Getting or Gotten Loose

The lights in the hall flickered. Her tensed muscles had no target upon which to unleash their fury as she exited the holding cell.

No guard.

No interrogator.

Not even a lame attempt at ‘good cop, bad cop’.

Laser palmed but ready she crept along the corridor, noting dents in the walls and shattered ceiling tiles. A section of wall with the dust shadow of a drinking fountain dripped water in aquatic 4/4 time. Something on the floor stuck to her shoe, thick and slippery.

Her mind whipped through priorities: weapon, exit, escape vehicle, means to contact Central. With a blink she was mentally reviewing the most likely layout for the facility, laying odds on where to get each thing she needed, ways to deal with obstacles.

She consider possibilities but immediately wished she hadn’t. If her side had come, why hadn’t they got her? If rebels made the brouhaha, why not snag her as a bargaining chip? Why was it so quiet?

A part of her knew that someone, or something very wild had gotten loose in the facility.

View this story's 2 comments.