The maze of machinery hindered Marsha’s pace. Her run became a walk. Desperately she screamed for help only to hear her voice reverberate against the cold, lonely, concrete walls.
Behind her, the fire door banged open. She was close enough to hear the panting breaths of her pursuer.
Marsha took refuge behind a monstrous piece of equipment and pressed herself into the shadows created by a metal-grate stair. She tried vainly to control her own breathing.
There was no sound save for the slow drip of water someplace near. The cleaning people had to be somewhere. She just had to find them.
Marsha hazarded a glance back at the fire door. It was closed. She didn’t see the man.
A sudden loud click made Marsha start. An instant later, the room was flooded with harsh light. Marsha’s heart fluttered in her chest. With the lights on she was sure to be found.
One more glance back at the fire door was enough to make up her mind. Her only chance was to flee back the way she’d come.
Pushing off from her hiding place, Marsha sprinted to the fire door. Grabbing its handle, she yanked it.
The heavy door began to open, but almost immediately she could move it no further. Marsha looked up. Over her shoulder was a tattooed arm bracing the door from opening.
Marsha spun around and pressed her back against the door. With abject fear, she stared into the man’s cold, black eyes. The monstrous knife was now in his left hand.
“What do you want from me?” Marsha screamed.
Carlos didn’t answer. Instead he smiled coldly. He tossed the knife from one hand to the other.
Marsha tried to flee again, but in her desperate haste she lost her footing on the wet, stained cement. She sprawled headfirst on the cold floor. Carlos was on her in an instant.
Rolling over, Marsha tried to fight by grabbing for the knife with both hands, but its razor-sharp edge sliced into her palm down to the bone. She tried to scream, but Carlos clasped his left hand over her mouth.
When Marsha tried to dislodge his hand, Carlos quickly raised his weapon and dealt her a vicious blow to the head with the heavy haft. Marsha went limp.
Carlos stood up and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he crossed Marsha’s arms so that her cut hands were on her stomach. Picking up her feet, he dragged her across the kill-room floor to the grate at the termination of the cattle chute. He stepped over to an electrical junction box and threw the switch, activating the room’s machinery.
Kim drove like a madman, oblivious to the rain-slicked streets. He agonized about what could have happened to Marsha in the Higgins and Hancock record room. He found himself hoping that she had been surprised by a security guard, even if it meant her arrest. Any fate worse than that he didn’t want to consider.
As he turned into the parking area in front of the immense plant, Kim noticed there were only a few parked cars scattered through the lot. He saw Marsha’s car at one end, nowhere near the entrance.
Kim pulled up directly opposite the front door. He leaped out. He tried the door. It was locked. He banged on it with his fist. Cupping his hands around his face, he peered inside. All he could see was a dimly lit, deserted corridor. There was no security guard in sight.
Kim listened. There was no sound. His anxiety mounted. Stepping back from the door, he surveyed the front of the building. There were a number of windows facing the parking lot.
Kim stepped off the concrete entrance slab and quickly moved north along the side of the building. He looked into each window he came to and tried it. They were all locked.
When he peered into the third window, he saw file cabinets, upended chairs, and what he guessed was Marsha’s phone on the table. Like the others, the window was locked. Without a second’s hesitation, he bent down and picked up one of the stout rocks lining the edge of the parking area. Hefting it up to shoulder height, he tossed it through the window. The sound of shattering glass was followed by a tremendous crash as the rock bounced off the wooden floor and collided with a number of the upended chairs.