Men, dressed in black and camouflage, some wearing balaclavas, others grim expressions and an abundance of assault rifles. At least I thought those were assault rifles—outside of movies and video games, I'd never seen an AK-47 or the likes. They all had a hard, inherently hostile air around them.
Those were definitely not security guards, and I doubted that the resident SWAT team had suddenly changed their entire gear.
My heart started racing at the same time as a fist-sized knot took residence in my stomach. Those guys down there had looked exactly like your run-of-the-mill terrorist gang, straight out of a bad action movie. Never having had anything to do with terrorists, either, I couldn't say if they'd looked any more realistic than the guns they were toting.
Either it was a stroke of luck or just bad timing, but just then Andrej's radio went off, making me give a little shriek. He shot me a quick look as he responded, shutting it off almost before whoever was on the other end had a chance to talk. Of what he ground out, I only got a single word—“roundup”—but that was enough to send my heart beating at a speed likely to bruise my chest from the inside.
Maybe the smart thing to do would have been to ask Andrej what that was about, but my hyperactive mind now latched on to things about him. He was supposedly as half deaf as me, but had looked up at the sound I'd just made. While he wasn't carrying a gun openly, I could see a bulge at the back of his pants that looked like more than a haphazardly tucked-in shirt, and I'd never noticed before that he wore combat boots rather than cheap knock-off dress shoes. And wasn't Chechnya right on top of the list of countries giving rise to militant crime syndicates?
I was fully aware that I was likely rocking a strong bout of paranoia paired with some unfortunate prejudice, but after the way the last hour had gone down, I was more likely to follow my instincts and maybe end up making a fool of myself than ignore them and end up dead.
Casting around frantically, I searched for a way of escape and found it on the sign on the door right across from where I was standing. It even gave me the perfect excuse for my behavior.
“I have to, uhm, use the bathroom. Is that okay? I really have to pee,” I offered, hoping that my rising panic simply sounded like appropriate urgency.
The hint of suspicion that I thought I'd seen creep onto Andrej's face promptly vanished, and he even got the door for me. Gallant terrorists, then.
“Of course. I will check the other rooms, then wait here for you. Is good?”
“Okay.” I nodded, and hastily dashed into the restroom.
The first thing I did was actually use the toilet, because seeing the stalls instantly reminded my body of its physical needs. Besides, if something hinky was going on here, I had no idea when I'd get the next chance of an undisturbed bathroom break. Once I was done, I didn't flush, though, hoping that this way I could delay Andrej checking in on me until I could come up with a good plan.
I couldn't use the main door and try to sneak out that way, that was a given. The wide corridor outside provided no hiding places at all, and he'd be able to see me from anywhere down the hallway. I also didn't know if he was really going to check the labs or had hunkered down outside the door, ready to drag me off to who knew where the moment I stepped outside.
The nasty voice at the back of my mind was very happy to supply the name of a possible suspect, but like before, I quickly stomped down on that impulse. That was one more thing to worry about that I didn’t need in my life right now.
The bathroom was in the middle of the wing, so there were no windows I could crawl through—not counting the fact that we were on the third floor and I had terrible acrophobia. That left my options very limited, or so I thought, until I looked up. There was another panel dislodged there, right above the stall next to the one I was standing in. And not only was it not a normal ceiling panel, no, it looked like a vent.
Before my mind could supply hundreds of reasons why I shouldn't do this, I stepped onto the closed toilet seat directly underneath the vent and examined it more closely. Behind it I could just make out the gleaming interior of the air duct.
Seeing as this was the only option I could come up with, it was better than no option at all. And what was the worst thing that could happen if I was wrong, and I was about to embark on a hilarious journey of freak-out driven insanity? I was already the girl who was bound to lose it. My fame could hardly increase if they found me wedged in an air duct tomorrow.
The real problem wasn't contemplating whether people actually crawled around in air ducts outside of bad spy flicks, but how I could get myself up there in the first place. Even stretching, I could just reach up to wrap my hand around the frame of the vent; there was no way I was going to pull myself up and into the duct like that.
Looking around for something that might give me a higher vantage point for additional leverage, I ended up trying the flush tank next. That helped, but barely. Only when I swung one leg up onto the stall partition did I manage to heave myself up far enough so I could pull my head and torso into the duct. That I made enough noise scrambling to alert the entire building was secondary. Right then I felt like a regal queen of physical accomplishments. With a last push I managed to get my legs up, too, then shimmied back so I could reach down and grab the grille, closing it shut underneath me.
It was only then that I realized just how little space there was left around my body inside the duct. Did I mention that I not only rock acrophobia, but claustrophobia, too?
For the next three minutes, all I could do was try to get my breathing under control and not start screaming at the top of my lungs. The already tight space seemed to close in on me by the second. Air was blowing in my face, stinging my eyes and making it even harder to breathe. Any moment now the floor of the duct would give way underneath me and I would break my neck on the toilet seat, and...
Even with the sound of my pulse racing in my ears, I clearly heard Andrej call out for me, which had a starkly sobering effect. Holding my breath, I counted to ten, then inched backward until I was completely off the vent and could just barely see down into the stall if I craned my neck.
Another shout, then I heard the bathroom door open, followed by heavy steps. He checked all individual stalls, then let out a hostile sounding curse in what I presumed was Russian. At least it sounded Russian. Did they speak Russian in Chechnya? I vowed to myself that I would find out once I was out of the air ducts again, and maybe safely ensconced in a warm blanket with a cup of hot tea. Come to think of it, right now I really didn't give a damn.
I couldn't see Andrej, but he must have gotten his radio out, because there was a burst of static before he spoke again, this time in English.
“Boss, I lost her.”
There was a pause, just long enough for me to notice just how absent that accent could be if he tried. Maybe he didn't even have an accent? He likely wasn't even from Chechnya in the first place. Right now, that was the least of my concerns. Part of me still hoped that this was all a huge misunderstanding.
“Lost who?” came the static-laden reply. I didn't recognize the voice, but then the radio likely contorted it beyond recognition. I also didn't know who was head of security, so I couldn't even try to match it from memory.
“The girl I found when I went to double-check the third floor. Can't remember her name. She's medium height, average physique, long hair in a ponytail—”
“You can stop right there. You know that I haven't had time to memorize the ID pictures of all 2,583 employees. Do you have a name?”
“No.”
A pause, and the voice got slightly strained, as if he'd long gotten bored of the conversation.
“Do you know which division she's working for?”
“Third floor's all minimum security, can't have been anything vital. I think she's a research assistant or a lab tech. Way too young for group leader.”
Even with fear clogging my throat, indignation reared its ugly head. I'd worked damn hard to earn my PhD, and I was a long wa
y from a mere “research assistant,” damn it! Wisely, I kept my mouth shut, even if it made me taste bile.
“Any idea how she got away?”
“I checked the other doors in the corridor, but always kept an eye on the bathroom. She couldn't have gotten out.”
“Apparently your incompetence is as well defined as your arrogance. Unless you want to tell me that instant combustion or sublimation is possible?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” the voice replied, sounding smug that he'd delivered a blow convoluted enough to confound his target while making it obvious that he'd been outsmarted. “I doubt that a single girl can wreak much havoc, even if she was Bruce Willis’s daughter. Get back to the checkpoint. We need you for baseline security. Stage two commences in thirty-five seconds.”
“Understood,” Andrej harrumphed into the radio, and must have turned it off as no response followed. I heard him take another tour up and down the aisle of stalls, then the door swung shut behind him.
I was just about to wonder what the aforementioned “stage two” might be when the lights went out, leaving me in utter darkness.
Chapter 3
If there was a single advantage to being wedged in an air duct, I certainly couldn't think of it. Being wedged in an air duct with the lights out was even less of a fun walk in the park. Add a healthy dose of bone-deep fright caused by ominous conversations after a series of explosions, and I think I deserved a medal for not simply losing my shit right then and there.
One thing was obvious—all the breathing exercises in the world wouldn't get me out of there.
As I saw it, I had two options. Option one, I could stay where I was for an extended period of time, then drop back down into the bathroom and try my luck from there. Option two, I could stop being a passive crybaby and take matters into my own hands, right fucking now.
I started crawling and pushing myself forward before common sense could convince me otherwise. Waiting might have made more sense, but I couldn't be sure how much of a dope the conversation I'd overheard had been.
The only upside I could find to crawling through air ducts inside a biotech complex was that they seemed to be clean. At least everything I touched felt clean, although my mind was happy to supply armies of rodents and insects lying in wait for me. As much as I tried to move at a constant, steady pace, it was more of a stop and go deal, and with every push I felt the aluminum around me groan. I had no doubts that if I happened to move above someone standing guard, they'd only take a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on.
It felt like I'd spent hours inside this sweaty, narrow hell when the random colors dancing before my eyes started to take on shape and eventually morphed into actual light spilling through another vent. Energy reserves I didn't know I still had mobilized themselves, and I managed the last few yards in record time. I could only guess at how far I crawled, but realistically I figured I'd made it about four to five rooms farther down the complex.
My heart sank when I finally reached the vent and realized that I was now above the small kitchen where I'd met Andrej the guard. That was not the reason for my rising dread, though. Through the slits in the grille I could make out two people, both dressed in black fatigues, entering. How they'd missed the bumping noises I'd been making was beyond me—if they'd even missed them.
They were both men of average height with buzz cuts that made them even less distinguishable. The rifles in their hands looked menacing, and from my vantage point I saw that they both had knives and guns strapped to their belts and thighs. Realistically speaking, they wouldn't even need any weapon to take me down as I wasn't exactly a kung-fu master in disguise. From up close it was obvious that they weren't part of a police unit, and I doubted that the military would send rescue personnel in armed to the teeth.
The walls closed in around me even more, ready to suffocate now, but I did my best to keep my breaths as even and silent as possible. With my heart hammering in my throat, that was quite the feat. If I made it out of here alive, I'd definitely treat myself to some chocolate cake.
Why chocolate cake was what came to my mind right then was beyond me, but the insane irony of it made me grin for just a moment.
Less than an hour had passed since the explosions, and already my mind was cracking. I was so not the survivalist type.
Endless minutes crept by as I watched the armed men stand around, doing nothing except talk between them in a harsh language that once again sounded Russian to me. Sweat was slowly trickling down my neck and temples, and it was only a matter of time until the steady flow of air that hit my face would make me sneeze. Then it was just a question of whether they shot me right where I was inside the vent, or dragged me down beforehand.
I really didn't want to end my existence in an air duct.
A sudden burst of static from a radio startled me. How I managed to jerk but not hit my head or anything else on a duct wall to alert them to my presence was beyond me, but they still seemed oblivious as they both got out their radios, and after a few more words stepped out of my field of vision.
I allowed myself a slow exhale as elation gripped me hard, but the fun part wasn't over yet.
Forcing myself to remain immobile until I'd counted down from one hundred was pure torture.
It also gave me time aplenty to look around the room and discover that I'd have to make the drop down onto the table completely unaided. This was so not going to work.
I considered continuing my journey inside the vent, but, quite frankly, if I didn't get out of this space right now I would go insane, and then all the supporting furniture I might find in another room wouldn't help me one bit. Just to be sure, I waited another endless minute before I shimmied back, then reached for the vent and tried to pry it loose.
It only took me a little bit of fiddling to unlatch whatever mechanism held the grille shut, and it swung down almost without a sound. Like the vent in the bathroom, it remained secure on its two hinges, but my mind was all too happy to conjure up images of the metal clattering cheerfully down onto the floor, sending the terrorists right back to me.
Moving forward until I could look down into the room, I lowered myself onto my stomach until I could take more than a glance around. The kitchen, and what I could see of the hallway beyond the door, looked abandoned, but that didn't make me feel any better. The table I planned on dropping onto seemed miles away, and I didn't doubt that the distance was just enough to break my neck or ankle if I botched it.
As going face first was not an option, and there was no way that I could wedge my knees underneath my body inside the vent, I had to crawl forward, then start easing myself out of the hole in the ceiling, feet first.
I was sure that the guards would be back in time to see my slow and painful descent.
I was sure that I would have a stroke if anyone touched my legs while I was trying to make it down.
At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. The hinges of the vent were on the forward side, making the grille press against the front of my thighs as I lowered myself, giving me ample room to kick my legs once they were out of the duct. With the main part of my weight still safely distributed to my torso, I even got the hilarious feeling that I might just make it.
But when I inched further backward until my butt was through the hole, gravity hit me with a vengeance.
As tedious as it had been to heave myself up into the duct, the descent worked a lot faster. I only had a moment to realize that there was nothing my frantic hands could grasp in their scrambling for purchase, then I was suspended in mid-air.
I hit the table feet-first, the impact jarring my entire body. Pain shot up to my hips, and then I toppled forward, narrowly missing a chair as the floor rushed up to greet me.
The shock of the second impact, mostly buffered by my hands and chest, was immediate. For a moment, I was too stunned to even try to breathe, and when I found my lungs empty, panic set in. Agony raced down my back from where my chin
hit the floor, and that “seeing stars” kind of vertigo gripped me hard. It wasn't exactly a testament to my stealth skills that I only let out a low groan, but nothing more would get through my clenched teeth.
Rolling onto my side, I hugged my legs to my chest and simply wallowed in pain for a few seconds. But man, that hurt!
I had no idea how long I'd spent curled up on the floor, but once the pain levels went down into mere discomfort territory, I forced myself up onto my knees, then stood completely. I ached all over, but surprisingly, nothing felt broken. I also didn't hear shouts or the sound of rapidly approaching boots, so my fall seemed to have gone unobserved.
Looking around, I instantly felt like a deer caught in the headlights, out in the open as I was, but I still forced myself to scramble up onto the table and close the vent. This time my descent was a lot slower, if no less awkward with the way my legs were still shaking.
Holding my breath, I inched toward the door and peeked outside.
The corridor was as deserted as the last time I'd seen it. I tried to strain my ears, but the only thing I heard was my own pulse.
Suddenly, a cart came rolling out of a lab to my far left, toppling over as it hit the opposite wall, sending beakers smashing to the ground. I hastily clamped a hand over my mouth before I could shriek, ducking back into the kitchen. The men must have been in the lab adjacent to my own, wreaking even more havoc, it seemed. Why was beyond me, but of all the things I was dying to know, that one was pretty low on my ever-growing list of concerns.
Another crash followed, and when I peered outside again, I saw that they were going through my lab next. The way they were progressing, they'd be back in the kitchen in about a minute, with three more rooms in between.
The obvious conclusion was that my best escape route was down the other way, but just as I had that epiphany, I heard a similar crash come from over there. Either they had split up, or another team was joining them.
Green Fields: Incubation Page 4