She struggled to drag them open against their rusted hinges, then slipped inside, out of the rain.
As the doors eased shut behind her, she stood dripping and panting and straining to see, waiting for her eyes to adjust, to begin to work again.
Darkness.
Her pulse thrumming against her eardrum.
She wiped the sweat and rainwater from her eyes and blinked against the sting.
Already, she was cooling down.
Drenched through, the chill beginning to muscle in.
She couldn’t imagine walking back out into that freezing rain, but continuing on into this building, in complete darkness, seemed no better.
She crumpled down onto the floor, her sobs echoing down some corridor whose terminus she could not see.
Her son was at that monster’s mercy.
She’d killed two people in the last eight hours.
And the man she loved was in all likelihood going to be killed horribly.
By the time she’d gotten back on her feet, she was shivering violently, her fingers barely able to grasp the knife.
The skin behind her right ear sang with agony, blood still pouring down her neck.
She started forward into the black, one slow and shuffling step at a time, the knife outstretched in one hand, the other trailing along the wall. She kept thinking she’d suddenly see something, that the darkness would dissolve away, but it held.
Twenty steps.
Thirty.
Forty.
She stopped counting after a hundred.
Then the point of the knife touched something hard.
She stopped, reached forward.
A wall.
She’d come to a point where the corridor branched to the left.
Righting herself, she moved on, and ten steps later, the wall her fingers had been following came to an end.
She stopped and listened.
Water dripped in the distance and there was something above her now.
Sky.
Just the faintest orange tint of it.
The frame of the window sharpened into focus and in that weak light that filtered in, she saw that she stood in the ruins of a long, factory floor.
Her eyes pulling every possible detail out of the skylight.
Equipment everywhere.
The remnants of an assembly line.
Immense machines.
Broken-down robotic arms.
Conveyor belts that hadn’t moved in years.
She walked carefully down the line, glass crunching under her feet.
Her teeth chattering.
The smell of grease still prevalent.
The factory must have stretched two or three hundred yards from end to end, and as she neared the other side, she started seeing half-assembled cars on the conveyor belt—no wheels, no engine blocks, doorless, and all rusted into oblivion.
At the other end of the factory she stopped. Heard the rain falling on the roof fifty feet overhead.
She moved through a pair of double doors and before passing again into darkness, saw the first few steps of a metal stairwell in the shreds of light.
There was nothing to do but descend.
She gripped the wobbly railing and headed down.
Baby steps from stair to stair, her footfalls causing the metal to resonate.
She went down three landings before the stairs ended.
Standing once more in darkness—no light, no sound, not even the drip of water—and the smell of must and mold overwhelming. She staggered blind for three steps until the point of her knife touched a wall.
She coughed violently.
“That’s disgusting, Andy.”
“Honestly, Luther. Did you kill him?”
“Kill who?”
“Max. Her child.”
He just smiled.