brought him. Figuring that if the fire didn’t get him, the toxic fumes would. Some choice. Which meant he needed to find another alternative. And fast.
Bishop removed the lab coat and ripped off the arms. He stuck one in his back pocket and tied the other around his lower face like a bandana. It wasn’t much help, but his coughing subsided a little. Keeping low to the ground, he picked a direction and began walking. It only took three steps before he saw a burning vehicle in front of him. He moved round it and collided with another one, also on fire. He saw similar shapes all around him, all aflame. He avoided some burning tyres and then his foot came into contact with a large soft object.
Bishop knelt down and waved his hand back and forth, trying to disperse the smoke enough to see. It was a man. He was lying on his back with his head in an unnatural position. His neck had been broken. The light from nearby flames allowed Bishop to recognize the face immediately. It was the mechanic he’d questioned this afternoon. Hewitt.
Poor guy had been a creep, but that hardly warranted a death sentence. But his presence here indicated this was the Bannings place.
That was both good and bad. Good because Bishop could remember the basic layout, even in the dark. Bad because it was also a prefab steel building. These things were built to be fire resistant, but that was no consolation to anybody trapped inside. The exterior would hold together while he got turned into a TV dinner.
Still coughing, Bishop got to his feet and continued in the same direction, calling to mind everything he’d seen of the place this afternoon. The placement of the three shutters at the front, along with the customer entrance at the other end. And that small window next to the front door. Maybe he could get out that way. But he needed to get his bearings first.
His outstretched fingers suddenly touched a steel wall and he yanked his hand back. His fingertips felt like they’d touched a furnace. He turned right and kept walking with the wall at his left until his knee knocked against a sturdy metal object. He moved his hand along it until he recognized it as one of the car lifts. And just past the lift would be the last shutter.
Now he knew where he was. And the customer entrance was at the other end of the building. Great. He’d wasted valuable time going the wrong way. He didn’t bother checking the shutters. He had no doubt they’d be securely padlocked for the night. Instead he retraced his steps and aimed for the other end, avoiding more burning tyres and vehicles along the way. The smoke was definitely getting thicker now. And his coughing was getting worse.
Two minutes later, Bishop’s fingers touched the opposite wall. And behind it would be the customer entrance. He turned left and soon came upon a door in the wall. He tried the handle. Locked, naturally. He took a step back and delivered a side kick just below the handle. And again. On the third kick, the door crashed inwards and Bishop ducked inside.
He could see straight away the fire had already found its way into this section. Probably from all the oil saturating the floor area. But the smoke wasn’t quite as thick as before. Not yet anyway. He saw a connecting door on his right. He turned to his left and took a few steps until he found the customer entrance. It was a steel door. He moved his hand down and found the locking bolt and a large padlock. No real surprise there.
He moved along until he came to the window he remembered seeing. And then just stared at it for a moment in disbelief. There was an inner steel grate covering the whole frame with thick circular bars set vertically and horizontally. He couldn’t see a single screw, which meant the whole thing had to have been welded to the steel wall.
You’ve got to be kidding.
Bishop grabbed it with both hands and pulled with all his weight. It didn’t budge a millimetre. He got more leverage with his feet and tried again, every muscle straining with the effort. Nothing happened.
Bishop let go and tried to control his coughing. He refused to be discouraged. There was always a way out of any situation. Always. He’d put that belief to the test on numerous occasions and found it to be true every single time. Fire or not, today would be no different.
He searched the room for anything that he could use on the grille or the padlock. But there was nothing even remotely strong enough. But he did find a working flashlight in one of the file cabinets. He switched it on and ran the beam over the room. On the wall was a row of framed Employee of the Month awards, each with a different headshot. He saw Hewitt up there, along with all the other mechanics. Then a large bookcase full of box files and folders. Some of them already on fire. Useless. He returned to the connecting door he’d seen earlier, pulled it open and was faced with more smoke. He was in a windowless office with shelves of auto supplies along the walls, but no tyre irons. Nothing of any use. He ducked as an aerosol exploded from the heat and paint splattered the wall. Then another one blew.
Bishop tried the next door along and entered a short corridor with a restroom on his left and another door at the end. That one opened onto another windowless office. Probably Bannings’. The fire hadn’t reached this far yet, although there was still plenty of smoke. Bishop ran to the desk and went through the drawers. He slammed the last one shut and then saw two bright red, twenty-litre jerry cans under the desk. The first was empty, but the second one was full. He unscrewed the cap and smelled gas. Good.
With a new exit route forming in his mind, Bishop picked up the full canister and shone the flashlight around the room one last time. He stopped when the beam hit two small black boxes on Bannings’ work desk. One had a cable going into the back of the computer drive and another going into the electrical outlet in the floor. That had to be the modem or router. The other box had a single cable sticking out of it that ran up into the ceiling.
Where the security camera was.
Putting down the jerry can, Bishop shone the light over the box. It was about the same size as a pack of cigarettes, but half the thickness. On the back he saw a WD logo and underneath that, ITB. With a thin smile, he unplugged the hard drive and left it there for the moment.
Next, he checked the restroom. It was small and narrow, but it contained a shower. Bishop turned on the faucets and stood under for almost a minute until he was completely soaked. Then he grabbed the har
d drive and the jerry can and went back into the supplies room. He quickly searched the shelves until he found a twelve-foot long fuel siphon hose and a rubber-coated tape measure. He wrapped the hard drive in the hose’s plastic packaging, stuffed that and the tape measure in his pocket and looped the siphon tubing around his shoulders. Then he picked up the full jerry can and went to the front office.
The reception was full of black smoke now. Bishop entered the garage area and was almost blown over by the heat. He heard a muffled explosion over the noise of the flames and guessed a gas tank had just exploded. It wouldn’t be the last. Bishop aimed for the opposite wall and began walking, using his flashlight to help avoid the obstructions. There were burning tyres everywhere he turned. He was about halfway across when there was a flash of light to his left, followed by the sound of another explosion.
Bishop kept on and when he finally reached the far wall, turned left. Towards the shutter door he and Hewitt had used earlier. He noticed his clothes were almost totally dry again, every drop of moisture completely evaporated from the heat.
Another vehicle exploded behind him. Bishop was also finding it much more difficult to breathe. The fire was sucking up all the oxygen like a vacuum. He didn’t have much time left. Finally he reached the shutter and put down the can. He knelt down and saw there was about an inch of space to play with at the bottom. That would be enough.
Bishop took the tape measure from his pocket and placed it under the shutter as a wedge. Then he unscrewed the cap on the jerry can and inserted one end of the hose into the opening. He placed the other end between his lips and began sucking. When the gasoline started flowing down the tube, he took it from his mouth and fed it through the gap.
Towards those two gas pumps outside.
He started counting, figuring it would take about ninety seconds to empty the can completely. He then took the bandana from his face, twisted it a few times and inserted half of it into the opening at the top. Then he took the other sleeve from his back pocket and looked behind him. He saw large flames through the black smoke and made his way towards them. When he reached them he saw it was another stack of burning tyres. A very large stack.
Bishop got as close as he dared and threw one end of the sleeve into the flame, waiting until he was sure it was alight before pulling it out. He was still counting. Sixty-three seconds had passed. The jerry can wouldn’t be empty yet. He ran back to the shutter door with the burning rag, knelt down a few feet away and threw it towards the canister. He saw it come into contact with the other jacket arm. When that caught fire too, Bishop dived face down on the floor with his hands over his head.
He knew he was done for if this didn’t work. Burned alive in the ass-end of nowhere. He could think of better ways to die. And far less painful ways. Some part of him wondered how quick it would be when the time came.
Five seconds later, the world exploded.
THIRTY-ONE
The force of the blast rocked Bishop’s body and the noise almost deafened him. Then it was just the sound of the fire again. He took his hands from his head and turned to look. There was a huge, ugly fissure in the side of the building, about twenty feet from the shutter door. Black smoke was pouring out through the gap, anxious to reach the outside world.
Somebody had to have heard that.
Bishop got up and ran over to the opening. Another explosion rocked the building and he fell to the ground. Either the second fuel pump or one of those oxyacetylene tanks. Seems they weren’t empty, after all. But he needed to get out of here before anything else went up.
He got to his feet again and saw the wide fissure started about a foot from the floor, with jagged metal lining the edges like Stone Age knives. Bishop ran straight at it and dived through, rolling when he hit the ground on the other side. He slammed against one of the wheel dollies and got up and ran for the fence. He climbed up and over, then kept running, making for that dirt track he’d seen before. A few seconds later he got to the sagebrush and dropped to the ground, still coughing.
He looked back and saw flames poking through the gap along with the smoke. Even in the darkness, he could see an immense dark cloud hovering over the building. Then there was another explosion, like before. Then another. The oxyacetylene tanks. Had to be.
Finally, the coughing subsided and Bishop got his breath back. There hadn’t been any more explosions. All he could hear was the faint crackle of flames from inside the building.
Then he heard sirens. In the distance. But obviously coming this way. Somebody must have seen the smoke and called 911. Which meant this whole area would be crawling with emergency services pretty soon. Including the police. And they couldn’t find him here. A suspicious-looking stranger near a burning building in the middle of the night was every cop’s dream. But which way? The sirens were coming from the north, and if he went south or west the desert would just swallow him up. Which just left this dirt track he was on.
Then he remembered the hard drive in his pocket and pulled it out. If the cops did pick him up they’d confiscate it as evidence for sure. And while he was fairly sure whatever was on there would clear him of any wrongdoing, it was a sure bet they’d never allow him to see the actual footage for himself. Plus it would also open up a whole bunch of questions Bishop had no intention of answering just yet.
Which left just one option.
Bishop stood and turned slowly in a circle as he looked at the ground. There. About ten feet away. There was a large cholla cactus on its own amongst the sage, with a few rocks close by on the right. He walked over and studied them. The largest was about a foot long at its widest diameter. He knelt down and hefted it. Weighed about twenty-five pounds. Putting it down, he noticed one of the smaller rocks had a pointed edge on one side and he used it to start digging into the hard desert soil.
When he was done, Bishop took out the hard drive and placed it carefully in the two-inch deep hole. Then he filled it in and placed the large rock on top. Good enough. The sirens were only a few blocks away now. He could already see the flashing lights in the distance. He needed to move. The more distance he could put between himself and this place, the better.
He started walking east along the dirt track and saw it made a gradual turn northwards. He stayed with it, took the turn and stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine somewhere in front of him. He stood motionless and listened. Higher than usual RPM. As though the car was in too low a gear for its speed. Then a vehicle suddenly appeared from the left about a hundred yards up ahead. Must be another road down there. There were no headlights. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it was travelling in reverse. He watched it move across the landscape, then it turned onto the dirt track, still with its back to him. And it kept coming his way. All he could see was a dark shape and the two reversing lights on either side as they got closer and closer.
Even after what he’d just been through, this was definitely one of the weirdest things Bishop had seen in a while. Whoever was driving sure knew how to handle a car. He just stood there and waited, curious to see what happened next.
When it was twenty feet away, the brake lights came on and the car skidded to a complete stop. Then the rear lights disappeared, leaving the vehicle in darkness. Over the din of the approaching sirens, he could hear the engine idling. Then the passenger door opened. The interior lights didn’t come on, but he could still make out a shape in the driver’s seat.
Bishop walked towards the car and when he reached the door bent his head and looked inside.
The driver was female. She was calmly staring back at him with large, dark eyes and an unreadable expression on her face. From the lights in the dash, Bishop could see it was the same Latino woman who’d been checking him out in the diner earlier. Wearing a denim-type shirt and jeans, she looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail.
She revved the engine once and said, ‘I don’t have all night, Bishop. You getting in or not?’
Bishop raised his eyebrows at the sound of his name. Then he got in.
THIRTY-TWO
Bishop buckled his seat belt while the woman took off down the track at a steady 30 mph. She still hadn’t turned her headlights on. There were no lights around here and the existing cloud cover meant navigating by moonlight was almost impossible. Almost being the operative word. Bishop figured her night vision must be phenomenal. He’d once read that people who suffered from colour blindness often see better in the dark, and wondered if that explained it.
She gave him a quick glance and said, ‘Nothing to say at all?’
He let out a long breath and looked at the dash clock. 01.29. ‘Mostly, I’m trying to figure out how you know my name.’
‘I have my ways.’
‘Uh huh. So you going to tell me yours, or shall I just call you Mystery Girl?’
‘Clarissa Vallejo, at your service,’ she said, and downshifted. She took a left turn and few seconds later they were on smooth asphalt with the occasional house passing by on either side. Bishop could also see some streetlights way off in the distance. She took another look at him and said, ‘What’s that smile for?’
‘Nothing. I just never figured my guardian angel would be turn out to be Mexican.’
‘Mexican American, if you don’t mind. We live in politically correct times.’
‘Right. So where are you taking me?’
‘Where do you want me to take you?’
So he was being given a choice. That was promising. Bishop thought for a few seconds and decided it might be best to avoid Selina’s apartment this evening. Or morning. No point in tempting fate. ‘You know any decent motels around here?’ he asked.
