The overhead paneling supporting the lights and fans groans.
I need to move.
Picking up my pace, I head back the way I came.
The whine turns to a groan overhead, and I duck in time to miss the falling metal beam. Huddled by the stack of boxed microwaves, I curse. The rake has fallen from my hands, and I bend down to pi?—
Fuck.
A live wire snakes over the floor, inching toward a big ass puddle of water from the dousing. The only dry surface that won’t carry current is on top of the boxes, clinging to the top with one hand. I scale the nearest ones and scan the area for Schmiddy.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
Fucking typical.
I snatch my radio with my free hand.
“Hammond, do you read? Over.”
The radio squeals before static swallows the shrill sound whole.
Dammit.
“Hammond, come in.”
Nothing.
I flick the radio to the general engine channel and try Sandy.
“Sandy, this is Tennison, do you copy?”
The static snaps before Sandy’s voice comes over the channel. “Loud and clear, where the hell are you? Schmiddy’s back out.”
I roll my eyes.
The motherfucker.
“I’m in the warehouse still. Over.”
“Hold tight, Hammond is coming to get you.”
“No! The electrical is not off. I repeat, the electrical is stilllive. Copy?”
“Copy that, sending Owens out to rectify that. Sit tight.”
“Copy. Over.”
I slump against the boxes, which is a bad idea. The pile sways, and I shift my seat ever so slowly to rebalance the lot.
The live wire makes contact with the water and the current oscillates through it. The base of the boxes starts to singe, a haze rising from the water’s surface.
Come on, Owens.
My lungs tighten then burn as I forget to breathe.
The water looses something like a sigh as the shimmering stops and the haze dissipates.
“Tennison, you good? Electrical has been rectified. Copy.”
