Chapter 8 Griffin #2
Griffin’s mark started to get up. Griffin smashed a knee to his lower back and twisted his arm behind him. The guy wailed.
“Griffin, behind you!” Lana yelled.
He whipped his head around. The woman was limping toward him, Taser aimed. The walkie-talkie crackled and cut out—the gunslinger was trying to find them.
Still sitting on his guy, Griffin swung sideways, his arms in front of his face and chest. Another tip from the weapons instructor?
You could deflect a Taser by swiping away the wires and tangling them.
A double pop echoed along the tunnel, and Griffin swept his arms through the dank air.
But the wires didn’t connect—not on him.
A scream erupted, echoing from multiple directions.
The guy Lana had taken out was back on the dirt, clutching his balls again and moaning, his body tangled in Taser wires.
The shooter limped toward Griffin, loading another cartridge.
She’d shot her own guy? From behind Griffin came a strange, high-pitched whine.
He looked back. Lana was down, writhing in pain.
Wait, what? Lana had tased her guy in the balls at the same time the woman had tased Lana?
The gunslinger’s voice came through in stereo, through both the walkie-talkie and Griffin’s ears.
He was close. If Griffin was to make a move, it had to be now.
He grabbed an amphora from the floor and threw it at the woman’s head.
She deflected and it smashed onto the wall, but it bought him time to get to Lana.
Without breaking stride, he grabbed Lana’s flashlight and scooped her up.
She groaned. One thing he was well practiced in?
Carrying women to safety—his characters did that a lot.
“Can you put your arms around me?” He adjusted her limp body, his quads and back taking the strain.
The goons were right behind. She drowsily slung her arms around his neck—a little wildly, but it helped.
When he was tased, the shock had lasted seconds but the disorientation minutes—and the burns weeks.
Another thing the SAG-AFTRA reps didn’t need to know.
“You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. ”
He had to remain at least one turn ahead in the snaking maze.
The flashlight was jammed between his arm and Lana’s back, spilling just enough light to keep him from running into walls.
He took all the sharpest turns and side tunnels, navigating to an alcove where props were stored.
Voices echoed along the cave’s twisting threads.
“I need to grab some things,” he said, lowering Lana to the ground. “You gonna be okay if I let go?”
“Yeah. I’m achy as hell but the shakes have stopped. Shitballs, that was intense.”
She pushed to her feet, testing her balance, as he ducked into the alcove. He’d hoped for a sword or spear—even prop weapons could do damage—but they’d evidently been locked in the armory. He grabbed a couple of things from the shelves and stuffed them in his pockets.
“Who are those guys?” she whispered as he returned.
“Contract security is my guess. Working for someone with resources.”
“They knew about the phone. They wanted it.”
“Shit, it’s still in Estelle’s trailer.”
“No. I grabbed it.” She tapped her pants pocket. “And my phone. They were after Vivien. They had a photo of her, from her social media. They wouldn’t believe I wasn’t her.”
“She said someone was coming for her. These guys?”
“Which means she must be out there somewhere, even if she’s mixed up in something. They haven’t gotten to her yet.”
“Will you be okay to walk out, around the rocks? It’s probably our best option.”
“We can go one better.” She reached into her T-shirt and pulled something from her bra. A car key. “The guy who was holding me dropped it when he dropped his Taser.”
“You’re a real badass librarian.” He put an arm around her waist, for support. “Come on, their cars are probably in the logistics bay.”
“613.6.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“The number you just said.”
“I said that aloud?”
Behind them, something clunked. Urgent whispers echoed through the caves. Griffin led Lana to a ladder and gestured that she should climb first. He followed, removing a cartridge from his pocket. He triggered it and tossed it into the tunnel.
“Was that a grenade?” Lana said as they emerged into the tower near the Scaean Gate, shouts rising from below.
“No! Smoke bomb. The SFX team uses them, for haze.” He quietly lowered the hatch. “Nontoxic but it’ll take ages to dissipate. They’ll be stuck a while. Let’s go.”
Out at the loading bay, two large black SUVs were parked side-by-side. Lana grabbed Griffin’s arm. “I hear another car!” she said. Sure enough, a distant engine rumbled. “The guards?”
“Might be passing by, out on the road.”
She pressed the key fob. Nothing beeped. She tried the driver’s door on the nearest car. It wasn’t locked. As she climbed in, Griffin detected two figures moving among the trailers, flashlights bobbing. “Hurry,” he said. “They’re coming.”
“The key’s not working. Must be the other car.” She ran for the second SUV.
The goons weren’t heading their way—yet. Griffin had an idea to keep them focused on the wrong place. He pulled out a slingshot he’d pilfered from props, and a sling bullet—pewter, but weathered to look and feel like the Greeks’ lead glandes.
The approaching engine was getting louder, definitely coming up the drive. Not security. It was an older car—big-block V8 engine, whine as it shifted gears, exhaust that popped and crackled like gunfire.
He lined up a shot and let it fly. It clattered among the trailers, behind the goons.
One made a hand signal, and they followed the noise.
Griffin loaded another, and fired it a little further.
It found its mark with a smash of glass.
Lana opened the door to the other SUV while Griffin hurried to the passenger side.
The interior light came on, and she swore, fumbling to switch it off.
The old car was nearly upon them, its headlight beams bouncing.
Lana pressed the start button. Nothing happened. “Crap. The key must be for something else. Don’t suppose you know how to hot-wire?”
“Never played a car thief.” As Griffin got out, a figure emerged from base camp. The gunslinger. He looked straight at Griffin, and called for his buddies. “Shit.”
The old car roared from the drive and spun to a halt beside them, spraying gravel and honking. Dust swirled in the headlights. A tan 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS, the top down.
Griffin looked at the sky. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A sixty-something blonde leaned out the driver’s side. Beside her sat a middle-aged redhead. He groaned. The tall guy signaled his buddies to halt—they’d all arrived now.
“Hey baby, hop in!” the blonde called. “Momma’s here!”
“That’s your mother?” Lana said.
“No, it’s my stalker. They both are. Goddammit.”
“Oh, the one who thinks she’s your mom?”
“And the other one thinks we’re married. I didn’t know they’d joined forces.”
“Baby!” the older woman shouted. “I knew when you didn’t come home that something was wrong.
You always come home on a Friday night! No one had seen you!
But we figured it out—you got left behind!
Well, mostly it was Momma who figured it out.
” She pointed to the redhead. “Sweetie here doesn’t say much. And look! I was right!”
“Could we get a ride with her to Fitch?” Lana said. “You said she was harmless, right?”
“I’ve never put that to the test.”
The goons were coming—three running, the woman limping. Griffin let a shot go into their midst and was rewarded with a cry of pain. A handful of prop pellets wouldn’t hold them off for long.
“Uh, Griffin?” Lana said. “I’m not sure we have any other options.”