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There are no windows, only an old, half-burned-out neon sign on the ceiling.
“This can’t be true,” I sigh.
I walk quickly to the right corridor but discover a dead end.
“So?” I ask Sanchez, who has turned left.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head.
The only option left is to go into the dark and icy building. This place gives me the creeps. So why does a part of me keep getting excited about everything that’s going on? Old wooden crates litter the floor. There are other hallways at the back of the room, but I’d rather look first to see if there’s anything here.
“Do you think Amelia and Chase are out yet?” asks Sanchez after a minute.
His disappointed voice echoes through the deserted place. I glance at him, and my mouth opens by itself, “I think we’ll win and get out before they do.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You seem pretty excited for a girl who’s here against her will.”
I raise my middle finger in his direction as, in a corner, I discover a tiny window about six feet off the ground. Bingo.
“This way!” I call to him, smiling.
But he doesn’t smile. He stares at the narrow window, and we come to the same conclusion: I might be able to slip through, with difficulty, but he will never get through.
“I’m going to get you out this way,” he says. “I’ll try to find another way out for myself afterwards.”
“No,” I tell him firmly.
“What do you mean ‘no?’ You want to get out of here, right? This is your chance.”
I shake my head. “Tucker said, not to be selfish, and he’s right. We’re going out together. Move your ass,” I order him as I run in the opposite direction to investigate another nook.
There’s another window, a little bigger this time. But it’s much too high and has no handle. I rack my brain. As I meet Sanchez’s gaze, we exclaim at the same time, “The wooden crates!”
He runs to recover some and I do the same. We pile them up quickly against the wall, then he takes off his T-shirt to bandage his arm and break the old window, which gives way quickly.
“Come, I’m going to help you,” he says to me.
I don’t think for a second and reach out to him, but at the same time I hear a noise behind me. A tall blond man and a girl with brown hair are standing there, out of breath.
Sanchez looks annoyed, “Damn it. Chase, Amelia, how did you—”
He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence when the guy jumps on him and hits him in the jaw.
“Sorry, buddy,” he spits as he hits Sanchez, who is getting back up, “but I want to get out of here first.”
The girl doesn’t give me a look. With a tough look on her face— she doesn’t care about the two guys either— she determinedly climbs on the crates and exits the sinister building.
I put my hand on the first crate, preparing to follow her. The first two win. So, if I get out now, I will have won. But Tucker said not to think only of yourself. Without thinking, I turn to Chase.
I could jump on his back, but that’s exactly what I had done to try to stop Agnes’ attacker, and it didn’t work. Suddenly, I remember my coach’s advice from self-defense class: always keep your opponent off balance.
I move quickly behind Chase, who is holding Sanchez against the wall, and give him a brutal kick behind the knee, knocking him forward. I see the surprise on Sanchez’s face as he lets out a “Thank you” and regains the upper hand.
“Leave him!” I say to Sanchez as he continues to hit his opponent, looking grim.
Eventually he joins me, and I climb the wooden crates after him, fleeing the damn warehouse. I hold back a curse as I nearly cut myself with a piece of glass. As I look down, I realize that we are about six feet from the ground. Sanchez has already jumped, he’s on the ground looking up to me.
“I’ll catch you,” he calls. “Come on,” he repeats louder but with a reassuring air.
