Read Online Scavenger by David Morrell - Free Book Online Page B

neck. He had trouble breathing. After a pause, he heard bricks being stacked to the side.
    “Okay, I’m moving forward,” Ortega said.
    More dirt trickled onto Balenger’s neck. Faster , he thought.
    The man ahead of Balenger started crawling again. Pulse racing, Balenger painfully followed.
    “Hold it!” the man ahead of him blurted.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “The back of my belt’s caught against a brick in the ceiling.”
    Balenger tensed. In the semi-darkness, he heard strained movement.
    “Got it,” the man said. “I’m free.”
    Balenger heard scraping sounds as the man resumed crawling.
    “I reached some old steps!” Ortega called.
    Thank God, Balenger thought, unable to catch his breath. Tasting dust, pressing his stomach to the ground, he squirmed forward.
    His heart twitched when something held him back. His jacket was caught on a brick above him.
    “Keep the flashlight steady!” Ortega called back.
    “Yeah, steps!” the man behind Ortega cheered. “I see them!”
    Balenger felt the brick move against his back.
    “We’ll soon be out of here.” The actor in front of Balenger squirmed ahead.
    The brick came loose, weighing on Balenger. More dirt trickled.
    “Frank!” Ortega called back. “What’s wrong?”
    Balenger didn’t dare speak for fear the vibration would dislodge more bricks.
    “Why did you stop?” Ortega’s voice echoed.
    Another brick weighed on him.
    “My God, does it ever feel good to lift my head,” the actor in front of Balenger said. “I see a door!”
    “Frank?” Ortega called.
    As panic seized him, Balenger almost shrieked. A third brick shifted. Dust filled his nostrils. He eased forward an inch. Dirt pressed against his shoulder blades.
    “Frank?”
    The roof squeezed down on him. He needed more strength to pull forward. Bricks sank onto him. Abruptly, he couldn’t bear the weight any longer. The air was so stale, he feared he’d suffocate. Inwardly wailing, he squirmed faster, and suddenly more dirt fell. He crawled in a frenzy, bricks striking his legs, dirt collapsing, and he was shrieking out loud now, shoving with his knees, pulling, digging with his elbows, lunging, his legs feeling crushed, the noise of the collapse louder than his scream. Hands grabbed him, dragging him upward. The flashlight wavered in his trembling grasp. Dust swirled. He felt smothered.
    Moaning, he reached stone steps, charged up, and crashed against a wooden door. It trembled. He crashed into it again. The door was so old it broke off its hinges. But even then it didn’t open. Something blocked it on the other side. Ortega joined him, the two of them slamming against it, and suddenly, it tilted, objects clattering beyond it.
    Amid choking dust, Balenger saw lights beyond the door. When he and Ortega gave the door a final desperate thrust, it toppled, knocking more objects over. Fighting to clear his lungs, Balenger crawled over the door and found himself in a basement filled with old furniture. On wooden steps, a spectacled man in a suit gaped at them.
    12
    Balenger lurched past him. At the top of the stairs, he encountered more old furniture, a roomful of it, and continued to feel squeezed. Sunlight through a front window prompted him to hurry toward a door. Outside, he almost bumped into someone rushing along the sidewalk. He bent over, coughing. Only after the spasms passed and he raised his head did he notice a sign on the door: GREENWICH ANTIQUE FURNITURE.
    Ortega came out, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. He lowered it and pointed toward the store’s interior. “The owner says he likes to take his customers down to the sub-basement. Evidently, that touch of history makes his furniture seem extra old and valuable.”
    Balenger slumped against a light pole. “Thank God for antiques.”
    “Yeah, well, he claims we ruined about thirty-thousand dollars worth of those antiques when we knocked them over, breaking down the door.”
    “Now we know the price of our lives.”