Page 137 of Evil Bones
I’d been at it for what seemed hours when the last sodden fibers finally gave way.
With clumsy fingers, I freed my wrists, then my ankles and struggled to my feet. My legs were numb. My entire right side felt weak.
Drawn by what I thought was the distant hum of traffic, I slogged through the pitch-black tunnel. Palm-feeling my way along a wall, I eventually reached the entrance.
A barred gate covered the opening top to bottom. On the right, a padlock secured the gate to a heavy metal hasp embedded in concrete.
Again, I almost cried.
You’ve got this!
Heat sparked in my chest.
Feeling the jolt animals get when smelling a predator, I lunged.
To my surprise, the gate swung on its rusty hinges with a grating creak. The padlock was either broken or had not been properly engaged. Or it might have been purposely left open.
I didn’t have the focus to sort through the alternatives. Heart pumping, I shot through the opening.
The outside air smelled as sweet as any I’d ever breathed.
I drew two deep lungfuls.
Then I ran.
CHAPTER 31
I’d emerged into a gully of some sort.
It was night.
A steady rain was falling.
A lone sodium-vapor streetlamp high on one bank bathed the depression around me in sparkly peach tones.
Crickets did their cricket thing, undisturbed by the falling drops or by my sudden and less-than-graceful appearance. Now and then, something larger added a throaty croak to the rhythmic cheeping.
High above at street level, a lone horn honked.
My stint underground had pre-adapted my eyes to the darkness. A quick scan revealed a hairline path winding upward on the gully’s far end. Backhanding moisture from my face, I jogged that way and followed the graveled trail up the embankment.
The path ended on a slight promontory. The city spread below like an ill-formed amoeba, windows glowing yellow, neon signs twinkling multicolored like the lights in a child’s toy village.
I took a moment to get my bearings.
Off to my right, in the far distance, loomed the cavernous concrete shell that was the Bank of America Stadium. Beyond the stadium, the Truist Center, the BofA Corporate Center, the monolith on South Tryon whose name I didn’t know.
My hair was winging medusa wild around my head. My tank and shorts were sodden and filthy and molded to my goose-bumped skin.
I felt myself simultaneously trembling and perspiring. Fever? Shock?
Either way, I needed help. Fast.
I had no phone.
No money.
No way to secure an Uber.
