by Sean Patten
Once I was close enough to the kid I reached forward, grabbed onto his ankles, and yanked him down. He fell right on his ass, hitting the ground with a thud.
He turned to me, green eyes wide in fright. Up close I could see that the pistol had done some damage, ripping the skin of his cheek. He would likely need stitches, and maybe end up with a scar.
“Get to cover, now!” I barked at him.
His eyes still wide, his mouth opened slightly, he nodded. I pointed behind me, to the table that I’d crawled out from. The kid didn’t need another order; he hurried behind me keeping low until he was safe.
Done. Now Steve.
The scene was total chaos. The rifles went loose and the guards continued to keep the heat up with their pistols. I stayed low, getting out of the restaurant while avoiding the shards of glass strewn all around me.
By the time I reached the exit the rest of the crooks showed up, having been drawn by the sound of gunfire. I didn’t see the manager among them, and judging by the fact that they weren’t carrying any big sacks of money with dollar signs on them likely meant that the plan to open the safe in person didn’t work.
No time to think about the fate of the manager. I had my own problems to worry about.
I cut through the floor, staying low and away from the gunfire. The fleeing patrons were quickly forming into a stampede, gunfire cutting through the crowd and dropping people left and right.
Shit.
I took cover behind one of the nearby columns and caught my breath. Once I was there, I glanced up to see that the exit wasn’t too far—maybe a hundred feet, easy enough if I stayed down and moved fast.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave Steve behind. Turning my eyes away from the exits, I pressed on.
As I moved, gunfire still reporting all around me, bullets pinging off slot machines and howls of pain sounding out among the screams, I laid eyes on a beam of light in the darkness. My first reaction was one of fear, that it was a crook who’d been lagging behind the pack, and that I’d been spotted.
The light didn’t move, however, and I realized it was a flashlight that had been dropped in the chaos. I scrambled towards it and grabbed it, relieved to have some source of light.
I continued on in the direction where I’d last seen Steve. My fear was that he’d been caught in the crossfire, that I’d come to find him only to encounter a body.
With a shake of my head, I dismissed the thought. No sense in worrying about worst-case scenarios.
I kept pressing forward, taking breaks to get a sense of where the gunfire was happening, and putting more distance between myself and it whenever possible. Down the long lines of slot machines I caught glimpses of the crowds dividing; some of them scrambling towards the exits, others retreating deeper down into the casino.
Bad move, either way. Getting caught in a stampede was about the worst thing to do in a situation like this. I shuddered to think about how many bodies were there now, trampled underfoot in the bedlam.
Before too long I reached the general area where Steve had been. I was still low, the flashlight beam carving a small bit of visibility through the darkness.
But I couldn’t find him. Desperation began to take hold as I realized how damn near impossible it would be to track down Steve with the power out.
As I crawled forward I felt the pressure of a hand on the back of my shirt collar. A hard tug pulled me back, and I nearly slammed my head into a nearby slot machine.
I was unarmed and helpless, and someone had found me.
Chapter 13
“What the hell are you doing?”
I stared up into the eyes of the person who’d grabbed me, doing my best to suppress my fight-or-flight instinct and not slam the flashlight into the side of his head.
And good thing I didn’t—the man who’d grabbed me was Steve. He stared down at me with his piercing green eyes, concern etched into his face.
Finally, I gathered the presence of mind necessary to speak.
“I’m looking for you!” I said, raising my voice to speak above the chaotic sounds all around us. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking me over, checking for injuries.
“No,” I said. “You?”
“Just a little shook,” he said. “But otherwise fine.”
I thought back to him on his knees, the gun only inches from his face. Couldn’t blame him one bit for feeling shaken.
“Dumb bastards,” he said, glancing in the direction of the crowds, still climbing over one another to flee. “They should be staying put.”
“Not what you did,” I said.
He let out a snort.
“Or you.”
“I had to find you,” I said.
“No,” he said. “That was stupid. You should’ve made a break for it while you had the chance.”
“Too late for that now,” I said. “And we don’t have time to argue.”
He bit down on his lower lip and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”
I peeked my head above the rows of slot machines, searching for someplace that would be safer than the chaos of the casino floor. Then I spotted, down further into the casino, the massive buffet area. Beyond it was a kitchen. No one seemed to be running in that direction.
“The exits are going to be a mess,” I said. “We move further down into the casino and we can hide out until it’s safe to leave.”
An expression of concern appeared on Steve’s face, one that suggested he had something else on his mind.
And so did I.
“Justin,” he said. “What the hell’s going on with the power? I assumed those assholes cut it when they came in, but they seemed just as confused about it as the rest of us.”
I had my theory. But now wasn’t the time.
“We need to get to the kitchen,” he said. “We can figure it out once we’re not in the middle of a war zone.”
He nodded, as if understanding the truth of my words.
“Yeah,” he said. “Good call. How do you want to play this?”
“Name of the game is to stay out of sight,” I said. “And keep low. Worst thing would be to get caught in the middle of a goddamn stampede.”
“Or take a stray bullet,” he added.
“Right,” I said. “Once we’re clear from the casino floor we can figure out how to get out of here.”
More gunshots cracked through the air, a rapid report of automatic fire. From where I was I couldn’t make out exactly what was going on with the battle, but whoever had the upper hand, it was still raging.
“Okay,” I said, gesturing to the far end of the row of slots. “We move slow and quiet, right? Don’t attract any attention.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like no one’s put it together that they could get out of here if they just took two seconds to think and see that they don’t have to run screaming in the middle of a panicking mob.”
He was right—there were few things more irrational and more dangerous than a panicked crowd. Those dozens and dozens of people were being driven by nothing more than pure animal instinct, no thought other than how to get as far away from danger as possible.
I was beyond relieved that Steve hadn’t fallen into it. He was cool and calm and collected—just how he needed to be.
“Ready?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Ready.”
“Let’s move. I’ll take point.”
I put my hand up onto the slots and stayed crouched. The flashlight might attract attention, so I kept it off and used the straight lines of the arrangement of slot machines to guide me forward. My eyes had adjusted to the point I could make out most of my surroundings, but I still needed to play it very safe.
Steve stayed behind me, and soon we reached the end of the line of slots. I prepared to take the corner, but before I did I decided to peek my head around, to see if there was anything, or anyone, up ahead.
; And it was a good thing I did. A few rows down the space between the slot rows was a man dressed all in black—one of the robbers. He was hunched over, his back against the side of one of the machines, his rifle resting between his legs.
I pulled back and raised my palm to Steve.
“Shit,” he hissed, seeing where I was looking. “What’s he doing down there?”
“No clue,” I said. “Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe he sees that this plan of theirs has gone to shit and is trying to figure a way out of here like the rest of us.”
Another crackle of gunfire sounded over the low roar of the crowd, followed by a pop-pop-pop of three rapid pistol discharges.
“Well, I’m not going over there to ask him,” said Steve.
I glanced around the slots again. The robber was still seated, not moving, his hands wrapped around the barrel of his gun. Then I felt the presence of Steve behind me, sizing up the scene for himself.
We both pulled back.
“We could take him,” said Steve. “Two of us, one of him. He looks out it—bet we could easily get the drop.”
“Not a chance,” I said. “He spots us coming and opens up with that rifle and we’re both done.”
“But if we took him out we could get his guns!” said Steve, his eyes lit up.
“And do what?” I asked. “Join the fight?”
Steve glanced away and nodded, seeing my point.
“We don’t need guns,” I said. “We need to get out of here free of bullet holes.”
Steve’s expression hardened in thought for a brief moment before something occurred to him.
“Got it,” he said, then reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a handful of colorful chips.
“What,” I asked. “You going to use those as a projectile weapon or something?”
He snorted.
“No,” he said. “Going to use them as a fifteen-thousand-dollar distraction.”
I put it together. It was risky, but it could work.
“I’m going to launch these over the slots,” he said. “Then we move. Ready?”
Ready as I was going to be.
I nodded.
Steve took one last glance at the chips before standing up and flinging them over the rows of slots. The chips landed here and there, sounding hard pangs as they bounced off the metal. I turned around the slots and watched the crook’s reaction.
His posture stiffened at the noise.
“Huh?” he asked to no one. “The hell was that?”
He went from sitting to crouching, his rifle now in his hands.
“Who’s there?”
He turned towards the sound and began to move, disappearing down the row ahead.
“Now!” I hissed. “Move!”
I didn’t wait for Steve’s response. Keeping my head low, I hurried down the lane. When we reached the spot where the guard had been sitting, I glanced down to see that he was still moving in the opposite direction, on the lookout for the source of the noise.
Once I’d confirmed that his attention had been diverted, I pointed ahead down the lane for Steve to keep behind. We moved, drawing closer and closer to the kitchen.
Finally, we reached the double doors leading inside. I carefully pressed my ears against them, hearing nothing.
“We clear?” asked Steve.
“Think so,” I said. “Ready?”
He nodded.
With a deep breath, I pushed open the doors and stepped into the huge, industrial kitchen.
At first, the room looked as empty on the inside as it did from the outside.
Exactly at the moment I was ready to let my guard down, however, a figure shot up from behind one of the prep tables.
A man with a gun.
“Don’t fucking move!”
Busted.
Chapter 14
“Whoa, whoa!” I said. “Don’t fire!”
“Hands in the air!” said the man, his gun flicking back and forth between Steve and me.
“Easy!” said Steve.
Through the dark and the panic I gave the man a once-over. He wasn’t in all black, and there was no ski mask on his face. Instead, he was dressed in a blue-and-black uniform, a badge on his chest along with a wire that connected to a walkie-talkie on his shoulder.
Not a robber. Looked more like a security guard, and not one of the bouncer-types from out front.
“We’re not them!” I said. “We’re unarmed.”
“Keep those hands where I can see them,” he barked. “Down on your knees!”
I wanted to hiss “keep quiet.” The man’s concern was understandable, but his shouting was blowing the cover of the kitchen, and possibly attracting attention.
“Do what you have to do,” said Steve, his eyes flicking over to mine.
The gun still trained on us, the guard slowly stepped over.
“Let me see that flashlight,” he said, noting the small, black object in my hand.
Slowly, carefully, I held the flashlight up in front of me. The guard’s free hand shot out and he snatched it from me. With a click, he turned it on and pointed the beam right in my face.
The light was easily the brightest thing I’d seen since the power went out, and it was so harsh on my eyes as to be painful.
“Fuck!” I said, narrowing my eyes and turning away. “Easy!”
The man gave the same treatment to Steve, who also let out a pained sound as the beam hit his eye.
“You good?” asked Steve. “See what we’re wearing?”
“We’re trying to get the hell out of here,” I said. “Just like you.”
The guard said nothing. After a moment or two longer, he clicked off the light. My vision was pure white, and a tinge of panic ran through me as I realized at that moment I was blinded and totally helpless.
The dark shapes of the kitchen slowly came back. I could see clearly enough to make out the guard clicking the safety back onto his pistol and tucking it into the holster at his hip.
“Sorry for the shitty welcome,” he said. “But it’s not just me back here.”
“Huh?” asked Steve.
“Come on,” he said. “And be quiet about it.”
He turned and began making his way towards the back of the kitchen. Steve and I got up to our feet and followed him. As we did, I took in the scene.
The kitchen was a mess. Pots and pans were scattered all over the ground, food that had been in them strewn on the floor in colorful sprays. Stoves were still turned on, small flames proving pinpoints of flickering light. The place looked like it had been abandoned right in the middle of the dinner rush, which I realized was likely precisely what had happened.
“Eerie as hell,” said Steve quietly. “Like everyone got sucked up into a spaceship or something.”
I said nothing, my body still tense, my mind on alert. Eventually we reached the back prep table. The guard stopped and gestured behind it. I continued forward and saw that, sure enough, a small group of around nine or ten people were huddled behind it, each pair of eyes locked on either me or Steve.
“What’s going on out there?” asked one of the group, a middle-aged woman with frizzy black hair. “Are they still fighting?”
The soft, distant pop of gunshots sounded as soon as she finished her sentence.
“That answer your question?” said Steve.
The two of us hunched down along with the guard, forming a small triangle.
“It’s a mess out there,” said the guard. “I was lucky enough to be posted near the kitchen. Once the shooting started, I led these people here inside. Not sure what to do now.”
“You made the right call,” I said. “A stampede started and as far as I can tell it’s still going. Hiding out and hunkering down is the best bet.”
“Wait a second,” said Steve, turning his attention to the group. “You all are hidden out of sight? Why hasn’t anyone of you called the cops?”
For a brief moment I wondered the same thing. But then
I remembered back to my phone, how it was fried, and how it was the same story with the other patron.
“Because their phones don’t work,” I said.
“Yeah!” said one of the group. “Every one of them!”
“Like someone fried the battery or something,” said someone else.
“Wait,” said Steve. “How did you know?”
I glanced at his pocket.
“You looked at your phone yet?” I asked.
“Nah,” he said. “Had bigger things to worry about than checking my texts.”
“Look at it,” I told him.
He regarded me skeptically for a moment before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. Sure enough, the screen was a solid, deep black.
“What the hell?” he asked as he held down the power button. “I just charged this thing!”
“Thousand-dollar paperweight you’ve got in your hand,” I said.
“What?” he asked. “What are you talking about, Justin? What’s going on?”
I turned to the guard.
“Give us a second,” I said.
He nodded in understanding, but the woman with the frizzy hair wasn’t so on board.
“What do you know?” she asked. “Tell us now!”
A few “yeahs” sounded from the group.
“Listen,” I said, affecting a reassuring tone to my voice. “My brother and I are going to get you all out of here safe. But we need a minute to two to figure out a plan. And once we have one, we’ll be right back.”
My words appeared to mollify them somewhat, but I knew their curiosity wouldn’t be at bay for long. I titled my head away from the crowd, and Justin followed me back and behind one of the prep tables.
“I’m going to be a part of this conversation,” said the guard as he joined us. “Whether you two like it or not.”
“Fine,” I said, turning towards him. “But you have to understand that in a situation like this, panic is just as deadly as a gun. Those people you’re watching freak out and start running, they might flee right into the gunfire.”
“I’ve seen it,” said Steve. “It’s not pretty.”