“Literally a maze down here. There are freaking skulls. Come on, lady, walk!”
Skulls. That put them in the catacombs, under the acropolis. Griffin edged toward the ladder. He might be outnumbered and outgunned, but he knew the territory, and he’d back himself in a footrace.
“They won’t be real,” said the gunslinger.
“They damn well look real.”
“Well, retrace your steps!”
“We are!”
The woman caught on to where Griffin was headed, and sprang for him, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t touch me,” Griffin ordered. Her resolve wavered, along with her grip. She might well be trained in detaining people, but Griffin brought a curveball to the game. Even a second’s hesitation might be enough. He shook her off, looking to where Lana had disappeared into the wardrobe rack.
As expected, the woman moved, blocking the exit. He took his chance, sprinting away down the passage, his path weaklymarked by glow-in-the-dark tape. He’d learned some things about tasing—like, it was tough to hit a moving target at a distance, especially in a narrow space where the probes were as likely to strike the walls. And unlike a gun, it took time to reload. The goons shouted, following.
Griffin reached the southwest citadel tower, skidding into a plastic security barrier. He heaved it up and tossed it behind him. The woman sidestepped. They’d reached a wider space—better for tasing.
She leveled the Taser. “Iwilluse this.”
“Do it and you’ll be jailed for assault.”
“You have no way to identify me.”
Griffin lunged at a candle shelf on the wall and slammed his fist on it, activating a hidden lever. He leaped to the center of the room. As the Taser popped, he plummeted through the opening trapdoor into the dungeons, landing on the gym mat placed there after Estelle’s fall. He hauled the mat away, heaved up a metal grate, and ran into the cave, snatching a prop lantern from a wall sconce and switching it on.
As he neared the catacombs, he heard voices. He slowed, killing the lantern and giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust. The goons’ flashlights created enough of a glow to navigate by. He rounded a corner, sticking to the shadows. One man held Lana by the arm. Another, closer to Griffin, was trying to decipher the garbled static coming through the walkie-talkie. Griffin backed away ten steps, then sprinted forward, building momentum. He flew at the nearest guy, driving a knee into his solar plexus. The walkie-talkie skidded across the floor. As the guy flailed, sucking air, Griffin pivoted and smashed an elbow into his nose. He lashed out, but it was wild, desperate. Griffin ducked, swept a leg around and took him out at the ankles. One down.
The goon holding Lana cried out in pain. She was backing down the tunnel, shakily holding a Taser. Her guy was doubled over, clutching his junk. She’d kneed him? He lurched up and lumbered after her.
“Stop or I’ll … shoot … fire … unleash … whatever,” she said.
Griffin’s mark started to get up. Griffin smashed a knee to his lower back and twisted his arm behind him. The guy wailed.
“Griffin, behind you!” Lana yelled.
He whipped his head around. The woman was limping toward him, Taser aimed. The walkie-talkie crackled and cut out—the gunslinger was trying to find them.
Still sitting on his guy, Griffin swung sideways, his arms in front of his face and chest. Another tip from the weapons instructor? You could deflect a Taser by swiping away the wires and tangling them. A double pop echoed along the tunnel, and Griffin swept his arms through the dank air. But the wires didn’t connect—not on him.
A scream erupted, echoing from multiple directions. The guy Lana had taken out was back on the dirt, clutching his balls again and moaning, his body tangled in Taser wires. The shooter limped toward Griffin, loading another cartridge. She’d shot her own guy? From behind Griffin came a strange, high-pitched whine. He looked back. Lana was down, writhing in pain. Wait, what? Lana had tased her guy in the balls at the same time the woman had tased Lana?
The gunslinger’s voice came through in stereo, through both the walkie-talkie and Griffin’s ears. He was close. If Griffin was to make a move, it had to be now. He grabbed an amphora from the floor and threw it at the woman’s head. She deflected and it smashed onto the wall, but it bought him time to get to Lana. Without breaking stride, he grabbed Lana’s flashlight and scooped her up. She groaned. One thing he was well practiced in? Carrying women to safety—his characters did thata lot.
“Can you put your arms around me?” He adjusted her limp body, his quads and back taking the strain. The goons were right behind. She drowsily slung her arms around his neck—a little wildly, but it helped. When he was tased, the shock had lasted seconds but the disorientation minutes—and the burns weeks. Another thing the SAG-AFTRA reps didn’t need to know. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”
He had to remain at least one turn ahead in the snaking maze. The flashlight was jammed between his arm and Lana’s back, spilling just enough light to keep him from running into walls. He took all the sharpest turns and side tunnels, navigating to an alcove where props were stored. Voices echoed along the cave’s twisting threads.
“I need to grab some things,” he said, lowering Lana to the ground. “You gonna be okay if I let go?”
“Yeah. I’m achy as hell but the shakes have stopped. Shitballs, that was intense.”
She pushed to her feet, testing her balance, as he ducked into the alcove. He’d hoped for a sword or spear—even prop weapons could do damage—but they’d evidently been locked in the armory. He grabbed a couple of things from the shelves and stuffed them in his pockets.
“Whoarethose guys?” she whispered as he returned.
“Contract security is my guess. Working for someone with resources.”
