Story by Winston H. S. Paddlemore
(To be adapted for television by Caine Khagan-Smith)


A frightened Wendell slammed into a set of double doors, trying to keep his knees from buckling when he did. But he slipped anyway, banging the joint on hard concrete. He winced in pain. Feebly, he pushed against the doors. Though they did shake under his weight, they were otherwise unaffected.

He was a tall and strapping man, but now he had no strength. And after everything up to now, he laboured to breath. He gasped, desperate for air. And he clutched his chest, pushing on his ribs as though it might help, while fear gripped him.

His blue eyes were wide and frantic, briefly looking back the way he came, and then for a way to get inside.

With some effort, He had succeeded in bypassing the chain-link. But that was just a fence. A warning to passersby. Not a security countermeasure. The doors were a made of a thick chrome-plated metal with a sturdy frame. They were both wide and tall, with nothing to grip onto save the handles. And the walls around it were all the same, only taller. Too difficult to scale. Especially being as slick with rain as they were. Not to mention his knee, dripping with blood, thus impossible to climb over.

Hearing the splashing of leisurely footsteps nearing, Wendell searched his mind for the code to the door. And he gasped again as he took a hard step to his left. He would have tried to scream again, if he could.

To stabilise himself, he had to remove his hand from his chest and thrust against the wall, groaning as he did so. Fortunately it was sticky with enough blood that it didn’t slide.

Then using his right, he typed eight numbers into the keypad which he’d recalled from earlier that day. Smearing blood there too. When the light on the keylock changed from red to green, he shoved the doors once more. Though they were so heavy he barely managed; he’d become quite weak.

Stumbling inside, the drenched Wendell Knox saw that construction on the roof of the warehouse had yet to be completed. It seemed darker inside despite the emergency lights. And the sky emptied without a care.

As fast as he could he turned around to close the doors. He even touched them, before he collapsed. He fell backwards and struck the back of his skull, but it hardly registered; he was still trying to breath properly.

Seconds later, the doors opened wider to allow another into the warehouse. Wendell’s attacker. They were not without breath. They looked down on Wendell and smiled in perfect health.

Upon seeing them, Wendell’s heart shuddered. It pounded even more furiously than before, as his body was no longer able to oxygenate the blood. And he could feel his body slowly dying; his arms and legs quite lifeless. And his eyes bulged out of terror but they looked up in confusion asking… why?

Wendell could only watch his attacker move ever closer while he nearly couldn’t. Of course he blinked and continued to wheeze, and he convulsed as the pressure built up in his chest. But he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t run. And he certainly couldn’t defend himself. His lungs throbbed so. Oxygen! they cried.

Suddenly, his attacker slashed at him, cutting deep into Wendell’s neck. Deep enough to hit bone.

Volumes of blood welled slowly up to the surface, dripping and spilling down his sides. While the light in his gibbous eyes faded quickly, still looking up in terror.  

The End

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