Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  86:45

  86:44

  86:43

  Cheryl groaned, feeling a thousand pounds slipping away from her second by second. “We have less than an hour-and-a-half to escape.”

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “But we could escape right now,” said Leo, pointing up at the square opening fifteen feet above their heads. He moved in front of the ladder and placed his hands on either side. “Aren’t we supposed to be locked-in? I mean, we could just climb right back—” He stepped onto the first rung and a whole section of the ladder came away from its moorings. He let out a cry and staggered backwards as the entire lower length fell apart. The pieces clattered against the steel floor and everyone had to back up against the wall to keep from being struck. Alfie got hit on the shin and hissed. “What the effin hell!”

  Maggie growled and pressed her fingers against her temples over her wooly hat. “This is ridiculous.”

  Everyone stared at the broken ladder, then at each other. What had just happened? Did something go wrong? Had it been an accident?

  Leo gawked at the disembodied section of ladder still in his hands. “I could’ve cracked my bloody head open.”

  Cheryl stared up at the hatch. It was suddenly much further away than fifteen feet. Only the top few rungs of the ladder remained in place, the other pieces all scattered across the floor. A thick steel cable swung in the air just out of reach. Had it been holding the ladder together? She looked back at the clock and wondered if it had been rigged to a timer or set to self-destruct as soon as someone tried to climb back up it. Maybe it was just shoddy maintenance.

  “Well, it looks like we’re good and trapped now,” said John, glaring at Leo. “Nice going.”

  “You’re going to blame me for that?”

  “It was clumsy.”

  “Yeah, excuse me for being a clumsy ladder climber.”

  “It’s part of the game,” said Happy, trying to keep the peace like he always did. “The ladder was obviously designed to collapse, but what you said is right, John. We’re trapped. The game has begun.”

  “Can we please shut off that car alarm?” Maggie begged, still clutching her head. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take another second.”

  “Don’t get hysterical,” John chided.

  “Screw you, John!”

  He whirled on her, a flash of anger on his face. Happy put a hand up before any more words were spoken. “Come on, you two. We’re here to have fun.”

  Cheryl avoided the tension by moving to the space where the ladder had been. “I think the alarm is coming from back here,” she said. “I’ll take a look.”

  Everyone stood by while she investigated the alcove. A curtain hung from a rail, and she slid it aside to discover the front half of a bright red sports car. The headlights flashed to life and made the paintwork appear even brighter. The alarm was definitely coming from somewhere beneath the car’s sleek metal bonnet. “Wow!” she said. “That’s an expensive prop. Is it a Ferrari?”

  “A TVR,” said Alfie, then glanced at Monty.

  “Oh, well, it’s beautiful. Don’t think I’ll ever get to drive one. I’m still saving up for a Mini.”

  “Honesty is the key to peace,” said Leo, and when everyone looked at him quizzically, he pointed to a sign on the wall above the driver’s side. The sign read, in bold typeface: HONESTY IS THE KEY TO PEACE.

  “What d’you think it means?” Leo asked.

  “It’s another riddle,” said Happy. “Any ideas?”

  Cheryl wracked her brain but nothing came immediately to mind, so she searched for further clues. After a moment, she was forced to shout at the others over the din of the alarm. “Come on, you lot. Get looking. Time is money.”

  Everyone snapped to attention and joined the search. Cheryl peered beneath the car but saw only smooth cement. The two front tyres were flat, but she could find nothing strange about them. She had no clue what she was looking for, and the noise of the alarm was making it difficult to think.

  “Open the bonnet,” said Maggie. “Disconnect that alarm, for the love of God!”

  Leo nodded. “Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to do.”

  “I don’t care what we’re supposed to do, just do it!”

  “Okay, Mag, jeez! What’s wrong with you today?”

  “Nothing! I’m just getting a migraine.”

  John frowned. “You don’t get migraines.”

  “I do today.”

  “The horn is usually a wire attached to the battery,” said Happy. He stepped forward and tugged at the lip of the bonnet. It popped up easily on an automatic hinge and an impressive-looking engine glared back at them. Blue pipework and thick wires streaked back and forth above a thick slab of metal. Cheryl knew nothing of engines, but she could tell this one was a beast. The odd thing about it was the tablet device affixed to the top.

  The rectangular screen flashed to life and displayed a message. Cheryl read it aloud with a chuckle, for it was a mildly cheeky question. “What is the combined age of your group?”

  “Ooh,” said Alfie. “No blagging, you lot.”

  “I’m twenty-five,” said Monty with a shrug.

  “Fifty-three,” said Happy.

  Alfie grinned. “Young, free, and nineteen, innit?”

  “Twenty-four,” said Leo before adding, “and a half.”

  Cheryl gave her answer without embarrassment. She was at a convenient age where she felt neither too young nor too old. “Twenty-three.”

  That left John and Maggie, both of which looked at one another awkwardly. “Well, um,” John began, peeling off his leather driving gloves and placing them in his pocket as he spoke. “I hope I don’t look it, but I’m forty-four.”

  “I’m thirty-seven,” said Maggie, looking pissed off at having to answer. “My birthday was last June.”

  “Okay,” said Leo, “so altogether that’s—” His eyes rolled upward as he did the math in his head. “—two-hundred-and-twenty-five, right?”

  Cheryl shrugged. “Don’t ask me. You want me to type it in?”

  John nodded. “Yes, type it in Cheryl. There’s a good girl.”

  Cheryl moved a finger towards the tablet’s touchscreen. Below the question was a little box, and when she tapped it a number pad popped up. She entered their answer: 2-2-5.

  The car alarm stopped.

  Maggie sighed. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

  The car alarm restarted.

  A red X flashed on the tablet before the screen reset and presented the same question about age. Everyone groaned — Maggie loudest of all. Alfie looked at Leo accusingly. “Did we do the math right?”

  Leo didn’t take offence, and quickly took everyone’s ages again. He arrived at the same answer. “I’m sure it’s two-hundred-and-twenty-five,” he said. “Maybe Cher put the wrong number in.”

  “I didn’t!” She had snapped at him a little for she was already annoyed at having been called a ‘good girl’ by John.

  “Just try it again, please,” asked John, but it sounded like an order. Perhaps they hadn’t truly left work behind.

  She tapped in the code a second time.

  The alarm stopped.

  The screen flashed a red X and the alarm resumed.

  Everyone gave a second groan.

  “This is rigged,” said Alfie, shaking his head in disgust.

  “No, wait!” said Happy. “It’s because of Cheryl.”

  “Hey! I’m just putting in the number you guys are telling me to.”

  Happy shook his head. “No, no, I mean you’re not supposed to be here. The answer would have been pre-programmed, probably before we arrived. There’s only meant to be six of us. We smuggled you in.”

  John clicked his fingers at Happy. “You’re right! I had to give everybody’s details when I first booked this thing. It didn’t include Cheryl.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Okay,” said Leo, “so Two-hundred-and-twenty-five minus twenty-thre
e is… two-hundred-and-two, right?”

  Cheryl wasted no time. She tapped in the new answer.

  2-0-2

  A red X flashed up on screen. The alarm continued.

  “Okay, I’m done,” said Maggie. “I quit. Get me out of here. This is horrible.”

  “Someone’s lying,” said Leo. “That’s the only thing it can be. Someone isn’t telling the truth.”

  They all looked at Maggie.

  “Hey,” she said with a growl. “I told the truth. I’m thirty-seven.”

  Alfie smirked. “Come on, Mag. We’re all friends here. I think you left thirty-seven in the rearview a while back. Just admit it, you’ve had work done, right?”

  “How dare you!”

  “It’s me,” said John, staring at the ground. “I lied. I’m forty-nine.”

  Maggie gawped at him. “You’re kidding me? You’re almost fifty?”

  “You look good for your age,” said Cheryl, and it was true. John still had thick brown hair with only a hint of grey at the temples. He was also slim with a thick set of shoulders. He could probably pass for forty on a good day.

  Maggie glared at Cheryl, then turned to John. “You’re such a liar. Jesus Christ, John!”

  His embarrassment turned to defensiveness. “Give me a break, Mag. Nobody likes getting old.”

  “The older we get,” said Happy, “the less to look forward to and the more to regret.”

  Maggie folded her arms and grunted. “Fine, whatever, just put the right answer in and stop that alarm before I murder someone.”

  They added the numbers together again and this time Cheryl entered: 2-0-7.

  The car’s alarm cut out.

  The screen flashed with a green tick.

  Silence.

  Maggie removed her hands from her ears. “Oh, thank God!”

  Leo was grinning. “We did it, guys. Nice!”

  Cheryl looked at the clock. Just over eighty minutes left. Could they still do this? The fiasco over John’s age might have already lost them time they couldn’t afford. She really wanted to win.

  Deposit on a flat. Deposit on a flat. You can do this.

  A loud thud made everyone look up. The daylight above them disappeared as a sheet of metal slid across the entrance shaft. There was a loud clunk as it slotted into place.

  John stared upwards. “What the hell was that? What is this?”

  “Um, it’s an escape room, boss,” said Leo, “and I think we just finished part one.”

  “The plot does thicken,” said Happy.

  Cheryl wondered if what she was feeling was claustrophobia. With the daylight overhead, she hadn’t felt quite so trapped. Even with the ladder gone, she’d still felt comforted by the sight of the sky. With it gone, she suddenly felt… buried. Movement caught her eye, and she turned back to the digital clock on the wall. The numbers were changing.

  “What now?” said John, folding his arms and tapping his foot. All this was worrying him too — it was evident in his voice and body language. He was masking it with anger. “The clock is changing? Why?”

  Leo shrugged. “Maybe we won more time.”

  “Or lost it,” said Alfie.

  “Just chill out, brethren.” Monty was smirking. “You lot are a bunch of pussies.”

  The numbers settled, but on a far higher number than before. Happy stood in front of the display and read out the new figure. “One-hundred-and-sixty-seven-hours-and-fifty-eight seconds. What does that mean?”

  Leo’s eyes rolled in his head as he once again performed mental arithmetic. “It means the timer will end in… exactly one week. One-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours and counting.”

  Cheryl was impressed, even if the implications horrified her. “How d’you work that out so fast?”

  He shrugged, blushing slightly. “Not that hard, really. The timer will end in exactly one week.”

  John was outraged. “Are they trying to suggest we’ll be stuck down here for seven days? Not funny. They said a ninety minute maximum. I’ll have their hides if it’s a moment longer.”

  Monty grabbed John by the shoulder and rocked him. “Relax, boss. It’s just to scare us, innit? Atmosphere and that. We ain’t trapped. Course we ain’t trapped.”

  Cheryl was breathing deeply, in-out-in-out-in-out. “Really?” she said. “Because it feels a lot like we’re trapped. What do we do?”

  Leo nudged her and smiled. She welcomed his playful touch, and it calmed her slightly. So did the relaxed tone of his voice. As tense as everyone was getting, Leo maintained his faith that all was fun and games. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. “We’re only stuck here as long it take us to escape, right? So let’s escape. Onto the next round, am I right?”

  Everyone looked at Leo, but it was unclear whether anyone agreed with his sentiments.

  3

  John and Maggie kept their distance as everyone searched for the next clue. Cheryl sensed the tension in the air and wondered if anybody else did too. Was she the only one worried? Leo could have been hurt by that falling ladder. What business would deign to leave its customers unsupervised?

  She had to keep reminding herself that she was not a good judge in situations like this. New experiences were not her forte, so what she was experiencing might just be social anxiety. Admittedly, all she wanted to do was get back above ground and race home. Maybe, once she was out of this gloomy steel tunnel with the line of gently swinging lightbulbs, she would laugh at herself. Until then, she would remain unsettled.

  The rooms branching off from each side of the straight main tunnel were barred like prison cells, with gaps too narrow to pass anything larger than an arm through. Only one of them was unlocked, and with no other discoveries they all congregated around it.

  Monty took point. “Okay, guys. How you wanna do this? Shall Monty take care of things, or should we all go in together?”

  Cheryl imagined he thought referring to himself in the third-person was endearing or debonair, but it was neither of those two things in her opinion. “Maybe we should try working in teams of two,” she suggested. “The rooms aren’t that big. No point in bunching up.”

  “Okay,” said Monty. “You’re with me then, luv.”

  “Sounds good, babe!” She moved up beside Monty but stumbled when he bumped past her to get into the room. She wondered if he’d barged her on purpose. Jerk.

  “What’s in there?” Maggie called through the bars.

  A metal table stood at the back of the room. Various containers were arranged on it. “I’m not sure,” Cheryl shouted back. “Another puzzle, I think.”

  “Looks like a bar,” said Monty, and he wasn’t wrong. Cheryl’s nose detected the bitter scent of alcohol, and one glass was clearly full of beer. Nestled between the various beverages was a red envelope which she picked up and opened. A piece of paper lay inside, and she slid it out. Before reading it, she turned to the others. “Shall I read it out loud?”

  “Just get on with it,” John said irritably. He was clearly still annoyed at the revelation of his age.

  “Okay, okay! It says: Take your tipple, youngest first.”

  “Another riddle,” said Alfie, flopping against the other side of the bars and moaning. “Won’t there be any skill games or something? This is boring, man.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re dumb,” said Monty.

  “Your mum didn’t think so last night!”

  “My mum has a thing for retards.”

  “Shut up,” said John. “Who knows the answer to the riddle? Anyone?”

  “Hold on,” said Cheryl. “Let me look at what we have. Maybe there are more clues to find.”

  Everyone remained silent while Cheryl examined the drinks on the table — six in total. She placed her hand around the beer glass and carefully lifted it. A foamy head fizzed on top, making her wonder how recently it had been poured. It wasn’t warm in her hand, but nor was it cold.

  “Hey,” said Monty. “Hold it up. I think I just sa
w something.” Cheryl raised the beer in the air and Monty leaned forwards. “Yeah,” he said. “There’s a letter written on the glass. Look!”

  Cheryl turned the glass and, sure enough, there was a letter painted in white — with liquid eraser, maybe? It was a lowercase ‘I.’ She picked up another glass from the table and this one was a delicate, crystal flute. “I think this might be champagne,” she guessed.

  Maggie moaned outside the cell. “Oh, please, yes. Are there any rules about drinking it?”

  Cheryl had an idea. She took the flute outside and handed it to Maggie in the tunnel. Maggie frowned, but took the flute as if it fit her hand perfectly. Cheryl saw a letter ‘l’ painted just above the stem.

  “You want me to drink this?” Her lips wetted at the suggestion. “I could actually do with it right now. My head is killing me.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Cheryl, “but the clue said to take your tipple. Champagne is your favourite?”

  “Only because it costs a fortune,” John muttered.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Says the single malt drinker.”

  Cheryl turned back to Monty who was still standing inside the room. “Hey, Monty. I don’t know what single malt is, but is there any on the table?”

  “It’s whiskey,” said Monty, “and yeah, I think I have some here.”

  Cheryl retrieved a tumbler through the bars from Monty and handed it to John. She was taken aback by how ‘woody’ the drink smelled, and it made her slightly woozy. “Is this single malt?” she asked John.

  John took the tumbler and put it to his mouth. He took a small sip and smacked his lips. “Yep, that’s the good stuff.”

  “So how is this solving the riddle?” Leo was grinning, enjoying himself despite the tension. “Are we supposed to get tipsy?”

  “There are six drinks,” Cheryl explained. “Again, we need to leave me out because I haven’t been factored into the games, but that’s one drink for everyone. Maggie has champagne. John has single malt. What else do we have, Monty?”

  “A beer and three other drinks. I think one might be cider.”

  “That’s mine!” said Alfie. He retrieved the drink from Monty and held it up like he was relaxing at the club. “It’s my lucky drink. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve pulled after a night on this.”