Fear Cuts Like A Blade by Tiffany Bauer (have you read this book TXT) 📕

tape like a hot knife through warm butter.
Putting the waved blade on the floor beside me, I tore the rest of the tape from my wrists. Reaching up I peeled the tape from my face and dropped it carelessly on the floor. I trailed my hand along the cool floor seeking the dagger, I heard the sound of footfalls. They were coming. I didn't have much time left.
I severed the tape around my ankles but didn't bother to peel it off. Scooting towards the other person I assumed was Olivia, The footfalls stopped. I took a moment to get my blood pressure below stroke-level and continued on with my cautiously thought half way through plan.
Cutting the tape on Olivia I began to calm. I holstered the dagger back in its place and stood. Walking slowly, I ran my hand along the wall, coming to an abrupt stop when I felt the hinges of the door. I started humming the words of Thunderstruck, quietly at first, then louder when I hit the actual words.
Turning the handle I peeked out. The room beyond us was empty with the exception of shelves stacked to the ceiling with burlap sacks labeled in dark block letters their contents. Still singing, I closed the door just as softly as I had opened it. Turning to face Olivia I asked in a barely audible whisper, "Do you know where we are? It looks like a store room outside. "
She was still seated, her slender arms wrapped around her shaky legs, her chin resting on her knees. The intensity that was in her eyes when I first came in had dulled. The bright smile that could light up anybody's day was down to a pout.
"Three." She mumbled.
"Three what?" I asked, confused.
"Three robberies in two weeks. FBI said it'd get better, but it's only gotten worse." She looked up at me with a dead look on her face. "We'll never get away. Nobody does. Ever."
"What do you mean three robberies? Who're the robbers?"
"Black ice."
Black ice. The name didn't mean a darn thing to me. I didn't know who Black ice was. I didn't have to, to know I already disliked them. I looked back at the door already making a plan of escape. I wrapped my hand around the handle. But before I could turn it the door was yanked open.
It was like one of those Hollywood movies. Where the Dumb Blonde keeps doing stupid things. Where you already know what's going to happen. Where you sit on the edge of the couch and scream at the TV, telling her what she should do. Then she does the exact opposite.
That's what it felt like as I stood there watching him. He was about 5'10" and big. A skull and crossbones were tattooed on his right arm. He had a burn mark above his left brow. The anger in his eyes showed on his face. His blood pressure looked as if it were reaching cardiac arrest.
Coming to my senses I jumped into action. Shoving him back into a wall I ran out the door, quietly calling to Olivia as I did so. An open door was in the far corner. I sprinted to it and flattened my back against the wall. Being careful not to alert anyone who may be outside, I poked my head through and saw seven men, dressed in black, packing boxes out through another door in the back.
So, I have two choices. Stay here and surprise attack them when they come for us. Or make a run for it now. I thought, mentally weighing out the pros and cons.
Eight men, if I included the guy in the backroom, against us two. Not a good thought. Better to go with something else. I knew there was a front room, a bake room, a storeroom, and a backroom.
I scanned the store room, searching for anything that would have even the slightest bit of use to us. Flour, sugar, vinegar, baking powder, baking soda, baking cocoa, salt, cinnamon, sage, oregano, basil, and yeast. Not much but it would have to do.
I slid a glance to Olivia, who had now replaced the dead look with a scared one. A great idea popped into my head like a light when the switch is flipped. My lips curved into an arrogant grin. This was the storeroom. Storerooms had fans to keep circulation. I tapped Olivia on the shoulder and mouthed, "Where's the fan?"
She pointed towards the back of the room, where a large shelf sat in a fine layer of dust. I nodded my head at her in a 'follow me' gesture. I tip-toed my way between the long aisles to the very back. Looking up I saw the aluminum fan, it wasn't very big but we could manage.
I grabbed the shelf giving it a good shake, it was sturdy and didn't move much at all. Placing my foot on the bottom shelf and began to climb up it like I did when I was little and used to climb trees. My nickname had been Monkey for a week.
Finally at the top, I examined the holdings of the fan. Finding it took a regular Philips screwdriver, I slipped my backpack off one strap at a time. Unzipping quietly to go unnoticed by the bad guys -kiddy as that sounds- until we were in place and waiting for them.
When I was a kid I played what we liked to call Army guys. We had pellet guns, BB guns, paintball guns, marshmallow nerf guns, dart guns, and last but most painful, salt rock guns. Throwing pallets and wooden crates all over the backyard for cover. Digging ditches and tunnels in random directions. And trampling paths through the wild barley. We made a practice field.
I rummaged around in the bag until I found the slim black metal tool case. Popping the lock, I lifted the lid and looked inside. Blindly, I felt around until I got what I wanted. I pulled the screwdriver from its place and snapped the lid of the tool case shut. Shoving the rest of my tools back in the bag I heard Olivia whistle.
Instantly my head whipped around and I caught sight of the guy from the backroom that came to check on us. Jumping off the shelf I raised my hands up in a stop gesture and instantly began stalling time.
"Hey. How you feeling?" I started, slowly taking a step to the side. He didn't say anything. Guess he wasn't too happy about being pushed into a wall by an unofficial member of the Lollipop Guild. He moved one step closer and I took two steps back, putting me right where I needed to be.
"Hey, buddy. We're cool, right? Just a little push. Nothing anybody can't handle." Without Novocaine and painkillers. His head connected with a beam when he stumbled back and was probably throbbing like my head was now. He was going to have to get twenty stitches. At least.
A tight smile formed on my lips. Pulling a knife from the back of his waistband he lunged forward. Springing into action, I gripped a supersize sack of white flour and flung it at him. Easier said than done. It had to weigh at least a hundred pounds, if not more.
As soon as it made contact, the bag exploded, sending flour everywhere. I couldn't see six inches in front of me but somehow knew right where to go. I sprinted to the shelf and climbed up the steel frame on double time. I still had the screwdriver in my hand and the same arrogant smile on my face.
Unscrewing the fan as fast as my hand would move, the sounds of Olivia trying to get up the shelf drifted up to meet my ringing ears. When the fan cover finally came loose it fell down directly on my face. Wasting no time, I picked it up and threw it like a frisbee. Ripping the fan blades and motor out, I dropped the items to the floor and hoisted myself up, crawling into the cramped space.
There were four ways to choose from I realized, scooting myself backward, over the open space. Olivia was still down there. And it wasn't in any of my plans to leave her. I lowered my hand and whispered, as if it would help now, after the chaos we just caused, "Grab my hand. I'll pull you up." Whoa. My voice was way too calm, even for me.
Though her palm was sweaty, her grip was tight. Pulling her through the fan hole wasn't an easy job. She wasn't what you would call light as a feather but rather heavy as an icebox. Banging my head on the roof of the air vent, I finally brought her into the duct work.
Making a power decision to go forward I hoped it was the right way. Wiping the flour from my eyes I realized my plan was no good. I needed supplies to make it work. Turning around in open space wasn't an easy process for me. Turning around in a 2 x 1 space felt practically impossible.
Finally, after banging my head at every possible angle, and hitting my funny bone thrice, I was facing the way back to the storeroom. Olivia had turned around and was waiting, probably not too enthusiastic to go back alone. Following Olivia, we crawled back to the open air vent. Sticking my head out I could see the guy on the floor, probably unconscious, and a thick layer of flour covering everything from the floor to the ceiling.
Not finding much threat, I used my arms and slowly but swiftly lowered myself back through the vent hole and dropped to the concrete floor with a minimum of noise. Feeling much like a ninja, I tip-toed my way to the rusted steel frame containing the sacks of flour.
I lugged one of the heavy bags to the makeshift latter and all but flung it on the highest shelf I could. Which wasn't very high at all. Holding onto the beams with one hand, I pulled the bag from off its platform and slung it to the top shelf, where Olivia reached down and lifted it up into the vents with a grunt.
Jumping backward, I landed on the concrete floor. Turning around I scoured the shelves for the two things left on my mental list. My common sense told me to look on the rack of seasonings first, so I headed in the general direction all the while, praying I wouldn't be caught.
I glared at the spice bottles in all different sizes from tall and thin to short and wide. Speed-reading (if that's a word) the alphabetized labels I crossed over the one I came to gather. It was packaged in a 7in x 3in container and held just enough to do the job. I evaluated the formula in my head one more time before fumbling to grab a 2nd bottle.
Who knows? It might just come in handy. Spinning on my heel to walk back the way I came, I analyzed the shelf on the other side of me. Almost dropping the two bottles in my hands when I caught sight of the 2nd item I concluded to be necessary for my master plan.
Walking away I found a row of peppermint bottles. Picking up eight I suddenly remembered my backpack. I keep forgetting that thing and I'm going to be in deep trouble, I thought to myself as I lightly sprinted for the backroom, where we'd been held captive just minutes ago.
I padded through the open door and yanked the bag from off the floor. Unzipping the biggest pocket I heard a car door slam outside. Checking off the items from my list as I threw them into the bag to be sorted later.
Hurrying back to the fan I saw no sign of Olivia. The 'bad guy' was still on the floor. There were no new footprints in the flour. I shrugged my backpack on and ventured up