large.
I opened the third bag with fingers that still shook. At first, I thought it was empty. Then I caught a glint of something, in the far corner. I pinched the bit of metal between my fingers. Just a fragment; what looked like the remains of a pin. Like something you’d put on your shirt, or your coat, for a bit of bling. The metal was misshapen, and only a hint of color was left on the front. Green, yellow, and blue. I didn’t know what the design was supposed to be, but I knew one thing for sure: if Edgar Blythe had hidden it, then he had identified the fragment and determined it was significant.
I returned the timer piece and accelerant to the shelves once I took pictures of them, but I shoved the pin in my pocket. I hurried down the row until I found Lucas, and filled him in with a hushed whisper. Then we quickly made our way toward the door to the reception office, where my exit plan came to a screeching halt.
I threw my arm in front of Lucas to stop him
Human threat detected: 45 ft.
Subject armed.
Weapons scan: .45-caliber pistol.
“Security guard. Turn off the flashlight,” I whispered.
Lucas fumbled with the button. The light went off at the same time I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. I spun and pulled Lucas behind me, aware of the thwack of my shoes on the concrete as I tried to balance speed with stealth. I veered us down a row of boxes. Lucas stumble-hopped behind me, but didn’t complain, even though his human eyes couldn’t possibly pick out much in the pitch dark.
Target advancing.
35 ft.
Another metallic clink sounded. My pulse leapt, while the weapon in my waistband grew heavy. We needed to clear the end of the row before the guard entered, or it would all be over. He’d hear us, and I’d be forced to take aim.
Maybe even fire.
I upped our speed, and we reached the row’s end just as the door creaked open. I pulled Lucas by the wrist until his back was against the far end of the shelves. We stood there, barely daring to breathe. Something snapped, and then a glow from above the shelves near the entrance.
“Hello? Anyone here? This is security,” a deep voice said.
The light moved in time with a heavy set of footsteps, slapping concrete. I cringed. From the way the beam swung, the guard was walking along the wall and peering down aisles.
His current trajectory would lead him directly to us.
My sensors broadcast information as my heart pounded, plying me with information that was preparing me for a fight.
Target statistics:
Gender: Male.
Height: 6 ft., 1 in.
Weight: 205 lbs.
Heart rate: 95 bpm, slightly accelerated.
Footsteps: Slower than average based on weight/height. Indicates caution.
Weapon: Loaded.
I listened as the measured, even footsteps closed in. Then the beam of light shot out from the far end of our aisle, just to the left of our heads. I waited, searching for any pause in the guard’s gait, any rustle of clothing to hint that he was reaching for a walkie-talkie or weapon. He kept on walking. The beam of light popped out on our right next, then the footsteps continued, away from us, as he peered into each row.
My fingers tightened around Lucas’s wrist. In another thirty-three feet, the guard would come to a dead end. That was the moment of truth. My fervent hope was that he would turn around, retrace his steps until he repeated the process on the far side, and retreat back into the office when nothing turned up.
Android sensors counted down the approximate remaining distance, but with only one foot remaining from where my sensors had detected the corner, the footsteps paused.
Silently, I urged the guard to turn and head back toward the door.
One second passed. Then three. The next footstep finally fell, but didn’t retreat in the direction the guard had come from. My gaze tracked left, down to the end of the final aisle. To the open area that would reveal us.
The beam of light grew brighter. He was coming.
I brought my mouth near Lucas’s ear. “Move.”
He grabbed my hand and allowed me to guide him around the corner of the shelves we’d backed up against, one tiptoed step at a time. Praying the guard’s footsteps would mask our own.
We took another quiet step, and another. Trapped in a treacherous game of hide-and-seek, one with potentially fatal consequences. All the while, the footsteps behind us