When the warmth of the sun landed on her face, it felt amazing—just what she needed, even though she could still see her breath every time she exhaled.
When she looked down, she saw her feet sitting in water. Just enough to cover the soles of her shoes—nothing more. The hole above must have been recent; otherwise, the water leak would have filled more of the room.
The throb in her cheek changed her focus. Time for some personal repairs.
Another search of her pack turned up nothing she could use to help stop the bleeding. All she had were the remaining scarves. Their cotton fibers would mop up the blood, but without adhesive help, they were useless as a dressing. Well, almost useless—she could tie the scarves to each other and wrap them around her head, like a giant pressure bandage.
However, given the location of the injury, she wasn’t sure it would work. The laceration was too close to her nose, meaning pressure couldn’t be applied directly, not with the size of her snout in the way.
Her eyes went in search mode, looking for a solution. That’s when she spotted it—black electrical tape wrapped around a wad of the wires hanging from a tan-colored control box along the conveyor in front of her. It was in the sunlight, so maybe it wasn’t frozen.
Summer bent down and pulled with caution at the end of the tape. It wasn’t cold to the touch. In fact, it was soft and pliable thanks to the sun doing its job.
It took a few seconds, but she was able to work it free without it snapping in half. The liberated piece was about six inches long and it still had some of its stickiness.
Her teeth made quick work of a section of a scarf, tearing a hunk off about two inches wide. She pressed it against the wound, using extra pressure to close the incision, then used the tape to hold the bandage to her skin. “Not bad,” she said, flexing her cheek muscle to test her solution.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Summer snapped her head around, tracing the direction of the sound. It appeared to be coming from the door she’d anchored shut with the hand truck and the steel worktable. Someone was beating on the entrance. Probably with a closed fist, or maybe a boot.
BANG! BANG!
Wait, check that. The wall in front of her just cracked a seam down its drywall. Plus, a cardboard box fell from one of its attached shelves. This told her that someone was yanking on the door and shaking the attached worktable.
As the noise continued, she looked down at the water around her feet, seeing the vibrations from all the force making the pool shimmer.
Before she could react, the ceiling overhead caved in, sending an avalanche of snow and roofing material at her. She dove under the conveyor belt next to her, hoping it would protect her.
A moment later, she heard a loud clang above her, right before the floor gave way and she fell like a rock.
Slayer took a step back from the cannery’s back door to let two of his strongest men continue their work. They had their hands wrapped around a bent doorknob and were yanking hard in unison. So far the door hadn’t budged much.
A fresh blood trail had led them to this location. It started near the wood pallets and then took them to the propane tank lying next to an electrical box, and finally to this door.
“Hey boss, look at this,” one of his men said, holding up his hand. It was Bird, the former helicopter pilot, standing among the pallets near the corner of the building.
“Bring it here,” Slayer said, wishing he didn’t have to walk his men through every step of the tracking process. It was like babysitting a group of infants. Well, infants who liked to party more than they worked.
Bird arrived in seconds with the item. “Looks like you were right.”
Slayer took the find and held it up by its chain. It was an infinity necklace from Edison’s group. “Gotcha now, bitch.” He turned the pendant over and read the inscription: Summer Lane.
“Going to be easy to track her now,” Bird added, pointing at the blood smeared on the chain. “Especially if she’s hurt bad enough.”
Slayer brought his eyes to the work being done at the door. “Enough of this brute force bullshit. Someone get the crowbar from my truck. She’s not getting away this time.”
“On it,” Horton said, his second-in-command. The man never said much but always followed orders to the letter—usually without a moment of hesitation.
Slayer watched Horton run to the truck, his beard twisting around his neck as it fought against the nonstop wind. The man’s facial hair was legendary, hanging down to his chest in a loose v-pattern, the interspersed gray speckles balanced against the dominating black.
Horton whipped open the rear door and put a hand inside. A moment later his arm came out, holding the crowbar above his head in victory. A quick sprint back brought the item to Slayer’s hands.
“Make a hole,” Slayer said to the men yanking on the door. His men moved away, allowing him to stick the angled end of the crowbar into the doorjamb next to the mangled knob. He worked it farther inside, wanting to maximize the leverage.
Once the bar was in position, he slid his hands to the very end of the steel and used all his force to pry at door. It took several tries, but he managed to wedge it open about an inch. “Tell me what you see in there,” he told Horton, grunting to keep the pressure in place.
Horton leaned in, pressing an eye to the gap. “Looks like a hand truck has been tied to the door.”
“Tied with what? Rope?”
“A cloth of some kind, it looks like.”
“Hurry up. Use your knife. I can’t hold this forever.”
“You got it, boss.” Horton pulled out a ten- inch pig sticker from the sheath on his hip and stuck it inside. He began to move it back and forth, sawing with abandon.
Seconds later, the tension on the crowbar released, sending the door flying open. The dolly’s handle hit the cement floor after gravity took over, making a loud metallic pinging sound.
“Spread out. Search the place,” Slayer told his team. “I want her found! If she resists, put a bullet in her.”
CHAPTER 9
Security Chief Krista Carr finished writing the tenth attribute in favor of Summer Lane on the chalkboard in the Council Chamber. Summer’s disciplinary meeting was coming to an end and Krista was thankful. It was almost time for a ruling—a long overdue ruling—a ruling that would finally rid her of her biggest headache in the silo.
However, Krista needed to finish her role as both prosecutor and defender and do so honorably, as prescribed by the Nirvana Code of Conduct. Rules were rules and she intended to abide by each one of them to the best of her ability.
She underlined the last item that read: Loved By All, then turned to face The Council, who were still seated at the Ruling Table. “As you can see, I’ve been rather thorough in my analysis of why Summer should be allowed to stay.”
Krista moved the tip of her chalk to the other column on the board; its header read: Reasons to Banish. “But it doesn’t compare to the list of infractions.”
Liz Blackwell interrupted. “I know you feel that you’ve been complete and balanced, but if you look at the two lists, they’re a bit lopsided. Not exactly what I would call a fair representation of the facts. Or the accused.”
Krista shrugged, flaring an eyebrow for emphasis. “That’s exactly why we’re here today. The list of violations keeps growing, outweighing the positive contributions by three to one. We have to do something before she gets someone killed.”