Death Drive

Chapter 17

A bulldozer crossed the field pushing wreckage ahead of into the large mound by the named parking spots where the entirety of their stock was quickly ending up, squashed and hammered. Surveying the yard from his hiding place, Thomas realized all the shelter available would be razed sooner rather than later, at which point he would not have long left on this Earth. There was but one avenue left open for him. He opened the trunk—the hatch was bent and broken by the recent mauling it had taken—of the brown Sedan he had been squatting by and climbed in, holding it closed since it refused to shut properly. Soon, the rumbling got louder and then the car jerked moving. The back of the car came crumbling in, so he had to press himself against the backs of the seats. The groaning metal pressed against his chest, his head, his stomach so he could not move, now squeezing his breath from him with its iron embrace. The world tilted and then shook with an immense metallic clattering

Just when he thought his head would burst if the pressure got any worse, they came to a stop, the rumbling growing more distant.

"Must have dumped me where I wanted. Not like that is going to do me any good." He was entombed in a metal coffin, the twisted tail of the car holding him like a giant fist. His arms were bent against his chest like his legs were against his stomach, his back pinned to the seats. Soon, the bulldozer would return with the next batch of debris, burying him ever deeper.

"It's not like I have any options here; either these seats will give or I will," he judged grimly and began pushing with all his might using his arms and legs. The seat budged slightly against its lock but didn't fold. The rumbling was getting louder again. He hammered the obstacle frantically with his back, with all the strength he could muster in that constricting space, still not getting through.

The rumble of the bulldozer had again become the only sound in the world. His muscles were filled with acid, his lungs burning for a deep breath he had been unable to draw for what felt like hours. Just then he felt the space behind his back open up, light beaming to the dark compartment. He managed to push his upper body inside the car before the bulldozer's payload dropped, squashing the trunk further in so that, had he still been completely in it, the squeeze would have broken his ribs and skull.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the feeling, and waited for the machine to back off. The car's door had been torn away at some point, and he slid down from the hunk, shielding his body from watchful eyes behind the jagged hill of steel and appraised his surroundings. A trail of blood led through the sliding doors. The vehicles of his coworkers were flattened, by the bulldozer, no doubt, but he didn't see any human remains within them. Using the flowerpots and vines as cover he made it to the corner of the building unseen. As the front entrance was in the line of sight of the demolition vehicles, he climbed in via on open window on the other side of the building.

Apart from the blood the interior was untouched, the smell of coffee greeting him as always. The lights were turned off, blinds drawn, the colorful lights of the pinball machine twinkling in the gloom. Some bloody fingerprints marked the light switch as well as the windowpanes. He followed the blood to Jack's office.

Jack Hugh sat in his leather chair, deathly pale with dark veins showing through his skin, like marble.

"Thomas," he groaned. "Pardon me if I don't get up to greet you." He indicated his left leg, where his pants were stained dark red. He had fastened his belt around his thigh, but blood still trickled down his leg into a dark pool that was forming under his chair.

"We're going to have to get you some help," he said, dropping to one knee by the injured man to be more on the level with him.

"I've tried calling. All I get is some bot telling me that the danger has passed and help is on the way. The danger is far from over, judging by the fact that the bulldozer that tried to mince me is still out there in the yard." He spit out some reddish spittle. "I don't trust that bit about the help either."