“Fuckin’ storm,” Todd cursed.
Not thinking, acting purely from instinct, Corey shot out of the chair, grabbed it, and heaved it in the general direction of the desk. Todd shouted. Gunfire rang out, the muzzle spitting fire. Corey ducked. Glass shattered behind him and tinkled to the floor.
Ears ringing, Corey scrambled through the darkness to where he remembered the door to be and stumbled out of the office, Todd grunting behind him, furniture banging to the floor.
The warehouse was dark as a moon cavern, and Todd was coming after him.
47
Running through the echoing darkness, bumping against hard-edged objects, shoes clapping against concrete, Corey struggled to remember the location of the loading dock doors. His memory was a blur, as if it had been wiped clean by the shock of Todd’s betrayal. He was thoroughly lost, a mouse in a giant labyrinth.
He heard Todd’s rapid footsteps somewhere behind him. Todd had used to work there, knew the warehouse’s floor plan well. And he had two guns.
Shit. When the hell would the backup power generator kick in?
Pressing forward, one hand extended straight ahead, Corey dug his other hand into his pockets. He felt the Leatherman in his front pocket, a tiny utility tool he carried on his key ring, but it didn’t include a flashlight. His fingers slid across the cell phones holstered on his hip. Maybe the BlackBerry would be good for a little light-
His shoulder slammed hard against something. A metal shelf of some kind. The collision knocked the breath out of him, and he staggered.
Adrenaline kept him balanced on his feet. Sticking both hands out in front of him, he felt the sharp edge of a corner. He sidled around it.
He spotted a door ahead, a crimson EXIT sign glowing in the darkness.
He paused, listened, but didn’t hear Todd’s footsteps anymore. Maybe he had lost him.
He sprinted toward the door. When he was halfway there, lights suddenly flooded the area, disorienting in their brightness.
Like some macabre jack-in-the-box, Todd sprang from around the corner on Corey’s left, pistol in his hand and a death’s head grin on his face. Corey shouted in surprise, and started to spin away.
Todd clubbed him with the gun, and his world went dark again.
48
Cold water splashed over Corey.
He came awake with a rasped shout. He wiped water out of his eyes, blinked. Blinking made him wince. His head felt as if it had been split open like a coconut, soaked in gasoline, and set on fire.
He lay on a smooth floor that felt like a sheet of permafrost. Todd stood above him in a cone of light, a red plastic bucket dangling from his hand, the pistol jutting from his waistband in an inverted “L.” Veils of mist swirled around them, and the entire room hummed and pulsed.
They were inside a freezer.
It was as large as a two-car garage. Tall metal racks lined the stainless steel walls and stood in rows throughout the chamber, every inch of shelving packed with boxes of assorted sizes, many of them dusted with frost. A galvanized steel door that looked as impregnable as the entrance of a bank vault hung half-open behind Todd.
Head throbbing, Corey sat up. Bone-deep shivers coursed through him. He was completely soaked with water, and already felt it hardening into a shell on his skin.
Todd wore a good-humored expression, strings of frosty breath curling from his nostrils.
“I thought I’d let you chill for a while.” Todd chuckled at his joke and cast a look around. “This is actually one of the smaller cold storage areas. I got trapped in here once when I was a teenager. Twenty minutes of sheer hell. Wouldn’t you know my cheap-ass old man still hasn’t fixed the handle?”
“Todd. . no. .” Corey’s throat burned; his voice came out cracked. He grabbed the support leg of a nearby rack. The freezing metal numbed his fingers. Groaning, he started to pull himself to his feet.
Bucket swinging from his hand, Todd backed toward the door. “Chill out in here and think about making the right decision for your family, Corey. It’s about five below zero. Better keep moving to stay warm, or you might lose some fingers and toes.”
Corey’s knees quivered and popped as he rose. “Listen. .”
Todd’s smile was downright sunny. “I’ll be back in a bit. Gonna grab me a burger. We’ll see if you’re ready to deal then.”
Corey tried to move forward, but dizziness swept through him. He swayed against a shelf, jarring a box to the floor.
Todd slipped outside and slammed the door, foam sealing the portal shut with a soft sucking sound. Shouting, Corey ran-stumbled to the door and pushed it.
It did not budge.
“No!”
His voice bounced back to him, muffled and flat.
Wincing at the pounding in his head, he studied the handle mechanism. There was some sort of mushroom-shaped cap as big as his fist that should have sprung the lock, but it was coated in a thick jacket of ice. When he pushed it, it didn’t give at all.
No, no, no.
He hammered his fists against the door. Ice slivers cascaded from the door and ceiling and rained over his head. But the door held firm.
Call someone.
Fogged breaths spewing from his lips, he searched his belt. His BlackBerry and the other cell phone were gone. When he was unconscious, Todd must have taken them.
“No!”
He was trapped.
49
He refused to believe that he was trapped.
But there was no emergency alarm on the wall, no phone box, no other exit. When he shouted for help, yelling until his voice broke, no one responded.
I’m not trapped.
He attacked the door, kicking the frozen mushroom cap repeatedly, as hard as he could, pain jolting through his shins and knees. Tiny chips of ice wafted to the floor. But the cap did not give.
He kicked it again. “Come on!”
Nothing.
One more time. “Damn it, open!”
No good.
Panting, he bent over. His legs burned, as if razor blades had been driven deep into his flesh. They ached so intensely it was difficult to stand, but he welcomed the pain. Throbbing pain meant blood was circulating.
It’s about five below zero.
Goose pimples rashed his arms. His damp clothes were getting stiff, freezing, and crackled when he moved. He thought of stripping out of them, but couldn’t imagine how that would help. His entire body felt as though it were under attack by a thousand knives.
How long would it take before frostbite set in? A half hour? Minutes? He wasn’t the kind of guy who spent his time roughing it in the great outdoors, and the temp rarely dipped below freezing in Atlanta. He had only a general idea of the symptoms of frostbite. Like tingling. Numbness. Pain.
And he knew the potential risks. Like tissue damage. In the worst cases, amputation.
Hard shudders wracked him. His teeth chattered.
Move, keep moving, keep blood flowing.
He paced back and forth across the freezer, weaving between the aisles, from the door to the back wall. He clapped his hands, pinched his nose, rubbed his cheeks, clenched and unclenched his fingers and toes.
He checked his watch. Ice crusted the face. He scraped it clear with his thumbnail. It read 9:34.
How long can I last?
Vaporous ghosts swirled and hissed around him. The freezer compressor hummed, a rumbling vibration he felt echoing in the core of his heart, as if he were turning into ice from the inside out.
Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving.
He paced, paced, paced.
I’m not trapped.
He lunged wildly at the door again. He bounced off as if it were elastic, slipped, and fell down, slamming against the floor with a grunt.