Page 45 of Survivor
“Fuck you.” My heart battered my ribs.
What now? Wait…The ducts? He couldn’t lock down the ducts.
I scanned the corridor and located a vent.
“Rogue…where are you,” he said in a singsong voice.
I flipped the grill to the vent and climbed in. The ducts were large, built to be navigated. Large enough for me to turn slightly and pull the grill back into place, but my chest still contracted in panic at the confinement. No. This was okay. This was safe. There were exits. I just needed to get to the right one.
The knot in my chest eased a little, and then I was off, using my elbows and knees to move commando-style through the smooth metallic vents. I’d studied the ducts briefly, and the map in my head was blurry at best, but the whole ship was marked. Each intersection had arrows and locations stamped into the metal. There was no point trying to get to the bridge to grab weapons. If he’d shut down the biometrics, then it meant I wouldn’t be able to open the cabinet.
But there was another place I might be able to find a weapon of some description.
The place where Braker stored all his shit.
The cargo hold.
* * *
Perspiration beaded my brow and skimmed down my neck and spine. Shit it was getting hot in here, which meant I was getting close. The cargo hold was on the other side of the engine room, which was always sweltering.
I picked up the pace, wanting out of the confines of the tunnel. Not a prisoner. Not a prisoner.
Fuck I needed to get out. An intersection loomed and my eyes zeroed in on the red arrow and the words “cargo hold.”
Yes!
I took the turn and almost sagged in relief at the sight of a grill up ahead. I crawled right up to it and bashed it open before sliding out head first. I hit the ground in a neat forward roll.
I was out.
Crates were piled up against the walls, and a huge metallic monster lay crumpled in the center of the chamber. Red light lit up the whole room.
I needed to find a weapon.
The first crate was filled with a silver mesh-like material. The next one contained bottles of a liquid I didn’t recognize. I picked one up, testing the weight of it. Oh, come on, Braker. There’s got to be something more. I made to put the bottle back.
“Cargo hold, Rogue? Really? Is that where you want this to happen?” Marick’s voice startled me coming through the tanoy to my right.
How could he know where I was?
But then the doors were opening, and his boots clomped across the ground as he entered the cargo hold.
I ducked behind the crate I’d been rummaging in, heart pounding in my throat. The bottle was still clutched in my hand.
“You want to play hide-and-seek? Is that it?” He was enjoying this way too much.
No, I didn’t. I wanted to end this. A bottle against a blade? It would have to do. I was done running from him, done running from everyone.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of my hiding spot.
Marick stood edged in crimson light, the blade clutched in his right hand. “You owe me, Rogue.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Marick. You’re a fucking psycho.” My voice was even, almost conversational.
“No. I’m single-minded. Focused and determined.”
“You’re sick, Marick. In the fucking head.”
