David Dun - At The Edge

The deputy's body crumpled. She grabbed it so he wouldn't roll down the stairs. The body convulsed in her hands. A stain spread across the front of his pants and a stench came with bowel sounds. He was dead. Using all her strength, she dragged the big man the rest of the way up the stairs and laid the body on the roof. Quickly she went to the southerly side of the building and found the large sunken chamber in the roof. She climbed ten feet down the metal ladder to the bottom of the rectangular, concave area. On the inboard wall of the chamber were large louvers. From her pocket she removed a red ribbon, tied it on a louver, and let it stream through the opening.

Quickly she climbed the ladder, ran across the roof, went down the stairs and through the door, noting with satisfaction that the workmen were gone. Right where she left it, she picked up the loaded furniture dolly and wheeled it down the hall around a corner, and into the small hall that bordered the southern side. Mechanic rooms, like the door to the roof, had small eight-inch windows. There were two off this hall.

She would try the first. Taking the bloody crowbar in both hands, she looked up and down the hall, then with one sharp blow knocked out the window. Opening the door, she wheeled the dolly inside and closed the door quietly. From the tool bag she removed a wooden square with black paper that she quickly taped over the window hole. Next she pulled out a small flashlight and found the light switch.

All around the dusty room were duct pipes, blowers, and electrical panels. She pulled a Colt. 45 from her overalls, then took from her tool case a grease-filled sound suppressor and screwed it into the barrel. The first three or four shots would be almost silent. She returned the gun to its hiding spot.

She walked ahead toward the side of the building, winding through the various pieces of the heating, cooling, and duct system. When she neared the outer wall, she saw the light pouring through the louvers and the small ribbon.

Certain now that she had the right vent for the outside air intake to the south-facing courtrooms, she walked over and examined the equipment. Air from the outside poured into the equipment room and was drawn into a sheet-metal box a little smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle. The box sat about five feet from the louvered wall through which the ribbon fluttered. Its fans drew air from the outside and down into the courtrooms.

Directly in front of the box and its air intake louvers, she placed the two drams. But she inverted them, allowing the dram full of sulfuric acid to contact its specially designed plastic lid. It would take five minutes for the acid to penetrate the lid and hit the sodium cyanide. Heading back toward the door, she was shocked to see the board knocked off the window hole. Then a man dressed in uniformly dark clothing stepped out of the shadows. A small man but confident-it registered in her brain. Reaching into her overalls, she fished for the gun.

He moved so swiftly he seemed more apparition than man. As the gun came up, his foot snatched it, hurling it against the wall. Open-mouthed, she raised the heavy crowbar, gripping it like a bat. She could beat any man with this advantage.

"What have you done?" The man had an Asian accent.

"You'll find out the hard way if you don't get your ass out of here."

She swung. Easily he stepped away. Never had she seen anyone this fast. No martial-arts instructor, no boxer. Nobody.

"Put it down or I will take it away."

It was as if he were speaking to a child. Furious, she aimed for his head. It missed, but she saw anger ignite in his eyes.

He lunged; she swung but it was a feint. In the split second that the bar flashed past him, he was delivering a blurring kick that nearly dislocated her shoulder and sent the bar flying.

"Be sensible," he said.

She jumped toward the door. He cut her off.

"Tell me what you have done. Then you may leave."

"Fuck you." She launched her best kick. It landed on his ribs, a glancing blow. New respect lit his eyes.

"It was good. But you are only a student. Now tell me."

This time she attacked with a feinted kick followed by a punch. The block was so hard it felt like it broke her arm; then she was flying upward, and her legs went out from under her. She hit the concrete with a horrible slap that knocked the wind out of her.

Before she had time even to blink, her hand was twisted at her side. White-hot pain shot up her arm.

"Tell me."

She breathed deep and fast, certain she could stand any pain. His other hand at her neck set it on fire.

"Oh," she moaned. "Fuck you. Fuck you." It was like a mantra and she repeated it over and over. She could take it. She could hate her way through it. Nothing would stop her. They would both die in minutes.

He bent her over, pushing her nose into the concrete. She was on her knees in seething constant pain. Then he released her just slightly.

"I can see you can take pain. I do not wish to blind you. But I can cause you another kind of pain. Do not make me."

"Die, fucker."

There was a click of a stiletto. At first she thought he would carve her face. Then, like a whisper, she felt her overalls part up the center of her buttocks. The slice was so clean, the knife so sharp, he did it without touching her body. She could feel the air on her panties. Then her panties were pulled down.

Something broke inside. "No, no, no, motherfucker, motherfucker." It was her father; it was everything she loathed, everything she couldn't stand.

"One more chance or I will put you in pain like you have never known."

But it wasn't the physical pain that she feared. It was something else, something she didn't understand. "Over by the wall," she gasped, hating herself. "Two drums. You're too late. It's gas."

He dragged her over by the wall until he saw the drums. "Go." He released her.

Hiking her panties, she ran for the door, grabbing her cap and Colt off the floor. By sheer force of will, she adopted a walk of brusque nonchalance as she left and closed the door. Maybe the little bastard wouldn't be in time.

Shohei paused and thought. There were no good options. He picked up the drums and moved them to the corner opposite the door, about fifty feet from the air intake. He had no idea what else it was near that might matter. Then he tried to force the vents closed, but the controls were electronic. He didn't have the slightest idea how the mechanism worked, nor how this gas bomb worked. Without further hesitation he was out the door, hearing a boiling sound as he headed down the hall.

Within five steps a maintenance man came running round the corner.

"Leave immediately," Shohei said.

"Who are you and what are you-"

Shohei could see it was hopeless and rendered the man unconscious. Flopping the man over him in a fireman's carry, he walked twenty feet to a fire alarm. An instant before he pulled the lever, it sounded anyway.

With a free hand he pulled out a cell phone and called 911.

"Nolo County Sheriff," the crisp voice answered.

"Turn off the air-conditioning and all vents in the courthouse. There is poison gas."

"Say again. The alarm is loud-"

"Poison gas in the courthouse. Turn off vents and air-conditioning."

"Got it. Turn off vents and-"

Shohei hung up.

"When will you stop with your bullshit and admit those trees are a national treasure-"

"Wait," Dan said. "I smell something-it smells like gas. Get out of here!" Dan screamed.

''What?'' she said, not sure she smelled a thing. Grabbing her, he shoved her toward the door and she started moving ahead of him. He seemed a crazy man.

"Go, go, go," he shouted, grabbing her hand, yanking her. Then shoving her.

"Just a minute," she said. He pulled her down the small side hallway leading from the judge's chambers.