Yes!
There’s a groan of metal on metal beside us.It’s not moving yet, but I can make out the shape of it, I think.I just need a little more …
The day I left, I cried in Pa’s arms.He held me and explained how he’d gone out that morning to buy a photo frame so he’d have something to put my firstObserverbyline up in.I hadn’t even been hired yet.He was that certain I’d get the job.Said it was only a matter of time and tenacity—ever since he had gotten Word of the Day toilet paper, it was like living with a thesaurus.
And he was right, even if my first byline didn’t look how I’d thought it would.
Some things are only possible when you put your mind to ’em.Those are the important things.
It’s just a fancy set of pulleys and a box.How hard can it be?
The groaning gets louder.
Closer.
It’s moving.
Oh my God.
It’s moving.
I can actually feel it rising, like a magnet drawing itself nearer.When it reaches our floor, I finally open my eyes, and it’s a good thing Lucky’s got a good hold on me because I feel a little wobbly now.
“Okay?”
“Good, but I probably shouldn’t try that too many times.”
He helps me onto the elevator, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t let go.Based on how far I had to pull the cab up, they’re in basement two.Gravity takes the pressure off of getting us down there, and now that I’m not fighting against it, the fog behind my eyes clears.
“What if there’s someone waiting?”I whisper.
“I only need to see where I’m going, yeah?We’ll keep to the front, out of sight, and you open the door enough that I can move us without them seeing.”
It’s a good plan, as long as there’s somewhere safe for us to move to.
The doors groan and screech as I pull them open the few inches Lucky needs to see beyond.My heart jumps into my throat when I hear the thump of something hitting the floor, accompanied by overlapping voices, but it’s distant, echoing from another room.
Okay.Distant is good.I like distant.
Nodding to Lucky, I watch as he flickers in place, gone one second, back the next.“It’s clear.”
I slide my hands in his, and we’re out.
The room is barren, a sterilized corridor, bookended by the vault and the exit.We stand between them, with no shield and no plan.
The vault door is huge, thick as a tractor tire and swung wide open.Inside is another room of white walls and tiles.Five men stand with their backs to us, their movements accompanied by a heavy thump as they load six large black duffel bags with gold bricks, one by one.
Anxiety has sharpened their personalities to a deadly point.I’d bet they’re seconds away from turning on each other.
There’s a woman’s body on the floor near the open door, and I tap softly on Lucky’s hand to get his attention, pointing to where she’s lying.
“Hostage?”he thinks.
I nod.
“Fuck.Okay.”
Lucky disappears, and I hear the rustle of clothing before it’s gone again.But he doesn’t reappear, and my veins turn to ice at how quiet it is.
