Redline - 2
I turned back to the red line. And then I broke into a run.
The side door still smoldered ominously. The line blazed a trail ahead of my feet, leading straight across the sidewalk, up the narrow steps, and right to the front door of the sad little building that sat squeezed between two larger structures. I skidded to a halt.
The smoke was coming from the *other* door. Wouldn’t it make more sense to check there first?
But the red line was there, bright and insistent that no, *this* was where I needed to be. I hesitated for a moment more, doubting if I should be trusting a figment of my imagination over what my eyes and nose were telling me, and then gave up. I had already come this far. I had trusted the red line enough to follow it all the way out here, and wound up stabbing some guy wielding a gun. I was already committed.
So I ignored the smoke, skidding to a stop at the front door and seizing the handle roughly. It turned about a quarter of an inch, reminding me that, yes, people in this part of town did in fact lock their doors. I swore, punching the door in frustration, and was rewarded with a sore, bruising hand.
Eyeing the door angrily as I nursed my hand, I stepped back. I braced myself, picking out my plan of attack. And then I charged it, smashing my shoulder into that sweet spot I’d seen soldiers and superheroes hit in a thousand action movies.
My shoulder exploded into blinding pain, to match my hand. The door remained perfectly sound in its frame. I glared at it, muttering nastily under my breath.
This wasn’t going to work. It was a heavy storm door in the seedy part of town, and life had been *very* good to me over the last few years. Bashing myself against it was just going to leave me with a broken shoulder.
But then, what? I panted for a second, catching my breath, as I tried to calm my mind down long enough to figure out what my next move should be.
A pane of glass by my head glinted red.
My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto the narrow frame. There was a window set into the front of the building. It was small, small enough that I had disregarded it entirely. But it might be close enough to get the job done.
I grinned. And then I pulled my knife back out of my pocket, wrinkling my nose at the sight of it still sticky and covered in blood. A moment later, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the neighborhood as I smashed the window with the butt of the knife.
“Hey!” A voice roared, male and angry and rapidly approaching. “What the *hell* do you think you’re doing?!”
I glanced back over my shoulder as I knocked fragments of glass free, clearing a flat spot on the window frame. A man was accelerating down the street towards me, a shopping bag still clutched in his hand. A local?
“Get the *fuck* out of there! What the fuck are you doing? You’d better leave *right now*, before I call the damn cops to keep me from killing your stupid ass.” He roared, running a hand through his short-cropped black hair before pointing it angrily at me.
It was as good as I was going to get it. I sighed, taking a deep breath. And then I shoved my arm through the hole I had made in the window, reaching downwards. My eyes tightened as shards of glass tore into my skin, sending drops of blood cascading down the wall.
“Sure. Call the cops.” I hissed through gritted teeth as I stretched farther. “Call the fire department while you’re at it.”
He stopped, a few steps away from me, and gaped, completely derailed. That wasn’t what he had been expecting to hear. A well-timed puff of smoke blew out of the now-shattered window in front of me. Adrenaline kicked its way into my veins. The smoke was getting worse. The fire was building.
