HE AWOKE TO THE SOUND of heavy, rapid footfalls in the hallway and someone pounding on the other doors. A glance at the clock told him it was now three in the morning. Three-oh-nine to be exact. The footfalls sounded again. More pounding. Closer this time. Maybe two doors down. His first thought was Sharzhad was waking everyone up to get them out because of some emergency.
Footsteps. Pounding. Harold turned on the lamp, pulled his shoes on, and gathered his things from the bathroom. If he had to leave at three in the morning it’d be for good. He’d get back on the road and put more distance between that bloody crowbar and himself.
Footsteps. Another loud bang on his door. The handle jiggled again like earlier in the night. More pounding and—was that scratching? Were they clawing to get in
