Sara Reinke - Backwoods

“Taking you with me. You’re going to show me where Dr. Moore’s lab is.”

“Why?” Suzette tried to dig in her heels and stop. “It’s not going to do any good. It’s too late. I told you—there’s no way to stop the virus. There’s nothing you’re going to find in there that’s going to make any difference.” Even as she spoke, realization dawned on her, cutting through the thick, belligerent haze of drunkenness. “But that’s not why you want to go, is it?”

She jerked mightily against him, pulling herself free. “She’s there, isn’t she? Dani Santoro, that fat-assed Hispanic bitch. Well, fuck you, Andrew, and fuck her, too. I’m not helping you do shit. You hear me?”

He reached for her, but she staggered away, her brows furrowed, her eyes flashing in furious challenge. “Fine,” he said. “Suit yourself. I don’t have time for this shit.”

Wheeling around, he marched to the door, throwing it open wide.

“I hope they’ve broken down the door and taken turns fucking her,” Suzette screeched from behind him. “I hope they tore her apart and are waiting for you there so they can rip your sorry ass to shreds right along with her!”

Andrew glanced off his shoulder. “Good bye, Suzette.”

“ Fuck you!” she screamed, snatching the fallen vodka bottle in hand, winging it at his head. He slammed the door on her, and heard glass shatter on the other side as it struck.

Following the numbers on the office placards, Andrew cut to his right shortly past Suzette’s door. To his amazement, he realized he’d inadvertently come to find his way along the path Moore had given him, because the fourth door down on his left was, sure enough, room number one hundred twenty-seven.

“Dani,” he cried, pounding on the door. “Dani, it’s me!”

He was so abjectly relieved to see the door intact, no signs of forced or attempted entry, he nearly burst into tears. And when he heard her voice, frightened and strained, from the other side, he laughed out loud.

“Andrew?” she called.

“Dani!” He fell against the door as if collapsing physically into her arms. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Her voice was closer to the door now, as if she’d come to stand directly on the other side, and like him, had pressed her cheek to the wood. “Are you? Dr. Moore locked me in here. He had a gun. He was talking crazy, said you’d done something to Alice and he was going to find you, make you talk. I thought…oh, God, I thought he was going to hurt you.”

She’d begun to cry. He could hear her soft, hitching breaths through the door as she hiccupped against tears.

“I’m alright,” he said, pressing his palm to the door.

“I thought he was going to kill you,” she said. “He had a gun and he…he told me he was going to shoot you.”

“Dani, I’m alright,” he said again. “Open the door. Let me in.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “He did something to the door, messed up the code somehow. It’s locked from the inside. Even before the power went out, I couldn’t get it open.”

“What?” Andrew drew back from the door now in dismay. He grabbed the knob, but it was locked from his side, too. Still, he tugged at it, feeling panic swell inside him again. Clasping it in both hands, he twisted furiously, until the entire door shook in its frame.

“Andrew, I’m scared,” Dani said. “Get me out of here. Please get me out.”

“I will,” he promised. “Stand back. Let me try something.”

The hall was narrow, but still allowed him enough space for leverage. He backed up to the far side, then charged forward, ramming his shoulder into the door, hoping he could force it open. All he managed to do was knock himself backwards in the recoil, his shoulder aching and nearly bludgeoned out of its socket.

“Damn it,” he said, then tried again. Over and over, he backpedaled in the corridor, then lunged forward again, slamming into the door once, twice, three times, all with no effect whatsoever.

“Damn it!” he shouted, grasping the knob again, shoving his shoulder forcibly against the wood as he tried to shake it loose. From the other side, he could hear Dani trying, too, grabbing the knob and jerking with him. “Damn it, damn it, goddamn it!”

He shoved his hands through his hair, uttered a hoarse, frustrated cry, then kicked the door. “Goddamn it,” he yelled.

“Wait a minute,” Dani said. “I can take the door off the hinges.” She uttered a quick, strained laugh. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I can take the door off its hinges. I’ve got a screwdriver on my multitool, a knife I can use to wedge under the main pin. I can…”

She’d sounded so excited, he’d felt it, too; he’d gone back to the door, laughing along with her, forgetting about his frustration, his own futile attempts, until her voice abruptly faded from the other side.

“What?” he asked, his own smile faltering uncertainly. “Dani? What’s wrong?”

She laughed again, but it fell flat, a humorless sound. “It’s on my keychain,” she said. “My little multitool. It’s on my goddamn keychain.”

He realized. Which is in my pocket.

“Shit,” he said. “Wait. I can slide it under the door.” Pulling it out, he dropped to his hands and knees, setting the flashlight down to aim the beam beneath the bottom of the door. “Do you see my light?”

Within that equally narrow, illuminated space, he suddenly saw a sliver of her face come into view, her eye and cheek, the side of her nose. It was enough to make him smile. “Hey, you.”

She managed a miserable laugh. “Hey, yourself.”

“Here.” He tried to slide the Gerber Clutch under the door, but it wouldn’t fit. The tool case was too wide. With a frown and a grunt, Andrew turned it lengthwise, then tried forcing it, shoving it repeatedly, uselessly. “Goddamn it,” he snapped, frustrated, frightened, hurling the keychain down the corridor, sending it skittering and clattering into the darkness.

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” Dani whispered.

He looked back into her eye, saw it glistening with tears, then wedged his fingertips under the door, brushing against hers. “I’m going to get you out,” he promised.

From the far end of the corridor, back in the direction he had come, came a sudden, terrified shriek. Andrew jerked at the sound, eyes flown wide as his head snapped up, his eyes darting in that direction.

Suzette, he thought, as another piteous scream, shrill and agonized, ripped through the lab building. Oh, Jesus, that was Suzette!

“Andrew,” Dani cried. “Oh, God, what’s that? What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing,” he told her, peering under the door again, meeting her panic-stricken gaze. “It was nothing.”

I have to get her out of there, he thought, scrambling to his feet. He’d shrugged the M16 over his shoulder, but took it in hand now, raising it over his head. With a desperate cry, he rammed the stock down into the key pad beside the door, hoping against hope that this would somehow disable the locking mechanism in the door. He hit it again, then again. With the fourth blow, he managed to knock the key pad casing loose and it listed severely to port, revealing a tangled mess of multicolored wires beneath. Another shout, another blow, and the case clattered to the floor, leaving the inner workings of the key pad vulnerably exposed.

Still, the door remained locked. Another shriek echoed down the hallway, but this time it wasn’t Suzette. The sound was visceral, scraping and shrill, something brutal and primal, the triumphant howl of a wolf pack’s alpha male claiming first dibs on a kill.