Save Me (30 page)

Chapter Seventy-five

Rose regained consciousness, groggy. She opened her eyes. She lay slumped in the driver’s seat of the van. Her left cheek was killing her. She was alone. She came alive with one thought.

Eileen.

She boosted herself up in the seat and spotted a commotion at the entrance of the conference center. Two Homestead security guards were struggling to put Eileen into the security sedan. One clapped a hand over Eileen’s mouth, and the other held her flailing arms, and they succeeded in getting her into the backseat and slamming the door closed.

Oh my God.

Rose looked to the right. Inside the conference center, the party continued as if nothing had happened. Oblivious, the guests filled the banquet tables, all of their attention on the dais, where Senator Martin was talking at the podium in front of the Homestead executives.

Rose looked back, aghast, as one security guard bolted to the driver’s seat and the other hustled back to the entrance. The sedan emitted a plume of exhaust and steered smoothly to the left, then turned around and drove toward the access road.

Rose ducked down in the seat as it slid past, her heart hammering. If she got out of the van and screamed, they’d come and take her away, like Eileen. She didn’t have a phone to call anybody. Her only advantage was that the security guards didn’t know she was here, though they’d come looking for Eileen’s van, later. If they killed Eileen, they wouldn’t leave her van behind. They wouldn’t leave any evidence. They hadn’t, before.

Rose checked the ignition, and the keys were still there, hanging. She’d be ready to follow the sedan if it left the campus; but it drove up the access road, took the exit to the main plant, and vanished inside. It was as if the building had swallowed the sedan whole, with Eileen inside.

Rose cracked the door, crept out of the van, left the door open, and walked to the bumper in a crouch. She reached the end of the van and checked the entrance. The security guard remained out front, and a smoker had returned, lighting up. Neither was looking her way.

She took a deep breath and darted across the aisle to the next block of parked cars, still in a crouch. Then waited, catching her breath. The main plant was on the hill, and behind it, on the left side, where the sedan had gone in, was a loading dock, a paved area with huge tractor-trailers parked all around. One of the bays was open, making a rectangle of bright light, but there didn’t appear to be any activity there.

She bolted ahead to the next block of cars, and ducked behind them, catching her breath. Her heart started to hammer from exertion and fear. She was a mom, not an action hero. Then she realized something:

Every mom is an action hero.

She ran ahead to the next block, then the next, with only one last set of parked cars between her and edge of the lot. She glanced around the sleek bumper of a Jaguar and checked the entrance. The guard and the smoker were still at the entrance. She ran to the next block of cars, then sized up the hillside ahead. Her knees were killing her, her heart was pumping. She’d be exposed while she ran up the grass to the plant, but she had no choice.

Go, go, go.

She tore up the incline, trying to stay low, but then gave up and ran as hard as she could up the hill. Her breath came in ragged bursts. Her heart thundered in her chest.

She dropped behind the first tractor-trailer she saw, then darted between two other trucks parked together. Bright security lights were mounted along the top of the plant, but there was nobody around outside. Still, she’d have to stay out of sight. She didn’t hear any sirens or sounds, and it made her stronger, emboldening her.

She peeked around the front of the truck, trying to figure out her next move. The trucks were parked at the loading docks, cab fronts facing out, and there were four trucks in all; the lighted bay was to the far right, and she had to go left.

She ran from one cab to the next, just as she had with the parked cars, until she raced to the end of the plant, then flattened herself against the building. She could hear the noise of the machinery and feel its vibration against her back. She heard no other sound, so she peeked around the corner.

No one was around. Ahead lay more paved area, and lights mounted on the roofline shone ellipses onto the dry asphalt. It was the back of the plant, and there were no trucks or other vehicles. The building was a stretch of rough, white-painted cinderblock, with no window or door. A third of the way up, there was a break in the wall where she thought the white security sedan had gone.

Go!

She tore along the side of the plant until she got to the break in the wall, then stopped. There was no sound of people talking or cars running, so she peered around the side. The white security sedan sat parked inside a small U-shaped bay lined with blue recycling bins, galvanized cans, and flattened cardboard boxes. No one was inside the car or in sight. The bay had three doors, all painted yellow, none signed. One had to lead to the security office, where Eileen must have been taken, but Rose didn’t know which one.

She felt stumped, momentarily. She couldn’t remember enough from the factory tour to orient herself. She’d gotten turned around because she’d approached the plant from the back. All she could remember was that the security office was along a hall with the other offices, in the middle of the building.

“You have to be kidding me,” said a man, from behind.

Chapter Seventy-six

Rose turned in fear. She was thrown against the building. Her head exploded in pain. A hand clamped over her mouth. She knew who it was before she opened her eyes.

Mojo.

“You’re out of your depth, Mom.” He snorted, standing so close she could smell the cigar on his breath.

She pushed her terror away. She hadn’t come this far to be denied. Mojo thought she was only a mom. He didn’t know she was an action hero. She kneed him in the groin with all of her might.

“Ooof!” He staggered backwards, and she took off down the side of the plant, running for her life.

“Help! Help!” Rose veered around the corner toward the lighted bay on the loading dock. It was time for Plan B. There had to be employees driving forklifts there. “Help!”

Suddenly a recorded announcement blared through speakers mounted at the roof of the building: “All Homestead employees, please exit the building immediately, using the main entrance. Please exit the building immediately. This is not a drill.”

Oh no.
Rose could hear the commotion inside the plant, alarmed voices and chatter, but she kept running.

“I’ll kill you!” Mojo panted, almost at her heels. He couldn’t use his gun or he would alarm everybody. He was big, but she was faster, scooting ahead.

“Help!” she screamed, but it was drowned out by the recorded announcement, on a continuous loop.

She tore past the tractor-trailers, aiming for the lighted bay. She could barely catch her breath. Terror and adrenaline powered her. Only four trucks to go. Then three, then two, then one. The loading dock was high, up close. Four feet off the ground.

Jump, jump, jump!

She leapt onto the dock, but it caught her in the waist. Pain arced through her stomach. She clawed the concrete for purchase, her legs flailing.

“Goddamn you!” Mojo growled, but Rose scrambled up just ahead of him, got to her feet, and darted through the open bay into the loading area inside the plant.

“Help!” she screamed, but the employees had evacuated. Forklifts stood where they’d been left, their headlights still on. The production machinery chugged away, like a ghost factory.

She raced through the loading area past the X-ray machines, deserted now. Boxes were piling up at the scanner.

She tore past the packing area, her thoughts racing. If she could find the main entrance, she could get help. She couldn’t die here. Neither could Eileen.

“You bitch!” Mojo shouted, out of breath, but he kept coming.

Rose blew through two swinging doors, her legs churning. She tore down a long hallway, burst through another set of doors, and found herself surrounded by lines of huge stainless steel machines that read PPM TECHNOLOGIES, with a myriad of red tubes.

She spun around, looking for a place to get out. A line of whirring knives sliced the potatoes. A line of sorters dropped them into a funnel. Conveyor belts fed them into cooking oil in covered tanks. The oil boiled, the air felt hot. She panted, her heart thundered.

There! Go!

She bolted for a set of rubber-tipped metal stairs, praying she could take them easier than the heavyset Mojo. If she ran him hard enough, she could keep the advantage. She bounded up the stairs just ahead of him. At the top was a rickety metal catwalk. She took off, running, setting the catwalk swinging.

“You’re dead!” Mojo shouted, charging after her. The catwalk jumped with his extra weight.

The next set of stairs lay ahead, and she ran down them, almost falling, then sprinted along the tile floor. She glanced over her shoulder.

Mojo was right behind her, almost falling, so she sprinted ahead and raced up the next set of stairs up to the catwalk, to tire him out.

“Damn you!” he shouted, but she ran along the catwalk, almost out of breath, clutching the metal rails not to fall.

Mojo ran behind her, keeping pace. She ran above the packing room, where the air got cooler, then got hot again over the next room, where the kettle-cooked chips were made. Stainless steel ovens with red tubes cooked the chips in open trays of boiling oil.

Rose tore down the next set of stairs. The room ended ten feet ahead. She had blown it. She whirled around on her heels, in terror. There was nowhere else to go.

She was trapped.

Chapter Seventy-seven

Mojo jumped from the stairs to the floor, grabbed a long metal hook from the wall, and whipped it at her face.

Rose raised her hands, leaping backwards. The hook sliced her forearm. She screamed in pain. On the downswing, the hook caught one of the red hoses on the machines, severing it. It was a bundle of live wires and it sprang free of the machine as if it were alive, sparking through the air like an electrified anaconda.

“You’re dead!” Mojo grimaced. The live wire whipped and crackled in the air. He advanced with grim purpose, his dark eyes glittering.

Rose ran terrified to the back wall. There was nowhere else to go. She was too far from the stair. The only door was on the opposite diagonal.

Mojo stood in her path, swinging the hooked stick with the power of a drive off the fairway. His loafer slipped on the tile floor, and the hook hit the stainless steel oven with so much force that it embedded itself in the side.

Rose fled to the far corner. Above, the live wire lashed through the air, showering sparks.

Mojo yanked the hook from the machine. Boiling oil leaked from the hole onto the tile floor, bubbling hot. He sidestepped it, raising the hook high over his head. He was about to bring it down on Rose, but when he whipped it back, it connected with the live wire.

Mojo spasmed as electricity coursed through his body. His eyes popped. His mouth flew open. His throat emitted an inhuman cry. The skin on his face blistered. A disgusting stench filled the air. He collapsed, electrocuted. The hook fell from his hand, breaking the circuit. The live wire snapped away, showering sparks that ignited the oil, engulfing his body in flames.

Rose flattened herself into the corner, horrified. Oil poured from the hole in the oven, spreading all over the floor. Fire raced along its stream back to the huge oven, which exploded in flames.

Whoomp!
went the sound. The fire jumped from one open tray to the next, the oil as flammable as jet fuel.
Whoomp! Whoomp! Whoomp!
In a minute, the ovens were beds of lethal flames.

Alarms blared, deafening. Hoods over the ovens sprayed a chemical mist. Overhead sprinklers showered water. The oil on the floor exploded when the water hit it, raging higher. Any speck of residual oil burst into flame; oil lining the ducts, oil coating the machinery, and oil covering the steps and the catwalk. The room became a blazing inferno.

Rose screamed in terror. A wall of flame stood between her and the exit doors. Sprinklers sprayed water, making the grease fire worse. Smoke billowed everywhere. She couldn’t breathe for the heat. She flashed on the school fire. She never thought she’d find herself here again. She couldn’t fail this time. She couldn’t lose Eileen.

Think, think, think.

Rose knew there had to be fire extinguishers. She ran through the smoke along the wall, where the flames were lowest. She found a round metal fire extinguisher big enough for commercial kitchens, mounted on the wall. It looked like her red one at home, except gigantic. She wrenched the extinguisher off its mount, almost dropping it because it was heavy and hot.

She yanked out its pin, squeezed the handle, and grabbed the nozzle. She sprayed a chemical mist on the fire, smothering a path so she could get through the flames. She reached the doors and banged through them. She dropped the heavy extinguisher, which fell with a
clang
and rolled noisily away.

Thick smoke filled the hallway. Sprinklers drenched her. Fire alarms blared. She heard sirens in the distance, too far away. She coughed and coughed. Her eyes teared. Her lungs burned.

“Eileen!” Rose screamed through the sirens and the water.

Chapter Seventy-eight

Rose looked right, then left. Both hallways were identical cinderblock corridors, filling with smoke. She didn’t know which way to go. Her eyes stung. Her lungs burned. She coughed and coughed. She tried to remember the plant layout from the tour. The offices had been in the hallway connecting the pretzel to the potato chip production. She had to find that junction.

She sensed it was to the right. She ran down the hall that way, burst through the double doors, and found herself in another hallway. The window onto the factory floor showed a horrific conflagration that burned cardboard boxes, wooden pallets, cellophane shrink-wrapping, and anything else in its path. Then she realized. If it was boxes, it had to be the warehouse. She flashed on what the tour guide had said:

See all these boxes? They go for blocks and blocks!

Rose remembered that the warehouse was between the chips and pretzel production. She was on the right track. She ran down the hall. Smoke filtered the air but it smelled of something else, too. Pretzels.

Go, go, go.

She flew through another set of double doors, her lungs burning and tears spilling from her eyes. The smell of burned pretzels got stronger and stronger, and each window showed a factory on fire. The hallways twisted left, then right. She pounded through another set of doors, and she was finally there, at the hallway of offices. QUALITY ASSURANCE read the first sign, and she bolted to the next office. DIRECTOR OF SECURITY.

“Eileen!” Rose tried the door. It was locked. She looked through the window beside the door. The anteroom was filling with smoke, slipping underneath the door. No one was inside. The door beyond it was closed. If Eileen was here, she was behind that door. Rose had to get inside.

She looked around for something, anything. On the floor down the hall was a large metal trashcan. She bolted to it, picked it up, and struggled back down the hall with it, trailing garbage. She reached the office and slammed the trashcan at the window.

Bam!
The trashcan shattered the window but didn’t break it all the way.
Bam!
Rose slammed it again, heaving it as hard as she could, straining with exertion. She couldn’t breathe for the smoke. Her eyes teared uncontrollably.

Bam! Bam!
She hit it twice more, widening the hole, breathing hard. She couldn’t lift the trashcan another minute. She let it fall, and it dropped loudly to the floor.

She broke off pieces of the jagged plastic with her hand, then reached through and twisted the lock on the knob. It turned. She yanked her hand out of the jagged hole, opened the door, and ran inside.

“Eileen!” she screamed. Smoke made it almost impossible to breathe in the small room. She prayed she’d gotten to Eileen in time and that the security guys hadn’t taken her away. She went to the door, and it was unlocked.

She twisted the knob and burst through the door.