32
Tooled Up
Nathan’s plan was to find somewhere to hide out and wait until nightfall.
“Yeah, ‘cause this place gets a lot less scary in the dark,” I said, as we stopped between buildings to have a rest. “Besides, time is ticking on that extraction window.” I checked my watch. “Only twelve hours left.”
“I thought you were leaving the strategy to me,” Nathan said, sizing up a wooden door, light-blue paint peeling off in long strips.
It was locked, but it gave.
He forced the door open and beckoned me inside. He shut the door behind us and dinked on a dim light. It was a tiny tool shop with a window plastered from the inside in newspaper.
“Oh, I think we just won the lottery,” Nathan said, checking out the room; cramped, musty and stickier than a toddler’s fingers.
“If this is the win
