Blout laughed. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met that talks in circles and comes out makin’ sense.”

“Basement, then breakfast?”

“Deal.”

We started back down the stairs to check out the basement, but somebody had other plans. All at once, above and below us, the sounds of doors opening and slamming filled the stairwell.

Slam!

“What the hell is that?!” Blout yelled. The sound was deafening.

Slam! Slam!

We both had our guns drawn, cocked, and waving at darkness.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

“Screw the basement!” I screamed. “Let’s break for the first floor and get out of here!”

We got nowhere. I heard a rasping sound, and a stink passed beneath my nostrils, making me gag. Then a board hit me flat on the back of the head and I went down hard, feeling my neck doused with hot blood. The hall was filled with attacking bodies. Blout was yelling and firing off rounds, but I couldn’t do anything to help him. I was being beaten on every inch of my body.

There were so many attackers I couldn’t breathe. When I gasped for air, all I got was a lung full of dusty, death-like stink.

I fell, gagging and trying to go limp, but there were a dozen fists and two dozen kicking legs waiting to meet me. It was too dark in the stairwell to see our attackers, and I was being hit too much to focus. The last thing I remember was hearing Blout screaming my name. As I began to lose consciousness, I reached out for support, but instead my right hand fell upon what could only be a face. I scratched where the eyes should have been but my fingers found nothing but dry empty sockets.

Then, mercifully, everything went black.

8

I was out cold, drifting in a state that would have been pleasant had it not been forcibly induced by a beating. I had a vague awareness of being dragged, surrounded by loud static noises, heat, flame, and smoke. Voices barked and grunted, and as time passed I felt the presence of fresh air. Then more screaming and a sound that could have been the pounding of feet on concrete.

It all ended with a jolting blast of pain erupting in the back of my skull. I woke to the sights and sounds of the chaos I had been distantly experiencing while unconscious. It wasn’t what I expected.

I saw daylight, early morning daylight. I was on my back, lying in the parking lot of Whitney Green surrounded by emergency medical personnel. They were looking down at me, poking and prodding my body, and talking like I was an idiot. I tried to sit up, coughing, pushing them away. Every millimeter of my person hurt. I felt broken ribs, a multitude of bruises, and a gaping gash on the back of my head.

“Get off me!” I yelled at the medics, and stood with great effort. It was then that I saw what had happened.