“There’s no way to lock it!” Cassie cried.
“Push some crates against it!” I ordered.
We all leaned against a stack of crates and pushed against them, our bare feet sliding on the cold, dusty floor, Nate grunting with the effort of keeping his cast out of the way. We managed to shove them up against the door just as someone outside grabbed the doorknob.
The door rattled but couldn’t move against the heavy crates.
“Do some more!” I said, feeling my way around. With great effort we managed to shift another stack of crates against the first, but there were multiple voices outside and someone was slamming something heavy against the door. It had already opened a crack. We were two strong girls, one little kid, and one messed-up guy who wasn’t much help. Outside that door were a bunch of beefy grown-ups.
A flame flickered into existence.
“Wha?” I whispered in amazement, and then my gaze focused on the Kid, holding a small lighter.
“How did you—” Cassie began, but I stopped her with a wave of my hand.
“Ask him later!” I said. “Kid, let’s see what we have to work with in here!”
The Kid lifted his lighter and moved around. We were in a room of crates, just like every other room on this hallway. The only way in or out was the door that the guards were about to break in. We could push more crates against the door, but at most we’d be buying ourselves a minute or two. In the end, they would come in, we would be captured, and then we would be put to death.
88
CASSIE
BECCA AND I REACHED THE same conclusion at the same time: we were trapped, this was a dead end, and it was really, really the dead end, if you know what I’m saying.
As the sounds of the guards trying to smash the door open surrounded us, we stared at each other, each thinking furiously. Then Nate’s quiet, pained voice said, “Well, we tried.”
The Kid let his lighter flicker out, and we were again in almost complete darkness—the only faint light coming from the tiny crack around the door as the guards pushed it inward.
Looking down, I realized I was somehow still holding the stupid can of peaches. Overcome with tiredness, rage, desperation, and frustration, I drew my arm back and hurled the can against the wall with every bit of strength that I had, almost howling with anguish.
There was a dull, hollow thud and the sound of plaster chipping and falling to the ground.
“What the hell was that?” Becca asked.
“The can of peaches,” I said wearily.
“Oh. Well, we could use it to club the first person in,” Becca said. “If nothing else.”
She was right. From the pounding at the door, that would be soon.
“When did you become the practical one?” I asked. “Kid? Light?”
The small lighter clicked into existence and I peered at the floor, looking for the can. The light went out.
“Kid, I can’t see in the dark,” I said crossly. “Can you keep it on?”
“I ain’t flicked it off,” the Kid said, just as crossly. “It got blew out.”
“I feel cold air,” Nate said. I heard him shuffling a bit. “Here. Maybe it’s a vent or something. You guys, at least, might be able to get through it.”
The lighter clicked and again cast its small circle of light.
There wasn’t a vent. What there was, was a tiny hole in the wall, where I’d thrown the peaches. I put my hand up to it and felt chilly air whistling through.
Looking quickly, I found the dented, bloodstained can and grabbed it. Holding one end, I slammed it against the hole. More plaster crumbled away, making the hole big enough to put my fist through.
“That would be awesome, if we were rats,” Becca said drily.