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ist； his arm hurt。 He couldn't clench his fist or move his fingers； and the pain just seemed to grow and grow； until his whole arm felt like it was on fire。
The son of a bitch had broken his arm。 Broken it badly。 With a single blow。 Tad stifled a sob； clenched his jaw。
He listened intently； but there was no sound except the storm raging beyond the cinderblock walls。
This is no fucking kid。
The anger he'd felt； the humiliation； was gone。 The pain and the sudden darkness had taken care of that。 Now all Tad wanted to do was get out。
He strained to see in the blackness； tried to remember which way to go。 The plant was huge； and without light it would be very difficult to find the exit。 Maybe he should stay here； silent and unmoving； until the power returned？
No。 He couldn't stay here。 He had to move； to run； somewhere。 Anywhere。
Get away。 Just get away。
He rose to his feet and； gun drawn； his broken arm dangling； tried to feel his way with his feet back to the ladder； scarcely daring to breathe； terrified that at any moment another blow might e out of the darkness。 One step； three； five 。 。 。
In the blackness； his elbow bumped into something。
With his gun hand； he reached out gingerly； touched a surface that felt rough and scaly。 Was it the high…pressure hoses？ But it didn't feel like a hose。 It felt like something else。
But there was nothing else that should feel like that； not up here in the Evisceration Area。
He bit his lip； suppressed a sob of terror。
It was the blackness that was making him act this way。 He wasn't used to utter blackness。 If he fired his gun； maybe he could see long enough to orient himself。 One shot toward the roof wouldn't hurt anything。
He raised his piece and fired upward。
The brief flash revealed a figure； standing next to him； looking at him； smiling。 The image was so unexpected； so strange and horrifying； that Tad could not even scream。
But the figure screamed for him： a hoarse； guttural ululation of surprise and anger at the gunshot。
Tad ran。 He found the ladder and half fell； half scrambled down it； banging his knees cruelly against the metal rungs。 He got tangled near the bottom and fell crashing to the floor； on top of his broken arm。 And now he found he could scream； in both pain and terror。 But at least he was back on the main floor of the plant。 He scrambled to his feet； nauseous from pain and sobbing with terror； ran； tripped again； scrambled back to his feet。 And that was when he realized his piece was still clutched desperately in his hand。 He could use it； and hewould use it。 He reached back and fired； once； twice； blindly…and each time； the muzzle flashes revealing that thething was scuttling toward him； pink mouth yawning wide； arms outstretched。
Muh！
He had to aim the gun；aim it； not just fire wildly。 Two more rounds； and each flash showed it ing closer； closer。 Tad scrambled backwards； still screaming； and fired twice more； his hand shaking wildly。
Muh！ Muh！
It was almost on him。 He couldn't miss now。 He aimed point…blank； pulled。
The hammer fell on an empty cylinder。 He fumbled for his extra clip； but a second terrible blow struck him in the gut and he fell； unable to breathe； the gun skittering away across the floor。 A third blow； this one to his gun arm。 He found his wind； thrashing desperately； screaming and kicking； trying to slide himself backwards； but it was impossible with both his arms unusable。
Muh！ Muh！ Muh！
Tad shrieked again and twisted wildly away； sliding on his back； kicking in the direction of the sound。
And then the thing caught his flailing leg。 Tad felt a terrible pressure on his ankle； then a sudden give； acpanied by the snap of bone。His bone。
A moment later； a huge weight pressed down on his chest and something rough and hard gripped his face。 There was a smell of earth； and mold； and something fainter but far worse。 For a moment it seemed as if the grasp would be gentle； forting； reassuring。
But then it tightened with a terrible； unforgiving pressure。 And then； with ferocious speed； his entire face was twisted in the direction of the floor。
There was a grinding click； a burst of fire at the base of his neck； and then the terrible darkness became bright； so very； very bright 。 。 。
Fifty…Three
Corrie lay in the putrid dark。 In this terrible and disorienting blackness； it was impossible to tell how much time had passed sincehe had left。 An hour？ A day？ It seemed like forever。 Her whole body ached； and her neck was sore from where he had squeezed it。
And yet he had not killed her。 No： he'd meant to torture her instead。 And yet torture didn't seem to be quite the right word。 It was almost as if he was toying with her；playing with her； in some horrible； inexplicable way 。 。 。
But guessing about the killer was pointless。 There was no way she could understand something so alien； so broken； so foreign to her own experience。 She reminded herself that nobody was going to rescue her way back in this cave system。 Nobody knew she was there。 If she were to live； she had to do something herself。 She had to do it before he came back。
She struggled once again to loosen the cords； succeeding only in chafing and tearing her wrists。 The ropes had been tied wet and the knots were as hard as walnuts。
。 。 。 When wouldhe e back？ The thought sent a wave of panic through her。
Corrie； get a grip。
She lay still a moment； focusing on her breathing。 Then； slowly； with her hands tied behind her； she half crawled； half rolled over the sloping floor of the cave； exploring。 The floor was relatively smooth here； but now and then she noticed rough rocks projecting in clusters from the floor of the cave。 She stopped to feel one formation more closely with her fingers。 Crystals； maybe。
She positioned herself and kicked hard at them with her feet。 There was a sharp snapping sound as they broke away。
Now she explored with numb fingers until she found a fresh； sharp edge。 Positioning herself laboriously over it； she placed her hands against the edge and began rubbing the ropes； back and forth； back and forth。
God； it hurt。 Her wrists were raw circles of flesh where the ropes bound her； and she could feel the blood trickling down the insides of her palms as she worked。 There was barely any feeling left in her fingers。
But she kept rubbing； pressing harder。 The wet rope slipped； the sharp stone cut her hands。
She stifled a cry and kept rubbing。 Better to lose her hands than her life。 At least the rope was beginning to fray。 If she could only get it off； she could 。 。 。
She could what？
。 。 。 When wouldhe e back？
Corrie shivered； a shiver that threatened to bee uncontrollable。 She had never been so cold and numb and wet in her life。 The stench seemed to permeate everything； and she could taste it on her tongue； in her nose。
Focus on the rope。
She rubbed； slipped； cut herself again； and； sobbing aloud； kept scraping and chafing； harder and harder。 There was no longer any feeling at all in her fingers； but this just made her rub the harder。
Even if she got free； what would she do without light？ She didn't have a match or a lighter。 Even if she had a light；he had taken