The shape of the building came into view the closer we approached the lights, and I spent a few minutes reviewing our options. What if it ended up being the home of someone who owned the docks, and they profited from the illegal activity going on at them? Would it be safe for us to knock?
Did we risk it?
Once we were close enough, it was simple to see that wouldn’t be a problem. The structure wasn’t a home but an old service center—one that was clearly not currently open. It was one extensive building with two bay doors cut out on the far side. There were no gas pumps, and around back a tall chain-link fence cordoned off two rows of vehicles.
Imogen paused as we came to a small walkway into the service center’s gravel driveway, but I took her hand and tugged her forward. There might be a phone, food, water, a magnitude of things we needed. And a place to hide.
We came to the side door unable to reach the back because of the chain-link fence, and I twisted the knob to a door, which led into the first garage bay. Locked.
“What do we do?” Imogen asked, her beauty hidden by the dark night and only her scared expression lit up from the overcast lights of the station.
I couldn’t fail her now. It was my job to get us to safety, and I didn’t survive swimming away from a boat to flop this close to rescue. I searched the ground, using my feet to help when the light became too dim to see. Finally, my foot struck a big enough rock.
The old rundown service station didn’t look like a place that invested in a top-of-the-line security system. I threw the rock through the window of the side door, and didn’t worry about what might happen. Worst-case scenario, there was an alarm, and it called the police. I would gladly face a breaking-and-entering charge over being murdered.
Imogen covered her ears for the breaking glass and I reached my hand into the space of the broken window, unlocking the door, and then opening it to let us walk in. Two cars already sat in the work bays, but I sped past them as quickly as possible, headed for the service station. They had to have a phone and other things we needed.
Imogen followed close behind, and as soon as I stepped into the air condition part of the garage my eyes found a cooler sitting on top of the counter. It had a clear glass side and was full of water and two kinds of soda.
I reached for the first and held the door open, passing a water to Imogen and making sure she got hers open before I took my first sip. It’d been at least two days since I’d had any liquid, and I drank the water too fast. It hit my empty stomach and pain had my muscles clenching. But I didn’t stop. I needed water more than anything, and even if I puked it up back later, I didn’t care.
“Little sips,” Imogen said, but even she struggled to follow her own advice.
I needed to search for a phone, but I sat down right there on the floor with Imogen beside me as I enjoyed my first drink.
“Cyrus, I feel bad,” she said when our frantic guzzling slowed.
I rested my head against the counter. “Why?” We just survived being kidnapped. If I had the strength, I’d celebrate. Did she get hit by a bullet? I studied her frantically.
“Because I’ve never stolen anything,” she said, looking at her second bottle of water.
I smiled. Only a sweet, honest person too good for this world would be upset they stole water after a time like this.
“I’ll send them a check.” A nice big fat check they could retire on. “A big one.”
“And a thank you note,” she said, and the two of us chuckled. We were almost safe.
It cut off quickly when two headlights swept across the large open window of the service station. We were half covered by the counter, but I leaned to the side to watch as the car pulled into the empty parking lot.
Not good.
“Shit,” I said and forced Imogen to her feet. She grabbed as many water bottles as she could carry and we snuck out through a door on the other end of the open space into the back lot.
The one surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. Shit. Now the two of us were even more sitting ducks than we were on the ship.
We hovered beside the door as I tried to think of a way to get us out of the situation this time. Two car doors opened and closed quickly. Men talked to each other, but they were too far away to make out their words.
“What if they’re good people?” Imogen whispered as she stood beside me next to the door.
I leaned over, peeking through the window, able to see straight through the service center of the large window from the front. The men who exited the car turned to the trunk, and both reached in to grab something.
“Do good people carry shotguns?” I asked.
I moved to the side, letting Imogen peek through the window, and she gasped when she saw the two men walking closer to the front of the building with guns across their chests.
Either there had been an alarm, and the owner came down to secure his business himself, or we didn’t get far enough away from the docks for safety.
“Do you think they’re looking for us?” she asked.
