Her muscles burned and she stopped for a moment, heard frantic movement close behind her and glanced back, saw a grinning face moving through the slotted light.
“Hey!”
It was the one called Hutchinson. He was small and thin and squirming through the ventilation shaft like a rat. She started crawling again but it was no use. She felt his grip on her boots and tried to stamp her foot back into his face. His soft chuckle echoed as his hands wrapped round the back of her knees. He hauled himself forward, moving over her kicking legs centimetre by centimetre. He got another handhold, the waistband of her trousers this time. She squirmed, reached behind her and tried to keep him away, but he pushed her hand down and now he was squeezing in on top of her. He wasn’t heavy but he was filling every space now, and she couldn’t even move her arms.
“It’s OK,” he whispered as he crawled up her back. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He tried to slip his right arm round her throat but she tucked her chin down. His fingers worked beneath her jaw. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “Shhh...”
He pulled her hair with his free hand, but didn’t have the space to make it unbearable. He abandoned that tactic, tried to make her loosen up by jabbing at her, but she kept her chin down. Even so his right hand was getting in there. He was going to get in eventually. She readied the screwdriver.
His hand slipped through and suddenly his arm was round her throat. She jabbed blindly over her shoulder with the screwdriver and he squealed, started thrashing as she heaved herself ahead of him. He didn’t try to stop her. He fell against her legs and she grunted, kicking back to shove him off. She’d lost the screwdriver but it had been worth it, and now he was an obstacle to the men crawling behind him.
But his screams had attracted attention. There were shouts from up ahead, and someone started kicking the vent. If they got it open, she’d be trapped.
She stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket, and crawled faster.
The men behind were shouting now, trying to make themselves heard over Hutchinson’s screams. And then there was a horrible cracking sound, and the screams stopped. Valkyrie didn’t have to look back to know what they’d done.
“Kick it in!” one of them shouted. “She’s trying to get by!”
The kicking resumed. Intensified. The covering started to buckle.
Valkyrie reached it, didn’t even glance through the slats.
“There she is!” a man shouted. “Get it open!”
Multiple boots, kicking. She got by but the ventilation cover burst open behind her and a man reached in, grabbed her ankle.
“Got her!”
She kicked, kept kicking, kept slamming her heel on to his hand, even as she was hauled backwards. She looked over her shoulder, saw more hands reaching in, grabbing her, and now her feet were out of the duct, and she was dragged out after them.
She slid across the floor, men in prison uniforms staring down at her. She got her legs free and scrambled up, burst through them into the corner of the room then turned, hands clenched, teeth bared. Exhausted, sweating, terrified.
The men formed a semicircle, cutting her off from the open door. Four of them, and now two more crawling out of the duct. All the shouting had ended. All the cursing. Now they looked at her, and she looked at them, and none of them said anything.
One of them, the biggest, started to grin. It started small, then spread across his face. “I haven’t killed anyone so pretty in years.” He stepped forward.
Another man, a skinhead with facial tattoos, put a hand on his arm. “No,” he said. “We use her as a hostage. She’s our ticket out of here.”
The big man tried to shake the hand off. The skinhead held on. A scuffle broke out, and then a fight, and suddenly all six men were slamming into each other. One of them, a man with yellow teeth, reached for her, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her through the gap he had made.
“Run!” he shouted, and cried out as the big man snapped his neck.
Valkyrie ran, kept running, found herself skirting the top tier of the Observation Deck. Two convicts were sitting against the wall up ahead, just talking, looking like they’d opted out of all the violence going on down below. She ran past them and they stared at her, but didn’t try to follow. There was a shout and she glanced back. The big man was coming.
She saw an AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY sign and followed it, sprinting through a narrow corridor that ended with a door. A convict was on his knees by the door, trying to pick the lock. He gave a little cheer and stood up, opened it and turned with a smile on his face that she wiped off with a flying elbow. She didn’t even see him crumple to the ground, and now she was in a stairwell, jumping down the steps.
The big man was hurtling down after her.
There were no cameras in the stairwell, but surely Skulduggery had seen where she was heading. She jumped and slammed against the wall, pushed herself off, almost falling down to the next level. Speed was one thing, but if she twisted her ankle trying to get away, she’d never leave this stairwell alive.
She heard the big man stumble and fall, his curses ringing out, giving her a boost of hope. She was going to make it. Five more floors to go before she reached the basement. He was, what, maybe three levels above? She was going to make it. She was going to get to the basement level and burst through the door and Skulduggery was going to be there, gun in hand.
He’d better be.
Valkyrie got to the basement, all cold walls and leaking pipes, flickering lights and gloom stretching into shadows. She lunged out through the door, into a small maze of corridors. Skulduggery wasn’t there.
The big man came through the door like a bull and she took off. He was right behind her, and gaining. Valkyrie dodged left so he overshot, then took the adjoining corridor, glancing back to see him stumbling to correct his course. There was a door ahead, marked MAINTENANCE. She ran into the tiny room, slamming the door shut behind her. She spun, planted her left foot forward, her right leg ready. His footsteps and his curses got louder and as he burst in, she was already kicking.
Her boot hit the door, the door hit his head.
Valkyrie fell back from the impact and he dropped to his knees, hands clutching his face. She sprang up, grabbed a mop, smacked the handle on to the top of his skull. He howled, started moving away. She jabbed him in the face with the handle until he knocked it from her hands, and she jumped out after him, swinging kicks into his side. He caught her leg, held it to him as he struggled to his feet. He was panting heavily from the exertion, blood running from his nose. He slammed her back against the wall, one hand still holding her leg, keeping her off balance while the other hand wrapped round her throat.
She went for his eyes, digging her thumbs in. He tried turning his head, then took her violently to the ground. Kneeling between her legs, both hands now at her throat. Unable to breathe, her head suddenly pounding, Valkyrie squirmed into position then turned on to her hip, bringing one leg in to press against him. He pushed forward and she scissor-swept his legs, flipping him on to his back. Now she was on top and she rose up, started raining down palm shots and elbows. Four of them were all she needed, but she kept going, just to be sure. When he sparked out, unconscious and limp, she rolled off, breathing hard.
She forced herself to her feet. Her arms and legs were drained. She couldn’t get her breathing under control. She staggered away from him, turned a few more corners before she let herself stop and bend over, hands on her knees, panting. While she was down there, she noticed a series of pipes free of rust or wear. She started following them, all the way to a door.
Once she was breathing properly again, she wiped the sweat from her forehead,