Kill Whitey

There was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, followed by a crash that reverberated through the ceiling. Dust fell from the light fixtures, irritating my burned scalp.

“Noh more gamesh,” Whitey shouted. His voice sounded weird. “Noh more tahk. Onlee tym fo killingh nohw, Mishar Gibshon.”

I tried the doors for the boiler room and the electrical room, but they were both locked. Next, I tested the door to the pump room, sighing with relief when I found that it was unlocked. Hurrying, we slipped inside and shut the door behind us. Sondra gasped. With the door closed, it was pitch black in the pump room. I waved my hand in front of my face but couldn’t see it. I felt a sudden surge of hope. Whitey wouldn’t be able to see us either. My excitement fizzled when I remembered that he could apparently track us anyway via some extrasensory connection with the baby. There was nowhere we could hide, not even in total darkness.

Above us, I heard Whitey’s muffled footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Listen,” Sondra whispered.

“I hear him. I’m sorry, Sondra. Get behind me. When he comes in, I’ll bum rush the son of a bitch while you get away.”

“Nyet. Not Whitey. I hear water.”

I tuned out the approaching footsteps and listened, but didn’t hear anything. My hearing was still wavering in and out, but I’d thought it had been improving.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Da. Am positive is water. It sounds like it is beneath us.”

“My hearing must be more fucked up than I thought. Can you find the source?”

I felt her kneel beside me in the darkness and heard her palms slapping at the concrete floor as she explored. Her perfume lingered, faint but reassuringly present. She moved away from me, and even though I could still hear her, I suddenly felt very alone.

“Here,” Sondra cried. “I find a…how you say? Grape?”

“A grape is a fruit. You mean a grate?”

“Da. Grate. Is water beneath.”

“Let me see.”

I dropped to the floor and felt my way over to her. Groping in the darkness, my hands found her shoulders. I followed Sondra’s arms downward, brushing against her breasts, until I felt the grating. It was made out of metal and cold to the touch—probably made of iron or steel, and molded in a checkered mesh pattern. There was definitely water rushing below it—fast, judging by the sound. I slipped my fingers between the squares and pulled. Squeaking, the grate moved a few inches.

“It’s loose,” I whispered. “If the pipe down there is big enough for us to crawl through, we may have a chance.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the sewer. Must run beneath the entire industrial park. I’m hoping the pipes are big ones. They should be, given the amount of stuff that probably flowed through here when these companies were still open.”

“Sewer? Where the poop goes?”

Even though I couldn’t see her face, the disgust in Sondra’s voice was unmistakable.

“Not poop,” I whispered. “At least, not anymore. This whole complex is deserted, just like the two buildings we’ve been in. Nobody flushes their toilets anymore.”

“Then what is the water?”

“I don’t know. Probably run-off from the fire trucks outside. All that water from their hoses probably went down into the drains. If it can get out, then so can we. Now help me lift this damn thing.”

She grabbed hold of the grating and together we lifted it out of the way. The water got louder. So did Whitey’s footsteps. I felt the edges of the hole. It was big enough for us to slide through. Then I spit into the darkness and heard it splash into the stream.

“Not too far of a drop. Ladies first.”

“Larry, I am afraid. You will go first, yes?”

“Elloh,” Whitey called. “Eye ahm comyngh fo eww, lihttul meyz.”

This time I was sure of it. Whitey’s voice had definitely changed. His words were slurred, almost unintelligible. Even so, he still sounded sinister and his intent was clear.

A thunderous crash from upstairs echoed throughout the building. Seconds later, booted feet charged across the floor. The ceiling vibrated. Shouts followed.

“Cops are inside,” I said. “We’ve got to go now.”

I scooted over to the hole and dangled my legs through the opening. Then I turned around and slowly lowered myself down into the sewer. It was shallow enough that my feet touched the bottom while my head and shoulders were still at floor level. I gasped as the cold water rushed into my shoes. The sudden shock cleared my head.

“It’s not deep,” I said. “Come on.”

I moved out of the way and Sondra followed me into the hole. There was a small amount of light in the tunnel—not enough to really see by but enough to let my eyes adjust. I couldn’t find the source. As my vision adjusted, I made out Sondra’s form—a beautiful, slender shadow. When she turned my way, I saw flashes of white from her eyes. Trying to be quiet but quick, I pulled the grating back into place. It wouldn’t stop Whitey, but maybe it would prevent the police from figuring out where we’d gone.

In the darkness, Sondra’s hand found mine. Our fingers intertwined.

“Can you see?” I asked.

“Nyet. Not so much.”