The Rift
A Quelnine soldier in the room ahead. Calvin stood with his back tight to the wall in the dim hallway, and slid out his pistol; a silencer extending from the barrel.
He could hear the soldier shuffling around the area, which apparently served as a small office, muttering to himself and shifting papers about. From the brief glimpse Calvin had gotten, the man didn't looked prepared an attack at all; he'd held his rifle cradled loosely in the crook of one arm, while he searched for some document.
Here goes, thought Calvin. I hope he isn't facing me, for his sake.
He turned the corner of the concrete wall and drew his sights on the soldier's back.
"Freeze!" he growled, in a cold voice that would have made Jonas proud.
"What, what the...?"
"Drop your fucking rifle and put your hands where I can see them."
The soldier let the rifle slide from his loose arm, and then lifted his shaking hands.
"What is this about?" he asked.
"Shut up. You got handcuffs around here?"
"What do you need handcuffs for? Look, I'm just newly stationed here, I -- "
Calvin wheeled the man around, grabbed the man by the scruff of his uniform, and slammed him in the conrcete wall. The knuckles of his fist dug into the soldier's neck, while he touched the barrel of his pistol to his head.
"I don't have time to fuck around, here," said Calvin. "Either you can start answering my questions, or you're dead."
"My pants," he croaked. His face as white as milk. "There's some cuffs in my pants. Most soldiers keep pairs..."
"Thanks."
He held the gun to the man, while he dipped into his pockets until he felt the steel loops.
He cuffed the man's hands around a metal pipe coming down from the ceiling that looked thick enough to hold him for a while, and then asked him if there was any tape in the desk.
"Yeah," he said. "Yes, there's some in the top left drawer."
Calvin retreived the roll of duct tape and wrapped his jaw a couple of times, until he was sure the man couldn't make any noise. Then he pulled a bit down to make sure air could go through his nostrils.
"Listen to me carefully," he said. "We're going to collaspe this building..."
The guy's eyes widened and he immediatley began to struggle against the pole, jingling the chain of the cuffs against the steel.
"...but you you might be able to get out safely if you listen to me closely. I'm going to leave this knife here with you."
He drew a shiny blade from beneath his cloak and held it up so that his prisoner could see it clearly. It was a fine piece of work; a solid, smooth handle with almost a foot of silver pouring out from it. The edge looked thin enough to slice an atom.
"Look here," said Calvin, pointing to the base of the blade, where the wood met the metal. The edge was jagged here, so that it looked almost like a saw. "You use this part of the blade, and it'll cut through the pipe. It doesn't look like it will, but it will; the metal's a lot stronger than what you're used to."
He sighed and took a breath.
"It'll take you a few minutes, but if you get started now, you'll have plenty of time to get out here. Got it?"
The soldier nodded his milky head.
"Good. But keep listening. Once you're out of this building you still aren't safe. I don't know what's going on up in the city, but it isn't safe up there. If you want to live, you need to get out as soon as possible. Head for the woods or something."
The soldier simply stood.
"I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince you. If you don't listen, you'll die. Here's the knife."
Clavin handed him the blade, holding his pistol on the man with his other hand. The soldier snatched it away, and immediately began to saw away at the bar with the blade.
Calvin turned away from him and walked over to the room's far metal door and swung it open to reveal a small landing with a grated platform and a ladder extending to the basement floor below. He turned back to the prisoner in the room.
"And I really do value that knife. You're lucky I gave it to you. So I'm telling you now, if you get loose and try to radio any of the other soldiers, I'll kill you. It'll be too late, awyway -- we'll be done here in a few minutes -- but I'll still know, and I'll still kill you. Okay?"
He walked out into the landing, closed the door tightly, and looked through the grid beneath his feet, to the ground. It was drop of about seventy feet. On the concrete floor below were hundres of crates stacked in heaping piles. Shelves two-stories high held almost every item imaginable: boxes of paper plates and plastic silverware, packages of snack food, clothing, guns. Four loading trucks parked just inside the cargo door.
Extending down the middle was the steel support pillar where his second bomb would go. Calvin had already placed his first bomb in the left corner of the wharehouse. With the radios turned off, he had no way of knowing if Angela and Richie had planted their explosives yet, but they certainly should have; They only had to place one bomb each.
He had the detonator in one of his pockets. As soon as he touched the button, four of the building's five pillars would blow out -- three in the corners, and one in the middle. After the explosions, the remaining corner pillar would lean under the weight of the structure, making the building tip over, rather than crumble in a random heap.
No soldiers or workers as far as he could see, though he thought there must be more around there somewhere. He kept his eyes on the floor as he stepped to the side, and began descending the ladder. He gripped the steel rungs with his left hand, while his right one held the pistol.
The pinging sound of metal, painfully loud after each step.
He reached the bottom and looked down the halls networking the shelves. Great empty caverns of merchnadise. As he began down the hall to his left, he heard shooting from somewhere deep in the warehouse. There were at least two machine guns going off, and he could make out a couple shotgun blasts, too.
He could hear the soldier shuffling around the area, which apparently served as a small office, muttering to himself and shifting papers about. From the brief glimpse Calvin had gotten, the man didn't looked prepared an attack at all; he'd held his rifle cradled loosely in the crook of one arm, while he searched for some document.
Here goes, thought Calvin. I hope he isn't facing me, for his sake.
He turned the corner of the concrete wall and drew his sights on the soldier's back.
"Freeze!" he growled, in a cold voice that would have made Jonas proud.
"What, what the...?"
"Drop your fucking rifle and put your hands where I can see them."
The soldier let the rifle slide from his loose arm, and then lifted his shaking hands.
"What is this about?" he asked.
"Shut up. You got handcuffs around here?"
"What do you need handcuffs for? Look, I'm just newly stationed here, I -- "
Calvin wheeled the man around, grabbed the man by the scruff of his uniform, and slammed him in the conrcete wall. The knuckles of his fist dug into the soldier's neck, while he touched the barrel of his pistol to his head.
"I don't have time to fuck around, here," said Calvin. "Either you can start answering my questions, or you're dead."
"My pants," he croaked. His face as white as milk. "There's some cuffs in my pants. Most soldiers keep pairs..."
"Thanks."
He held the gun to the man, while he dipped into his pockets until he felt the steel loops.
He cuffed the man's hands around a metal pipe coming down from the ceiling that looked thick enough to hold him for a while, and then asked him if there was any tape in the desk.
"Yeah," he said. "Yes, there's some in the top left drawer."
Calvin retreived the roll of duct tape and wrapped his jaw a couple of times, until he was sure the man couldn't make any noise. Then he pulled a bit down to make sure air could go through his nostrils.
"Listen to me carefully," he said. "We're going to collaspe this building..."
The guy's eyes widened and he immediatley began to struggle against the pole, jingling the chain of the cuffs against the steel.
"...but you you might be able to get out safely if you listen to me closely. I'm going to leave this knife here with you."
He drew a shiny blade from beneath his cloak and held it up so that his prisoner could see it clearly. It was a fine piece of work; a solid, smooth handle with almost a foot of silver pouring out from it. The edge looked thin enough to slice an atom.
"Look here," said Calvin, pointing to the base of the blade, where the wood met the metal. The edge was jagged here, so that it looked almost like a saw. "You use this part of the blade, and it'll cut through the pipe. It doesn't look like it will, but it will; the metal's a lot stronger than what you're used to."
He sighed and took a breath.
"It'll take you a few minutes, but if you get started now, you'll have plenty of time to get out here. Got it?"
The soldier nodded his milky head.
"Good. But keep listening. Once you're out of this building you still aren't safe. I don't know what's going on up in the city, but it isn't safe up there. If you want to live, you need to get out as soon as possible. Head for the woods or something."
The soldier simply stood.
"I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince you. If you don't listen, you'll die. Here's the knife."
Clavin handed him the blade, holding his pistol on the man with his other hand. The soldier snatched it away, and immediately began to saw away at the bar with the blade.
Calvin turned away from him and walked over to the room's far metal door and swung it open to reveal a small landing with a grated platform and a ladder extending to the basement floor below. He turned back to the prisoner in the room.
"And I really do value that knife. You're lucky I gave it to you. So I'm telling you now, if you get loose and try to radio any of the other soldiers, I'll kill you. It'll be too late, awyway -- we'll be done here in a few minutes -- but I'll still know, and I'll still kill you. Okay?"
He walked out into the landing, closed the door tightly, and looked through the grid beneath his feet, to the ground. It was drop of about seventy feet. On the concrete floor below were hundres of crates stacked in heaping piles. Shelves two-stories high held almost every item imaginable: boxes of paper plates and plastic silverware, packages of snack food, clothing, guns. Four loading trucks parked just inside the cargo door.
Extending down the middle was the steel support pillar where his second bomb would go. Calvin had already placed his first bomb in the left corner of the wharehouse. With the radios turned off, he had no way of knowing if Angela and Richie had planted their explosives yet, but they certainly should have; They only had to place one bomb each.
He had the detonator in one of his pockets. As soon as he touched the button, four of the building's five pillars would blow out -- three in the corners, and one in the middle. After the explosions, the remaining corner pillar would lean under the weight of the structure, making the building tip over, rather than crumble in a random heap.
No soldiers or workers as far as he could see, though he thought there must be more around there somewhere. He kept his eyes on the floor as he stepped to the side, and began descending the ladder. He gripped the steel rungs with his left hand, while his right one held the pistol.
The pinging sound of metal, painfully loud after each step.
He reached the bottom and looked down the halls networking the shelves. Great empty caverns of merchnadise. As he began down the hall to his left, he heard shooting from somewhere deep in the warehouse. There were at least two machine guns going off, and he could make out a couple shotgun blasts, too.