Andrew Klavan - The Final Hour

The guards followed me to where I lay on the hard-packed dirt floor. One of them kicked me in the stomach so that I curled up, clutching myself. Another kicked me in the back so that I straightened, letting out a cry of pain. My cry disappeared underneath a hollow roaring sound that seemed to fill every corner of the Outbuilding. That was the heating system blowing warm air through the place.

Then, smirking, the guards withdrew, leaving the Outbuilding and closing the door behind them.

Now I was alone with Dunbar.

When I was able to look, I saw the Yard King standing over me. Slowly, painfully, I raised my eyes from his shoe tips and blinked up at him. For a long moment, he was just a foggy figure seen dimly through a haze of pain. Bit by bit, the haze passed and he came into focus. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

The thick, squat man stood with his legs akimbo. His knuckly face looked down at me. Nastiness seemed to come off him in waves. His cheeks were flushed with it and his eyes almost seemed to glow. When he spoke, it was with the voice of a volcano: It sounded as if it came from some hot, bubbling place deep down inside him. It was as if he could hardly contain the thrill he felt at the idea of pounding me half to death

“What did you think, garbage boy?” he said. The sound of that voice burned right through me. “When you were talking tough in the infirmary. Huh? What did you think?” He nudged me with his shoe tip. “I’m asking you a question.”

I groaned in answer. It was all I could manage.

“When you put your hands on me like I was just one of your fellow garbage cons,” Dunbar went on. “What exactly were you thinking? Really. I’m curious to know.” He nudged me again. “Did you think you’d never be back here? Did you think I’d never get another chance at you?” He let out a brief laugh. He shook his head. “You cons are so dumb. Don’t you understand? In here, behind these walls, time is always on my side. Always. Eventually, I always get my chance.”

I flinched as he crouched down over me. He grinned at that. He liked to see my fear. He chuckled.

Carefully I slipped the knife out of my sleeve into my palm. I wrapped my fingers around the rope-grip handle.

“Oh, you con, you garbage,” Dunbar said, shaking his head again. “Let me tell you something: This is gonna hurt you way, way more than it hurts me.” He reached down to grab me.

And then I was on him.

I don’t think I’d ever moved so fast in my life. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next-when the escape would begin or how or when-but I knew it was going to be soon, any minute, and there was no time to lose.

Before Dunbar could react, before he could even get that sadistic grin off his face, I sprang off the floor and grabbed him by the hair. At the same time, I threw a body block into him. Crouched down the way he was, he was completely off-balance. I drove him to the floor and got on top of him, my knees pinning his arms, my knife-blade set against the soft flesh under his chin.

I pressed my face close to his. I spoke in a low whisper, the words tumbling out quickly.

“Listen to me, Dunbar. Listen to me good. Any second now, some of Blade’s thug pals are gonna come through that wall. You read me, chucklehead?”

Dunbar couldn’t believe what was happening. He couldn’t understand what I was saying. “What?”

I banged his head against the floor. “Listen! I’m supposed to kill you now, do you understand me?”

“I…”

I banged his head again. “Do you?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes! Yes! Don’t kill me! Please!”

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or not. If I don’t kill you, you can bet Blade or one of his crazies will, okay?”

“Please,” he said again, terrified.

“You got one chance, one choice. Which is to do what I tell you to do, you read me?”

“Yes, yes, anything, what?”

“Act dead. Play dead. Understand? Play dead or you will be dead. That’s a guarantee.”

Before he could answer, I let him go. His head fell back against the floor. Before he could think, I took the knife away from his throat and held it to my arm. Taking a quick breath against the pain, I cut myself-a nice long slash.

Man, it hurt. It hurt like you wouldn’t believe. A long second of pure, stinging pain. Then the thick blood began to flow. Dunbar tried to lift his head, but I jammed my arm under his throat, knocking him back, making him gag. I rubbed the arm back and forth against him so that my blood was smeared all over him. It wasn’t going to look convincing, but I hoped it would do the trick in the rush and confusion that was sure to come.

I jumped off the Yard King. It wasn’t easy to move, let me tell you. I had to ignore the pain all over my body from all the punishment I’d taken. But I did ignore it. What had to be done had to be done.

I grabbed Dunbar by the shirtfront and hauled him up to his knees. I dragged him to a dark corner of the Outbuilding as he struggled to get his feet under him. All the while I was dragging him, I was talking to him under my breath.

“There’s a mall near here,” I told him. “An unfinished mall about two miles away. You know it?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Dunbar said weakly.

“That’s where Blade and his boys are headed. Tell the cops. You got it? Tell the cops to cut them off. Stop them. Don’t let these clowns escape. They’re killers, every one of them.”

I threw him against the wall. He sat down hard, his back pressed to the cinder blocks.

“Lie down and play dead, Dunbar,” I said. “They’ll be here any second and if you don’t look dead, you will be.”

I heard a noise behind me. I turned-but there was no one else in the Outbuilding. Not yet anyway.

Suddenly, while I was turned like that, Dunbar grabbed my arm.

I spun around on him, drawing back the knife to threaten him.

But he wasn’t on the attack. He was too stunned and scared for that. He was just gaping up at me, his eyes wide, his mouth open.

“Why…?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

I shook my head. I didn’t understand him.

“You were supposed to kill me,” said Dunbar. “Why didn’t you?”

For another second, I still couldn’t figure out what he was saying. But then I got it: He really didn’t know. He really didn’t understand.

“I beat you,” he said. “I’d’ve beat you again, worse this time, much worse. I might have killed you and you know it. Now you had your big chance. Why didn’t you kill me?”

Angrily, I yanked my arm free of his grasp. He fell back against the wall.

“I haven’t got time to explain it to you, Dunbar,” I said. “Try to figure it out for yourself.”

The Yard King seemed about to speak again-but then he tensed, afraid. All at once, he slumped over, lay on the floor, his eyes shut, his mouth open. At first, I thought he’d fainted. But then I realized: He was pretending to be dead.

That’s when I looked over my shoulder and saw the hole in the dirt floor.

Blade’s people had arrived.

The entrance to the tunnel seemed to have appeared silently. At first, it was just a small break in the base of the cinder blocks. I could see the edge of a pickax working at it, prying off chunks of dirt, making the hole larger. How they had broken through so quietly, I don’t know, but I guess at least some of the noise had been covered up by the roar of the heating system. In any case, now I could see a pair of bright eyes peering up at me from the darkness beneath.

What happened next happened quickly but in the same weird dreamlike quiet. With any noise covered by the blasting air, it seemed like a silent movie. Blade and three of his fellow musclemen suddenly stepped through the Outbuilding door.