Page 56 of Don't Cross the Blue Line
I make myself as small as possible as another shape surges through the cloud, and then a second one, just behind him, broader, slower, and they both vanish into the bay.
Come on, Beckett, get out of there.
My heart threatens to burst from my chest. My hands shake, hovering over the chains, trying not to rattle them.
There’s a commotion, something hard making contact with something metal. And then a body ducks through the opening. I don’t wait. I don’t verify. I don’t think.
I pull the chain.
The door drops, a curtain of steel rolling forward and then down, then a crash into the concrete that trembles through my bones and into my teeth, sealing off anyone left inside the Zamboni bay.
I can hear them inside, their frantic footsteps as they assess their situation. A massive, immoveable chemical drum blocks one door. The forklift that put it there blocks the other. And the key—tucked safely in my jacket pocket.
* * *
The doors shudder from the inside. The bay door creaks upward for a moment, and I scramble for the lock, diving toward the latch. I turn the small handle, the latch hooking into place.
“Open this door!” Whichever of them it was, his voice is muffled. Furious.
My hands are trembling as I sit back on my heels, giving myself just a second to catch my breath.
I’m alive.
Footsteps appear behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin when Beckett emerges from the fog, his flashlight glowing through the dying clouds.
“Did we get ’em?” he asks, breathless.
I wipe the hair away from my face feverishly. “I think so—I saw two of them go through.”
Beckett frowns. “There are three of them.”
The word three washes over me like a sheet of ice.
There were three of them. Two locked in the Zamboni bay. One still in the building. “Yikes?”
Beckett takes my hand again. “Run!”
My lungs are burning as we burst from the arena back into the amber glow of the mall. We have to get away from the rink, away from the last place they knew we were.
We pass Blake’s. We pass the furniture store. We’re deep into the mall, and now my legs are burning, adrenaline pushing me to move faster. Not slow down.
My head is swimming. I can’t breathe.
Beckett stops abruptly. “We gotta get out of the open. Let’s go.” He pushes me in the direction of the nearest storefront. The Penalty Box.
I duck through the gate and Beckett follows.
He nods toward the back of the store, his hand pressed to my back. “Storage room. Go.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I’m already weaving through the shelves, eyes set on the destination.
The storage room door shuts behind us, and Beckett wastes no time dragging one of the massive shelving units across the floor, blocking the door. For a moment, neither of us moves. Beckett stands beside the shelf, heaving breaths, looking at me.
I’m trembling. Shaking deep in my bones.
Finally, Beckett steps into the space, his flashlight pouring over the inventory. He pauses on a barrel of hockey sticks in the corner. He picks one up, tests it in his grip. Whatever he’s testing, it seems to get his approval, because he picks up another and holds it out to me.
I blink at it. “What’s this?”
