Tim's Arc

Chapter 6 of 11

The worker's scanner still glowed red on his belt. Tim ran for the little changing building by the wall. Jake came right behind him, the key already in his hand. The sweep would pop that lock in minutes. His sister was inside with Riley and Max, and once the door swung open, every scanner in the bay would find them. Tim reached the door first. The latch was a simple government model, set into blue painted wood. Jake jammed the key in and turned it. Nothing clicked. "They locked it from the system," he said. "My key's dead now. The sweep owns it." He pressed his hand flat against the door. From inside came three small knocks. Riley, asking if it was safe. Tim's eyes moved across the floor. Near a stack of pallets lay a chunk of scrap, a hunk of twisted metal filed down to a point. He grabbed it. The edge bit his palm. He drove the point into the gap between the door and its frame, right where the bolt slid home. "The system's about to throw that bolt," Tim said. "If I wedge it, the bolt can't move. Door stays shut. Scanner reads it locked and skips it." He leaned his weight into the metal. It ground deeper. His arms shook. Something inside the lock buzzed. The bolt tried to slide. It hit the wedge and stopped dead. The buzzing climbed, then cut out. A red light above the door blinked twice and went dark. Jake stared at the dead light. "It logged it as jammed," he said. "Broken, not hidden. They'll send someone to fix a broken lock." Tim's stomach dropped. He had bought time, not safety. He pressed his mouth to the gap in the door. "It's Tim. The lock's stuck. You can't come out this door. Is there another way?" A hand slid under the door. Max's hand, signing fast against the floor where Tim could see. A flat palm, then two fingers walking. Then a point upward. Jake read it. "There's a vent. In the roof." He looked up at the slanted wood above the little building. "Max says it's loose. They can climb the shelf and push through." Tim's heart kicked. A vent meant out. But out meant three kids on the roof of the bay, in the open, while a repair crew walked toward a lock that would not open. "Then get them up," Tim said. "Fast. Before the crew comes." He pressed his back against the jammed door and felt the baby's weight shift inside, safe for one more minute. The wedge held. The children started to climb. And somewhere down the bay, boots were already turning toward the broken lock.