People are talking and stomping around up on the main floor, chatting in tones of excitement. I hear glass break, then a loud metal clatter. I catch fragments of various phrases, like “pull her eyes out” and “see what her lungs taste like.” The stomping quickly grows in volume and speed, transforming into a cluster of heavy footsteps that ring through the building.
I immediately pull back, scooping Marlo up with my free arm as we alter course.
This hallway offers few options, but with the footsteps drawing closer I take the only one that makes any sense. I open the door to what I assume is the engine room, greeted by an assortment of industrial machinery and the massive spool of thick black cable. Marlo and I slip inside, but before the door closes, I hear a voice cry out with sickening excitement.
“Over there!”
The metal door has a deadbolt on this side, which I immediately throw, but who knows how long that will hold.
Slam!
Someone has already reached us, hurling all their weight against the door and then continuing with a series of violent punches. I can see the mob piling up outside through the row of glass windows, filling the hallway and pushing to get a look at me with their snarling, furious faces. These openings are too small for anyone to climbthrough, but unfortunately the door has one positionedrightnext to its deadbolt.
I back away as Marlo clings tightly, then turn and run when the glass begins to crack. Someone hits the window with a crowbar, taking two or three stabs with their metal rod until the whole thing finally shatters in a crackling burst.
I’m hustling through the engine room now, weaving my way between various pieces of industrial equipment. Massive gears sit unmoving against the back wall, and a giant server bay rests next to us. While I’m sure this equipment is fascinating on a grade-school field trip, we ignore it, pushing onward in search of an escape route.
AnEXITsign, red and brilliant, catches my eye across the room. I take a sharp turn, barreling toward it. Over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of several arms reaching through the broken window, the ravenous crowd struggling to find the lock that holds them back from whatever macabre task Eddie has assigned. Shards of glass remain stuck in the edges, slicing through flesh as frantic appendages grope wildly. Blood runs down the door in thick streaks.
We burst through the exit, finding ourselves on an outdoor staircase that winds upward against the side of the building. From here we can see down into the parking lot below, which is now strewn with dozens of vehicles left haphazardly across the pavement, doors wide open and dome lights shining.
We’re approximately forty feet up, and while tying off a rope and climbing down might be an option withunlimited resources and time, it’s not a viable route at the moment. This thought is punctuated by a loud clang from inside the engine room, a sign that they’ve finally caught the deadbolt and made their way through.
Assuming the shotgun was fully loaded, I have three shells left with this particular model. I’m guessing there’s fifteen or so people after us, so the math doesn’t quite work out in our favor.
Still, if one of them gets too close to Marlo, I won’t hesitate.
I hurry upward, gritting my teeth and pushing past the strain of all this excess weight—my daughter cradled in one arm and my shotgun held in the other. Around and around we go as the stairs double back on themselves until, finally, we emerge onto the boarding platform. It sticks out from the building, a large cement landing featuring two indents where the hanging gondolas rest before departure. You’d be in a world of hurt if you fell. It’s a coin flip whether you’d die on the rocks below, but you’d certainly break a few bones.
To our right is a long stretch of glass-paneled doors, and through them lies the loading zone. During operating hours, this now quiet space would be crammed full of excited passengers, but currently it’s not nearly as bustling.
It’s not entirely empty, though. As Marlo and I peer inside, our gaze is met by three lookouts. Two of them are holding machetes, and the last one is none other than Alison, the PI. She’s still gripping the power drill in one hand.
A brief pause hangs between us, then Alison shrieks at the top of her lungs, “They’re here!”
From this position on the loading platform I have a wide-angle view of the building’s various rooms. The lights are still dim, so I can’t make out the details of any particular figure, but what I do observe is movement—alotof movement.
My brain is moving at lightning speed, immediately recognizing there’s only one option left.
I leap into the gondola, then set Marlo down as I begin frantically searching through Noah’s keys. I’ve seen him operate this thing a thousand times before, and while I wasn’t aware there’d be a life-or-death pop quiz one day, I feel like I picked up just enough of the important stuff.
The gondolas here are much more futuristic than one might imagine, updated years ago and transformed from the tiny old-fashioned boxes you’d see zooming up and down the mountainside in a James Bond classic to a larger, rounded vessel with windows around the whole perimeter. This offers a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, not a bad spot in the tram, and it slowly rotates as it soars upward. There are no seats, just some handrails and four sturdy poles to hold for balance, as well as a central console that serves as the control panel for each cable car. You could probably fit twenty people in this thing if you really crammed in tight.
I step into the central hub, greeted by a wall of buttons and flickering lights. Noah’s lift key is easy to find, marked with a blue plastic cover, and I push it into the slot just as a startling crash rings out. Glass cascades across the cement landing as people leap through the broken lobby doors, spilling out onto the platform and rushing the gondola.
As I crank the key our vehicle fires up, sending a signal to the engine room and then beginning our ascent with a mighty lurch.
One belligerent pursuer has managed to sprint ahead of the others, pumping his arms and legs as he rockets toward us at full speed. As the gondola pulls away, he makes a flying leap, slamming against the side of the vehicle but unable to grab hold. His body tumbles out of view, followed by a sickening crack just a few seconds later.
I grab Marlo and pull her close, ducking down as something I think is a thrown hammer strikes one of the windows. A spiderweb of cracks erupts across the glass.
Fortunately, the chaos subsides as we make our ascent, drawn skyward at an incredible speed. The wordsgondolaandtramalways make me think of an easy, casual journey, but our takeoff feels more like a thrill ride, pulled along by a massive cable that hangs some two hundred feet in the air.
I’d expected our view of the rocks below to be mostly obscured by darkness, but the vehicle features a downward spotlight that illuminates this scene with its soft glow.
Marlo and I stay perfectly still in the dim light of our cab, embracing in silence as the sweet sensation of relief gradually works its way through us. There’s a long moment of blissful rest as we rise out of the canyon, my heart slowing from its frenetic gallop and my breath gradually softening.
We watch as the distant city lights begin to peer over rocks and crags, twinkling in the darkness.
