The Lighthouse

You’ve got to move sooner or later. Do it now, while she’s still over by the door.

She made herself move in the direction of the cardboard cartons. She was almost to the rear wheel when she saw an old bathroom plunger lying behind it. It was good-sized, with a wooden handle two feet long. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.

Inching along, she stretched her arm out until her fingers could just touch the handle. Then she lay still again, listening. Heard nothing except the heavy silence. But once she came out from under the car, exposed herself in the light… that damned ceiling bulb hung right over the car…

Smash it, she thought then. It hangs down low, you can reach it with the plunger… and in the dark you’ve got a much better chance

… smash it!

She crawled forward, took a firm grip on the wooden handle; her head was out from under the car now. Behind her, on the other side of the car, Cassie moved and then called, “Alix?” again. The sound of her name drove her the rest of the way out from under, up onto her knees.

Cassie heard her, shouted something unintelligible just as Alix located the bulb, and lunged up at it swinging her club.

But her first swing missed high, hitting the cord instead and setting the light swaying and dancing crazily; light swirled, weird shadows climbed the walls and then fell back again. Cassie fired a shot, but in her haste her aim was off-line: the bullet cut a furrow across the top of the car to Alix’s left with a sound like fingernails dragging down a blackboard.

Wildly, Alix swung again at the swaying light. She lost her grip on the plunger as she did so, but in flying out of her hand it struck its target. The bulb shattered; the garage was plunged into darkness.

Another shout from Cassie, but no more shots. Alix dropped to her hands and knees again, crawled behind the row of cardboard cartons. When she’d gone as far as she could she got up in a crouch and extended her hands into the darkness around her, searching for another weapon. At first they encountered only empty space, then she felt a lumpy plastic shape, probably a large sack of potting soil or fertilizer. Her touch stirred up what was inside and a faint but pungent filtering of dust tickled her nostrils. She put a hand up in a vain effort to stop a sudden sneeze.

The sneeze came out as a little choking noise, loud in the electric stillness that filled the garage.

Cassie said, “I hear you, Alix. You can’t get away, not even in the dark.” She began moving, coming toward the car.

When she got to it, would she think to open one of the doors for the dome light? Alix squeezed the plastic sack, seeking more shelter. When she tried to straighten, her head banged into solid wood. Wincing with pain, she raised a hand and felt the rough underside of a shelf. Probably a potting shelf, like many old garages had.

Cassie said, “I hear you!” Her tone was horribly gay, like that of a wicked child playing hide-and-seek.

Alix was disoriented now, but she guessed she had moved at an angle toward the rear comer. The potting shelf must be built into the right angle formed by the walls. If she went the other way…

“I’ve got you now,” Cassie said. “You can’t see where you’re going in the dark.”

Neither can you.

As if Cassie had read her mind, she said, “I know where things are in here. I can get around without light; you can’t.”

Then maybe she wouldn ’ t put on the dome light. And that would be to Alix’s benefit. Cassie knew the garage, yes, knew the whereabouts of everything that was in it; but moving around a familiar place in light or even half-light was entirely different than trying to find your way when you couldn’t see at all.

Alix could hear her now, no longer making an effort to be quiet as she felt her way around the hood of the car at the back wall. Alix moved too, away along the side wall toward the front, keeping on the balls of her feet, knees bent, hands touching the exposed studding for balance. Ahead she could make out the faint outline of the big double doors, a lighter gray-black against the clotted darkness within.

Were the doors locked? Even if they weren’t, they might be difficult to open and get through quickly. Still, they were the closest means of escape: she would have to try them.

Behind her, Cassie was still moving. It sounded as if she was now feeling her way along the side of the car, on the other side of the line of boxes.

If she sees or hears me at the doors, Alix thought, will she try shooting in the dark? She might; or she might want me to get outside, where the light is better. How many bullets does a gun like hers hold? Six? Don’t most pistols hold six? Two on Adam Reese (God!), another intended for me. That leaves three, if the gun was fully loaded to begin with. Three too many…