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turned the
doorknob, he felt a stab of disappointment when it didn’t move.
‘Guess I’ve run out of miracles.’
    ‘Damn.’ He stepped back and studied the door.
‘I’ve got to get them away from her. No idea how many there are or
how they’re armed. Dad taught me to run from this sort of thing. He
said not to worry about him or Mom, just get myself out of the
situation. I always told him I understood. On some level I guess I
convinced myself I could be the stone-cold survivor. But I can’t
leave her. I couldn’t live with myself. This door’s only going to
open from the other side. Guess I know what I have to do.’
    He lifted a length of chain. He swung it
above his head several times, gathering momentum. When it built up
enough speed to create a humming sound, he threw the chain.
    It slammed into the door.
    The solid metal door didn’t break but that
wasn’t his intention.
    All he wanted was to get their attention.
    He wiped sweat from his nose and walked back
to the door. He put his ear against the cold metal and heard
nothing.
    The screams had stopped.
    He picked up the chain and listened again. He
heard a faint, repeating sound, like the tick of a clock.
    Or footsteps.
    ‘Wish I could remember how I killed those
winged things. The Edimmu. Guess I’ll have to rely on what Dad
taught me.’
    He covered his mouth, terrified for a moment.
Then he stretched his arms and shoulders. He had to relax if he was
going to do this. Mouth dry, he picked up the chain again. He threw
it above him and it shattered into the nearest light bulb. He
turned his head as glass showered down on him. When he looked back,
the room was darker than he expected. With luck, it would make the
fight more equal.
    He shattered the other light and the room
went pitch black. Josh closed his eyes to fight disorientation. He
walked, arms outstretched, to the door. When he opened his eyes, he
was surprised to see a crack of light under the door.
    ‘Hinges open outward. Can’t hide behind the
door. I’ll have to stand in their blind spot and hope for the
best.’
    He pressed his body up against the wall two
feet to the right of the doorframe.
    He waited.
    With a loud slam the window opened. A square
of light lit up the back wall. Josh held his breath.
    “Lookee here, Simon. This bloke wants to have
a go.”
    ‘Australian?’ Josh thought. ‘I’d expect a
French accent this deep in Quebec. These boys aren’t local.’
    Josh heard two clicks. His father had trained
him to recognize the sounds: guns being cocked. That was all he
needed to know.
    He heard keys jingle and, after a series of
metallic clicks, the door unlocked. It opened slowly. The darkness
dissipated into murky gray. Josh saw the silhouettes of two men
against the back wall. The one in front was slightly shorter than
the one behind. Their bodies cut off most of the light. Josh had
only a few seconds before they saw him.
    He sprung.
    With his left hand he grabbed the wrist of
the front man’s gun hand. He held it out to the side and, in the
same movement, punched with all his strength at his throat. His
target’s face went red even as his fingers twitched on the trigger.
A bullet shot into the back wall. Josh grabbed the man’s head,
pushed it down and smashed his knee into the man’s face. His body
went limp. Josh threw him backwards into the second man.
Instinctively, the bigger man’s hands went around his friend,
trying to break his fall. Josh tensed the index and middle fingers
of his right hand and stabbed them straight through the second
man’s left eye. When he took his hand back it was covered in red
and white goo. The second man screamed, hands rushing to cover his
wound. Josh stepped on the wrist of the first man’s gun hand. He
put his weight on it until the man let the gun go.
    Josh picked up the pistol and shot both men
in the head.
    The echoes hung in the air for a long
time.
    ‘That was too easy,’ he whispered.
‘Seriously. How did I do that? I’ve