It didn’t work. Sometime between the detective’s desperate button-pressing and the sound of a door being barged open, I realized this.
“It’s not working.” I whispered as we heard a pair of footsteps from the other side of the door. He gave me an apologetic look and shrugged.
“I may have dropped out of engineering school.”
The footsteps got closer, and I controlled my urge to strangle him to death. Strangling him might give away our position.
“Mmm, a good plan, detective.” I recognized that smug voice from the other side of the door instantly. “Unfortunately this isn’t a Hollywood movie, or it might have worked. Don’t shoot, just kill the detective with your hands. We don’t want to take the extremely slim chance that the gas in this room is a high enough concentration to ignite.”
I remembered the giant man wielding a minigun. I was pretty sure he could do just fine killing David and capturing me without the help of a gun. I heard a loud clunk, probably the gun being dropped, and tried not to whimper as loud as David was.
“Need a smoke first.” said who I assumed to be my future killer.
I heard the brief sound of a lighter being used, followed by the sound of all hell breaking loose. The door rattled in its hinges, agonized screams and the windows shattering barely registered in my stunned ears. Even from the other side of the door I felt the heat generated from the blast.
Finally, when the ringing in my ears subsided, I managed to stand up. David was in the corner of the room, sprawled across the floor groaning. I woke him from his daze with a gentle kick. Okay, it was a really hard kick. This seemed to only increase his groaning, but soon he was up and his composure was recovered.
With a smile that said I totally told you it would work, he led the way to the door and cautiously opened it. Waves of heat rushed past us and the agonized groans grew louder. A glimpse of the black, starless sky could be seen from a shattered window. And on the floor by our feet was the giant mountain of a man, smoking and splotched with deep, serious burns. The agonized groaning, muffled beneath the huge hands covering his smoldering face, was coming from him. The lighter which had started it all was lying nearby, alongside a now-lit cigarette.
Detective David gave the smoldering heap of a man a light nudge with his foot. He groaned.
“You really should quit smoking. It’ll kill you someday.” he said in his most gritty crime-solving voice, triumphantly chewing on a cigarette.
“Stop gloating and let’s get out of here.” I told him anxiously. I didn’t want to stay there much longer. People halfway across the city must’ve heard the blast and police and firemen were probably scrambling to the scene, and I guess technically I was an arsonist now. Also, fun-fact, burning flesh smelled really bad.
“What about Mr. Bowler-hat?” he asked as I started to drag him out of the house. That stopped me.
“Is that what you call him?”
“That and Big Fat Meanie.”
Where did my pudgy, bowler-hat wearing kidnapper go? Knowing him, he probably found some way out before the explosion. Maybe he even jumped out of the window. I was tempted to go back inside and make sure his body wasn’t there, but the urgent wailing of a fire-truck echoed from around the corner and I resumed my escape, towing a breathless David behind me.
I pushed through the throng of neighbors who had come out of their houses to see the commotion. David assured them that he was a detective and he would find out who was responsible for the explosion, and that he, in fact, had some good leads. I pulled him away before he could get us both in jail and led him away from the scene. I decided to run in the opposite direction of where the fire-truck was coming from and get as far away as possible from the explosion, the kidnappers, and the people who wanted me dead. Hopefully, we were heading towards safety.