Robison Wells - Variant

Curtis stepped to the door. “We’re all coming out. All the V’s. Gangs’ll stay away from each other, and we meet in the foyer. That work?”

There was a pause. “That works.”

“Okay. Everybody back away.”

All of us were tense, watching Curtis and Carrie as they waited at the door. This could all be a trick—they could attack as soon as we came out—and all of us knew it. Curtis’s and Carrie’s hands were tight together, their knuckles white.

Curtis motioned to us, and we pushed the toolbox away from the door. Hector moved up right behind our unarmed leaders, and the rest of us followed as they slowly opened the door. The hall in front was clear. They stepped out.

I glanced down the back hall. I could see the outside doors. No one was blocking them.

“We’re coming,” Curtis said. “You have Carrie and me as collateral. The V’s are going to wait outside.” He motioned to Hector, who immediately began hurrying us down the hall toward the doors.

Shouting swelled behind us, and I heard Curtis yell over the noise. “They’re not escaping. They’re just going where you can’t get them while we talk.”

We ran to the doors. I checked my watch. 5:51 a.m.

Mason was the first to reach them, a pipe wrench hanging in his hand. There was a buzz and click, and he pushed the door open.

Hector waited as the rest of the V’s ran outside. I was at the back of the group, and when I reached him I paused.

“Well?” he said, scowling. “Whatever you’re doing, you’d better hurry.”

“Yeah.” I hefted the crowbar in my hand and then sprinted for the incinerator and the door. I hadn’t been back to it since everything had happened—I hadn’t wanted to touch it, or relive it. I’d been replaying the whole thing in my mind enough as it was.

I stopped in front of it, the incinerator to my right. The door didn’t look like anything special. It was metal, painted a warm brown to match the building’s brick. The knob was silver, round and smooth, and one of the unlocking sensors was fastened to the brick above the jamb.

Behind it was a scene I didn’t want to revisit, but I knew I had to. It was the only way to persuade them to run—the only way to get anyone to believe. They had to know what was going on. They had to be scared.

“So what do we do?” Hector was standing beside me now, his breath puffing in cold clouds.

“I’m going to break in.”

“What do you need me to do?”

I looked at him, surprised. “Hector—”

He interrupted, gesturing back toward the doors we’d just left. “Just tell me what to do. We only have an hour.”

I nodded. He didn’t want to help me; he wanted to help Curtis and Carrie.

I stepped up to the door, which fit snugly into the jamb; there was hardly any gap between. I tested putting the wedged tip of the crowbar in the crack, but it didn’t go far.

“Here,” he said, holding up his hammer.

I held the crowbar in place and he tapped it with the hammer, trying to push the edge into the gap. But it wasn’t going far. After a dozen taps, he shook his head. “It’s not working.”

I knocked on the metal, and it resonated. The door was hollow. That was something. My worry had been that the door wasn’t a regular door, that it was some kind of reinforced vault. But, it seemed perfectly normal.

“Stand back,” I said. He moved away.

I swung the crowbar down at the knob. It clanged loudly and bounced off. The vibrations in my injured arm stung viciously, but I tried to ignore them. I looked down at the knob. A small dent, but that was all.

“Keep trying,” someone said. I didn’t look to see who.

I hit it again and again, banging down on the metal handle until it was bent and scratched.

I had to get inside. I didn’t even care about the consequences of going back to face the other gangs now—I needed to show them this.

“Mason,” Hector called. “Get over here.”

I stopped for a breath. I was sweating now, overheated under my sweatshirt even though it was freezing outside. As I watched Mason approach, I saw the others. All the V’s were standing behind us.

Hector directed Mason to the door. “Your turn.”

He looked surprised, but he couldn’t have been more shocked than I was.

“You won’t be in trouble,” he assured him. “They’ll think Benson did it.”

He pointed up at the building. “Did you see them?”

On the floor above us a dozen faces were pressed against the windows, trying to look down and figure out what we were doing.

“Just do it,” Hector said, looking back at the door.

A little smile appeared on Mason’s face. He raised his heavy pipe wrench and swung it onto the knob. His first blow skidded a few inches down the metal door, scraping a silver gash in the paint. I watched him as he pounded it again and again, raising his arms, taking a breath, and then slamming it down.

And suddenly I was watching Dylan with his pipe, relentlessly beating Jane. I bent in half and then fell to a crouch, trying not to throw up.

Gabby jogged over from the rest of the V’s. While Mason worked, she spoke to Hector.

“They’re trying to force the door,” she said. “They’re coming out here.”

“Who is?”

Gabby’s eyes were wide, and her chin was trembling. “The other gangs. I don’t know who. But I can hear them.”

Hector turned to the others. “Tapti, you and Gabby watch the door. If they break through, get back here as fast as you can.” He directed two others toward the far corner of the building to watch for someone coming that way, and then sent two more fifty yards back from us to watch the windows. “Benson’s turn again.”

I took the pipe wrench from Mason—it was heavier and he was having more luck with it—and began smashing the knob again. He’d done a lot of damage—it was bent down at a forty-five-degree angle. I hit it three times but then asked for the crowbar back. I’d noticed the bent knob had folded away from the door—there was a half-inch gap.

Mason helped me position the bar, jamming in the sharp wedge, and then we both pried with all our strength. It felt so close.

Hector jumped in and then called for Joel.

I heard a shout somewhere and for a moment all three of us stopped to look. We couldn’t see anything.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the grenades.

“Here,” I said, shoving them into Hector’s hands. “They’re filled with pepper spray.”

A smile crossed his face for an instant, but then he pointed at the door again. “You’d better hurry.”

He left in a run.

“Come on,” I said, turning back to the knob and yanking again on the crowbar. The strain was sending bolts of pain across my chest and ribs, but I continued. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like it was moving ever so slightly.

“They’re coming,” someone behind us said. I felt the pressure in the bar lessen as Joel turned to look.

“One more time,” I urged. “Come on.”

Dozens of voices were yelling now, and I was suddenly aware that all of the V’s were close, surrounding us. Guarding us.

I pushed with all my strength, my arms and legs quivering as I struggled to move the bar. Joel put a foot on the door for leverage and Mason grunted.

With a pop, all three of us fell, the crowbar flipping and launching the broken doorknob in the air.

The door was still closed, leaving a hole where the knob used to be. Unfortunately, a horizontal bar crossed through the hole—the door was still locked.

I heard Skiver’s voice, and he was close. It didn’t sound like anyone had started fighting yet, though.

I picked up the crowbar and looked at Mason and Joel. They didn’t know what to do.