Columbine

Damien had bought us both a day.

One day to try and get the hell out of the cellar and make a break for it. I wasn’t sure how far we’d have to run to get to anywhere. I had been unconscious when I’d been dragged into the kidnappers’ lair, after all, so my sense of location was a little off, and Damien had been somewhere in town when he’d also been knocked senseless. This left us with only one option: pick a direction, run like hell.

All we knew for sure, from what Damien had been able to hear through the floorboards, was that Doc and Simon had gone back to capture Sarah, leaving Camel-shit guy and the fourth one to guard us. When I’d displayed a small bout of optimism after hearing that the two strongest ones had left, Damien had readily reminded me that the fourth one still had tricks up his sleeve that had not gone anywhere.

“Maybe if one of us pretended to be sick…” I suggested, still sagging under the weight of Damien’s coat. “I know I could do it. I think I feel a sneeze coming on.”

Damien gave me a look that spoke volumes. Perhaps that was why he rarely opened his mouth.

“They’ll suspect a trap.” He reminded me.

I wracked my brain for some other way to plot our escape. I tried my hardest to think back to when I’d had a working television for company. Maybe there had been something I’d seen in a movie that could help me worm my way out of the cellar.

Unfortunately, none of the movies I’d watched had had any cellar scenarios. They’d all been set in police stations and locked rooms. I realized that it was probably because there was no way to get out of a cellar, and the movie directors had all known it. If it had been a room, or even a basement, Damien might have been able to pummel a way outside. Unfortunately, the only thing beyond the cellar walls was dirt. Not only did we not have enough time for tunneling, but we also had no tools.

“The only real way we can possibly get out of here is through that door.” Damien looked wistfully at the trapdoor above us.

“And the only way that door will open is if someone on the other side sticks the key into the lock.” I added.

It was then that something occurred to me.

“Hold on a minute.” I said. “They’ll have to unlock the door if they think one of us is dying. I mean, they need us, don't they?”

Damien looked at me.

“Go on.” He said.

“They know music will start to play if I’m bleeding. If it’s really loud, they’d think I’m hurt really bad.” I could feel my pulse throbbing excitedly. “But there’s another way to make it really loud --mixing it with water.”

“There’s just one problem.” Damien sighed. “We have no water.”

I’d forgotten that little detail, and being reminded of it just drilled our hopeless situation still further into my head.

“But--” Damien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Maybe we don’t need water.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What I mean is that maybe if we combine my blood with yours, the effect will be the same.” He said. “Blood is mostly water, after all.”

He did have a point. I remembered overhearing Charlie say that his blood could play music, too, after he’d bitten me. If his body had digested my blood, then at the very least, Damien’s blood could be just as effective as water.

“Good idea.” I said. “I think I’ll scream, too, so they think you attacked me.”

“That’s a good idea -- you do that. Just let me find something sharp first.” Damien looked around the cellar, finally coming upon a floor tile that was a little bit jagged. I winced as I watched him bring his wrist down hard on the jagged corner. It seemed to go straight through his vein.

“I just hope to god this works.” I said, shivering delightedly at the prospect of escape.

“They won’t be expecting it. That’s the real benefit.” Damien said as he let the blood drip from his wrist onto the floor. If he felt any pain at all, he didn’t show it.

“That means that we only have a small window of time before they realize it’s a trap. We have to be ready.” He explained.

I played the possible scenarios over in my head. Either the two men came, or they didn’t. In the event that they did, I knew that only one person could come down into the cellar at a time. I was willing to bet it would be Camel-shit guy.

Whoever would come in first was probably going to have a gun on him. If only we managed to get than gun from him and use it against who ever came second, it would be a fair match. Damien was right. The window of opportunity would be tiny.

“What are you going to do once you get out of here?” I asked, mostly so I would have something other to concentrate on besides the blood dripping from Damien’s wrist.

“I don’t know.” He said. “I might consider pretending to be dead, so I don’t have to work for the Demataxt any more.”

“That’s right, they don’t let you guys leave, do they?” I asked.

“Not demons, at any rate.” Damien shrugged. “I assume you’re going to continue your dance club?”

“Damn right, I am.” I said. “And if you’re really going to pretend to be dead, you can come any time.”

“Assuming we make it out of here alive.” Damien reminded me.

“Obviously.” I smirked. “Assuming we’re dead just isn’t as fun.”

That was when I heard the rare, unusual sound of Damien laughing. It was a completely unexpected sound, and I found myself a bit stunned afterwards. It had been quite an odd situation to find humor in. After all, he was sitting there with his wrist sliced open, taking an enormous risk, putting his life on the line, and all for a small glimmer of a chance at escape. Maybe he, too, was getting hysterical.

“To tell the truth, I’m not sure there will be anywhere left where the Demataxt doesn’t have full power if Egypt is taken over.” Damien said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” I said. Many times, in fact. From Dennis, from the FFH’s ringleader…I’d even thought the same thing myself.

“I guess that means there’ll be a war soon.” I shrugged.

I’d put it into words: everyone’s biggest fear. Everybody knew it was coming. It was starkly obvious by now, but oh, how I wished it wasn’t true. Growing up, war seemed like a thing of the past; something that would never touch me for as long as I lived. Nowadays, you could smell it coming around the corner. It was just a matter of how to launch that first attack and put the inevitable into motion.

“There’s always places to hide.” Damien pointed out. “They’re just less comfortable than Saharan Africa, that’s all.”

The puddle of his blood was growing. We sat and waited for his wrist to heal. It can’t have taken more than ten minutes, but it felt like hours. By the time it was over, the puddle was more than big enough to blast music from the cellar to the roof. With luck, the house would be vibrating from the sheer sonic blast. There was no way in hell that so much sound could possibly be ignored.

“You just sit where you are and pretend that this blood came from you.” Damien commanded. “I’ll be hiding there.” He pointed to the corner just where the stairs met the floor. It was heavily shrouded in shadow. “I’ll grab the first one that comes in. If he’s got a gun, I’ll try to take it. It’s important that you occupy their attention for as long as you can.”

Normally I would have been more than a little bit miffed at being told what to do in such an arrogant fashion, but under the circumstances, it was almost a relief. Damien seemed to know what he was doing.

“Can you do that for me?” He asked.

“Of couse I can.” I shrugged, trying to assure myself that it was going to be easy. “Easy as pie. No worries.” I even threw in a little military salute.

All that was left for me to scream, and then mix my blood with Damien’s. It sounded easy enough, which was good. The simpler the plan, the likelier it is to work…or so I’d heard somewhere along the line.

It wouldn’t take much to reopen the wound that Doc had given me a few hours ago. A finger nail jabbed purposefully into the fresh scab would do. The key was not to think about it, to concentrate on something other than the self-harm. It was an art I’d long since cultivated, only now it would going to come in real handy.

Damien hid in the corner, as we’d agreed.

“I’m ready.” His voice told me from the darkness. He’d picked a perfect hiding place -- even I couldn’t see him, and I knew where to look.

“Give me a count of three.” I said.

“What?” He sounded surprised. “We haven’t got time for this!”

“Please.” I begged. “It won’t feel right otherwise.”

Damien sighed, as if disparaged at my childishness.

“One.” He finally said. I took a deep breath, posing my grown-out fingernails over the wound.

“Two.” Another deep breath.

“Three.”

I screamed. It didn’t take much imagination to let out the most terrified, high pitched wail I could possibly have emitted under the circumstances. I was already terrified as hell.

And then I plunged my nails into the scab, puncturing it until music was playing loud and clear. With hands that trembled uncontrollably, I smeared them over the fresh steam of blood and placed them firmly into the puddle of red that Damien had left for me. With a shallow, splashy prelude came a burst of sound the likes of which I had not prepared my eardrums for. I almost went deaf in that instant, and realized that blood was probably more potent than water could ever be. Normally I would have needed an entire bucket of water to produce so much sound, but blood three millimeters thick was even louder.

It couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds for the sound of somebody anxiously scrabbling at the lock with a key to reach my ears, and the worried shouting of one of the guys to make its way into the cellar.

The door opened, and Camel-shit guy’s face came into view.

“What the hell just happened?” He yelled down into the cellar, still not coming down. He couldn’t exactly see everything in it, because there was no light. Just the screams and the music that meant I’d been hurt badly.

In that instant, I smeared as much of Damien’s blood on me as I could, and crawled out into the small puddle of light that came into the cellar.

“Help me!” I half-screamed, half-cried. “Please help me!”

I truly sounded like I was in pain. It was more hysteria than actual pain, but the blood all over me must have made me look like I’d just been mauled by a wild animal. Camel-shit guy’s face had become the color of sour cream.

“Get me out of here!” I screamed, breaking off on a sob. “I broke my leg, I can’t get up! Please!”

And Camel-shit guy cautiously came down the stairs. There was visible fear in his eyes as he came lower and lower. I saw the fourth guy behind him, staring down into the cellar.

I held my trembling hand out to Camel-shit guy, still playing the part.

“Please…” I sobbed once more for effect. “Help me.” He was finally inside the cellar.

I hardly saw Damien move. I didn’t even know he’d done anything until he’d grabbed Camel-shit guy and locked him into a stranglehold.

“Step back!” Damien roared up at th fourth guy. “Step back or your friend’s neck breaks in half!”

The fourth guy looked totally stunned. He did have a gun with him, but he must have figured out that Camel-shit guy was not only a hostage, but also a body shield. And if anything I’d witnessed just now was true, Damien could make good on his promise to snap Camel-shit guy’s neck in two before the fourth guy could even aim his gun.

“I said step back!” Damien commanded, forcing Camel-shit guy up the stairs with him. The other guy backed off, just as he’d been ordered.

I followed cautiously behind, mentally cheering Damien on. I could hardly get over the fact that our plan had worked, or had started to, anyway. With luck, we’d be gunning our way to freedom in no time at all.

“Drop the gun.” Damien told him. As if by magic, the gun dropped to the floor.

“That’s good.” Damien said. “Now kick it to her.” The gun was kicked smoothly in my direction. I timidly picked it up. I’d never held a gun in my hands before. It felt alien, but I knew I’d have to get used to it.

“Back up against the wall.” Damien commanded. “Turn around, spread your legs.”

The fourth guy did as commanded. I wasn’t sure why Damien had seemed so afraid to challenge him before. He certainly didn’t seem like much to me. Especially not then, looking like he was stretching himself for ballet.

It was then that Damien must have realized that there was nothing else to do. We had no more leverage against them, and we’d put them in the most non-aggressive postion possible. All that was left to do was run.

So he picked Camel-shit guy up like he was a papier mache version of himself, and threw him straight into the fourth guy. He crashed into the wall, because the fourth guy had dodged the oncoming body just in time.

Damien grabbed my hand and ran.

For a moment, I thought that we were truly free. I could still hear the sounds of the two guys scampering among the broken floorboards and plaster, tangled up in each other’s limbs, and I knew they would never catch up. There was so much adrenaline pumping through me, I could have run barefoot for miles. I was ready to run, to escape, to flee. There’s no feeling so gratifying than to know you’ve succeeded and that you’re on your way to safety.

There’s also no bigger letdown than to run straight into the barrell of a gun.

Doc and Simon had come back home, and they were armed.

All the adrenaline that was pumping through me seemed to freeze in my veins as I realized that our plan -- our brilliant, one-in-a-million chance of success plan -- had just failed miserably.

“Well, well.” Doc said, his expression almost bored. “Trying to escape, are we?”

Everything just went downhill after that.

Damien, after having been beaten up by all four men until he was truly hurt, was cocooned in rope to one of the pipes in the wall. I was tied down into a chair and left in a very uncomfortable position under the watchful eyes of Camel-shit guy and the fourth one, who gave Damien regular beatings as tokens of gratitude for our attempted break-out.

All I can say is that hope makes a very specific sound when it dies.