Dead Days

Chapter 1

The alarm clock jolts me awake. I slam my fist down on it, pissed that it woke me up so early. Even though I did set it for this time.

I had an appointment to make. My therapist said if I missed another day she'd charge me for it.

I throw the blanket off of me and shamble my way to the bathroom. I turn on the light and immediately regret it. I squint my eyes to keep my corneas from lighting on fire.

As my eyes adjust I look in the mirror. My short cut dark hair tussled from the bomb ass sleep I had last night. Best sleep I've had since that day.

My coffee colored eyes wonder to the top left corner of my mirror. There, stuck between the siding of the mirror is a picture of a beautiful blonde girl with a smile equivalent to looking through the gates of heaven. Her eyes a deeper blue than the bluest of waters. Her lightly toned, sun-kissed skin shining. She is... was my girlfriend. I try to look away but the flash backs come in waves.
...
I was sitting in my cruiser when my radio crackled to life.

"Cpt. Stanley, there's reports of a bank robbery happening on 7th avenue, north." Said Janette, the reporter at the precinct.

"Roger that, inbound to 7th avenue, north." I slammed the cruiser into gear flicked on my siren and lights and barreled down the highway.

Cars merged over to give me room. I looked down at the speedometer. I was going 95 in a 30. I arrived at the bank. It was a Bank of America to be exact. 3 cruisers were already parked outside and the negotiator was already compromising with the suspect or suspects for all I knew. The chief of police was also there.

"Stanley, get your ass over here and find some cover. I ducked under the window of his cruiser and asked for a rundown of the situation. "3 suspects, 12 hostages and gunfire has been heard multiple times from the lobby. Unconfirmed if any hostages have been killed." At this point I became the Jack Stanley that served as a marine in Iraq.

"Any alternate routes into the bank, chief?"

"There's a service hatch that leads into the ducts up by the air conditioning unit, but it's a risk..."

That was as far as he got before I had started making my to the back alley of the bank. That's the one thing I always hated about New York City. There's always a back alley, or "crack" alley as some friends at the precinct and I would call it.

There was a ladder at the end of the alley that snaked to the top of the bank. Mid-climb more shots from inside the bank had pierced the air, then an explosion rocked the entire building and nearly threw me off the ladder.

They busted the vault. I quickly ascended the rest of the ladder and found the service hatch. I slid my fingers through the grate and pulled in one quick motion, the stress was too much for the rusted screws. I turned on the flashlight clipped to the pocket on my shirt.

I looked down into the hatch. There was about a five foot drop to the duct. I'm 6'0, with my arms stretched I'm a good 7'8. I went feet first and slowly let gravity do the work and pull my body down the hatch.

My feet hit the bottom and the thin metal caved outwards a little bit, but didn't give. I squatted into a crouched position and slowly made my way through the ducts.