Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

down my spine. “With their power brokering. If they’d listened. But they never do, not unless you got the money. After Tuesday—”

He stopped, as if afraid he’d say too much.

“Listen to what?”

“Why,” he smiled, suddenly, “the second shot to be heard around the world.”

I frowned. I knew about the first shot. I was a teacher, but what could a revolutionary war shot have to do with now? Was that it? Was he talking revolution? Now? When we were in the midst of a war?

The elevator doors slid open, spewing us into the shadowy, empty depths of the parking garage. A chill that had nothing to do with the outside cold numbed my body and my brain as he hauled me across the concrete towards a silver Datsun.

So he was responsible for that, too. He shoved me into the space between the cars and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.

“Gimme your hands.”

If I let him handcuff me, the pathetically little chance I had of escaping dwindled into that negative, new math range. I hated new math. Hate put an extra spin on the old brain, the little ball landing in the Phisohex slot.

“What are you going to do?” I half turned away from him and slipped the bottle out of my pocket, my thumb working at the stiff top.

“I don’t want any trouble from you. Think I can’t see the wheels turning? Now put ’em out.”

I let my shoulders droop in defeat. Stepped towards him, lifting my hands, palms down so that he wouldn’t notice the bottle. When his gaze dropped to my wrists, I turned the bottle and squeezed—just as cold steel snapped into place around my wrists.

My cry of dismay got lost in his roar of pain. He clawed at his eyes with his free hand. I used his distraction to apply my knee where it would hurt the most and jumped back as he doubled over with another howl.

For an instant I saw his inflamed eyes, bulging from Phisohex and rage.

I turned tail and ran like a rabbit. I was a handcuffed rabbit, so my gait lacked effective forward motion. The elevator sign glowed like an ugly beacon through the gloom. The light showed it still on our floor.

I tried to pick up my pace. Instead I went sideways and bounced off a parked car. A bullet thudded into the car next to me. I screamed and skittered the other way. Ahead of me, the elevator light went dark.

I don’t know if my wail was internal or external. Oblivious to my plight, it started to descend. My only option was to follow. I leapt over the cement barrier of the down ramp. Behind me bullets ricocheted off metal and concrete. With all the grace of a disadvantaged kangaroo, I galloped down the ramp and made a turn toward the elevator.

Only this level didn’t have an elevator.

Above me I heard shambling footsteps and steady cursing. Despite this rare opportunity to enlarge my off-color vocabulary, I continued my ineffective scamper for the next down ramp. The pounding of my footsteps and heart drowned out his pursuit. I couldn’t look back without losing my balance. All I could do was run and hope.

Several lifetimes later, I reached the next ramp. I went over the low curb and almost came a header on a patch of oil. I kept my balance, but never quite got back control. Several hops and a Beemer put me back on target for the elevator.

The indicator showed it on the first floor—no, it was climbing.

The bastard had taken time to push the button.

I galloped forward.

One. Two. Three—

I was almost there—it swept past my floor bare seconds before my fingers found the button and pushed. It went up one level and stopped. After a short silence, I heard Willis’ footsteps start toward me.

I pushed the button again. It didn’t move.

Could he have blocked it somehow?

I sagged against the wall, my chest heaving its need for more air. I was on the fourth level. There was no way I could run the lengths of four levels to the ground. I had to get back up to the elevator. Or hide until the cavalry came.

If the cavalry came.

A garage didn’t offer a whole lot in the way of cover, but if I could convince him I was still headed down, maybe I could work my way back up to the stalled elevator.

I took a deep breath, pushed away from the elevator, and began jogging towards the other ramp, deliberately emphasizing my steps with teeth jarring thumps. It hurt like the dickens, but I heard his footsteps speed up. When I figured he was making too much noise to hear me, I dodged behind an ancient van with “Wild Thing” inscribed on the side.

It seemed like a good omen.

Sooner than I’d expected, Willis thudded past, his livid face contorted with rage. If he caught me now, he wouldn’t make it easy for me. I waited until he was out of sight, then did a crab walk around the front of the van.

Below me, Willis stopped running. I froze. If he’d already realized I wasn’t going down, I was toast. Even now he could be returning the way he’d come. I had to do something.

I hardly had time to form the prayer in my head when the answer came in a resurrected memory of an action adventure movie from my past. The bulging pectoral hero had clung to the underside of a truck. I didn’t have the pecs, but I didn’t have to cling to it while the van was moving either. With my hands cuffed, it wasn’t easy getting under the van and not make noise, but I had good incentive to try. Once there, I focused so much on figuring out how to hook my joined arms around machinery, that at first I didn’t realize what I was seeing.

A spare key holder.

If it had a key in it—it did.

Yes, thank you God. Driving out surrounded by lots