We run, sprint, stumble, fall, falter, run on and on. Myriads of gry hallways. They remind me of a parkade, but in fact that is what an evacuation runway from a car tunnel must look like. Unrendered concrete, low ceilings, decrepit light bulbs. A maze. Time flies and yet stands still. After what needs to be an eternity we get to a door. Liv slows down unwillingly, but I urge her to run on. The door is more like a gate, even a Jeep would fit through. With shaky hands and totally out of breath I fumble out the key card and pull it through the designated slit. A click unlocks the door and I exhale. I have to push with my whole body to open it, Liv rushes through and it shuts loudly after me. We indeed are in an underground parkade – only black cars are there. I can hear voices and heavy boots from the other side of the door we came through. I franatically search for a way out, a solution, then my brain recognizes the heavy weapon in my hand. I cock the gun and point at the opening mechanism of the door. Pam. The recoil is hard. Pam-pam. Two more just to make sure.
A little bit calmer I now check out our surroundings, I can hear swearing through the door. Liv has sunken down to the wall next to the door. Her chest lifts and lowers, her eyes are closes, her face cramped. She presses her hand to her left forehead, red is dripping down to the asphalt. I want to help her get up, she needs to get away from here. Although I actually am the one who only got in trouble by her. Because I helped a woman in trouble at a station in the middle of the night. I have been out of my mind. But why? Why was my instinct so sure about me handling the situation? Why was I suddendly being "social" although I have always been the outsider, the scum? Although I was neglected, given up on, abused? I don't know. But I won't let it be futile. Liv has to get through this.
I look at her, almost staring. Only a deafening bang violently throws me back to the stream of reality. "Damnit, we have to get out of here!", I shout at no one in particular. The car closest to us is a black Mercedes 4x4. I just try it. Not that I have a choice anyway. So I grab the pistol and smash the front side window with the stock, stick my arm through it and open the door while the car's alarm complains, shrieking earsplittingly. Keys. In the few cars that I have stolen by now there have always been spare keys inside. I need this cliché now! Nothing behind the blinds. Ignition lock? Nope. Glove box? No chance. Also not in the side door compartments or on the dash. Damnit! Panickally my gaze flies through the car while in the background the steel door makes metal sounds in even rhythms as if they had a battering ram.
There! Oh my dear God! I love dumb people! In the cup holder there is a key, our salvation! I grab it, jump out of the car, open the back door. Then I run to Liv. She tries to get up, but I don't give her a chance to fail, I grab her under the arms from behind and pull her to the Mercedes. I assist her climbing in and slam the door shut. Sitting down on the drivers seat I see the door bending more and more with each hammering sound and I start the engine. I follow the white shining arrows on the ground and two stories above I finally come to an exit with a barrier.
Through the broken window I hastily pull the guard's key card through the slit and watch as the barrier lifts painfully slowly.
Freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Outsiders
Short StoryI have always been good at melting into the shadows and not being seen - mostly because people don't want to see the homeless. But being invisible also comes in handy when trying to survive on the streets as a girl. So I sense danger and I stay out...
