Apartment 905, Sahin, Ned [black female authors .TXT] 📗

I open the hallway window at the back of the building. I tie one end of my homemade rope to the nearest doorknob and hope it will be strong enough to carry my weight.

There is no sign of any human beings around. I wonder if they have already found Kathleen. I would go upstairs to see if she is safe and ask if she wants to join me. I am ready to take this risk, but I know that my key won’t open the door to the 10th-floor hallway. Each resident is allowed to go to their floor only.

I am sorry, Kathleen. This isn’t what I intended to do. I wish I could take back time and never throw that piece of paper onto your balcony. I think I will have to live with this remorse for the rest of my life.

I start going down the rope. One foot at a time. I check surroundings at every other step and use balcony fences and air conditioner units to conceal me.

Every balcony I pass is messed up. Chairs are thrown, flowers are dead, and dust covers everything. I remember how this building was full of life only a few months ago.

Two floors left. I continue my descent onto the ground.

A truck’s engine roars. Not long after, I see the truck revving up on the street next to the east side of the building. I almost cry when I see who is in the back seat.

Kathleen.

She is tied up and blindfolded. Accompanied by a Savior next to her.

This is all my fault.

I try to get back to my mission. It’s not the time to let emotions control me. I should continue executing my escape plan.

I realize the rope is about one floor short. I must have miscalculated the height of the lobby floor. The ceiling of the ground floor is higher than the resident levels.

I have to loosen the rope and let gravity do the rest of the work. I throw the backpack carefully to make sure it lands on the dog park.

It doesn’t make a sound as I anticipated. I hope I will be as lucky as my backpack and land on soft ground. Three, two, one...

This hurts. My left ankle strains, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with. I can still make it to the cabin in three days. It will be just a more painful walk than what I planned.

Despite the pain in my ankle, it feels good to be outside of the building. I check my mask to make sure it is still tightened after the jump. The last thing I want is to die from the virus in the first few minutes of my grand escape.

I walk to the corner of the building quietly and check out the west side. This side opens to a smaller street. There is less chance of coming across a Savior this way.

After making sure no one is around, I run as fast as my left foot allows me. I reach the alley entrance behind the nearest condo. I look over my shoulder to see if anybody is watching me. It’s all clear. I am safe.

“Going somewhere?” says one of the guys holding a gun pointing to me. They are a few yards into the alley. I recognize the Saviors badge on their jackets. The two men left with the truck must have radioed to request a new patrol in this area.

My initial shock fades away after a few seconds, but I still don’t know what to say.

There are about twenty feet between us. They are within range of the bear repellent spray in my right pocket. I consider using it, but I quickly abandon the idea of spraying them. Even if I pull it and point toward them fast enough, at least one of them would fire their gun. I buy some time to come up with a better idea.

“I am just going on my way,” I say.

“Drop your bag on the ground and step back!” he yells. This is a good sign. They just want the bag. I am willing to exchange the bag for my life.

I wish Leyton were here and appear from the other end of the alley to save the day.

I drop my backpack and step back while raising my hands in the air. He blinks toward the junior-looking guy to pick up the bag.

This is my last chance to attack. The other guy is only a few steps away from me. I can disable him with the spray in a split second.

I remember the fight-or-flight principle I had once heard in the company security training. I don’t choose the “fight” option in this situation. I am outnumbered.

I let him pick up the bag and walk back to his friend.

“If I see you again around here, you won’t be this lucky that time,” says the senior Savior.

I am not sure why, but I feel like I am in a position to make a request.

“Can I at least get my laptop from the bag?” I ask.

I have no idea why I asked for it. Having a laptop near me in my entire childhood and IT career, my subconscious must have felt insecure without it.

They pause for a second and glance at each other.

“Your what?” says the senior one.

“My laptop. Can you please leave it?” I ask.

They pause again. Then they burst into laughter. Too loud that other Saviors around could hear.

“He wants his laptop,” says the senior one, looking at his friend.

He must have seen the desperate look on my face. He gives a curt nod to the junior, gesturing permission to take the laptop out of the bag.

The junior pulls the laptop up and brings it to me while still scoffing and enjoying my desperation.

This is the chance I missed twice. I can pull out my spray now and use his body as a cover before the senior Savior points his gun back to me.

I choose the “flight” option again.