Some small part of Lady Luck cut me a break. Nothing blocked my retreat down the alleyway. No trash cans, no gates, no pipes, and no living dead. I burst out into the next street, slamming into a parked car hands-first to bring myself to a halt. My arm protested my poor choice of deceleration, a bolt of pain shooting up towards my shoulder. I struggled for breath underneath my mask, panting from the all-out sprint I had just undertaken, legs burning, shoulders starting to ache from the salvo of vibro-blasts I had let loose in such a short time span. This street was lined on both sides with row houses, much like the previous one, cars parked tightly together by their now-dead owners.
Those owners were probably the zombies staggering about. Drawn out of their homes by the ruckus a block over, they were spread out on the street trying to make their way to where the action had just been. Some of them were at the ends of the blocks, turning down a cross-street, but a few were still stumbling down the middle. They immediately turned to face me, but I had a second to catch my breath and try to figure...
"Keep running, Herman."
Three floors up, his talons clutching the metal railing of a balcony, the Vulture loomed over me. The sharp tips of his metal wings pointed at me, ready to fire deadly spikes at a moment's notice. "Miles to go, before you sleep all too briefly and get right back up again."
A shot at him from this distance would just be a waste. I took a deep breath and took off again, crossing the street towards another gap between row houses. The alleyway this time was a little wider, made for cars to squeeze through. Again, it was free of obstruction and I sprinted straight through. I didn't slow down as I crossed the next street, not even checking for the living dead, just gunning right for the next alleyway, this one wide enough for a delivery truck. I ran underneath the metal fire escapes bolted onto the side of the buildings. Halfway down the alley, a metal trash dumpster rested near a brick wall, the top portion wide open and leaning against the building. I passed it, but then quickly doubled back. There was just enough room for me to squeeze behind it. Ignoring the stench of three-day old garbage, I stepped into the space, pressing my back against the wall and sighing with relief as I did so. The open top blocked a view from above, and for the moment, the alleyway looked clear on both sides. Even though it was tinged with decay and rot, my lungs gratefully accepted the oxygen I was gulping down.
Something swished overhead, the Vulture probably cutting through the air above me. I knew I was out of sight, but I pushed back against the wall anyway, willing myself to vanish. No luck, though, but after a few seconds, the normal sounds of the burning city were prevalent again.
Ok...I had a few seconds to recover, and try to figure out what the hell was going on here. I had shot Toomes at point blank range, broke his nose, and managed to ground him for a brief moment. And it didn't seem to faze him. The guy, like I said before, was on the downside of sixty years old, and unless your name is Tony Stark, no suit of power armor is going to reverse a stroke and give you the hand-to-hand capability that was once your weakness. And no suit of power armor is going to hide your scent, or heartbeat, or whatever the hell it was that zombies used to track the living. Abner Jenkins himself had told me that even in his power armor, the dead still came after him, like they knew there was a soft gooey center underneath the hard shell. I hadn't been hallucinating. Those ghouls had walked right past him to come at me. Granted, I was probably much more delicious then Toomes. I was definitely less stringy.
So what the hell? Nanotechnology? Magic? Sheer willpower? Drugs? Something dragged Toomes off his couch and threw him back into the air...or someone. Whoever this guy, this "boss" was that had hired Electro and now sent the Vulture after me, he had either juiced Toomes up worse than Barry Bonds, or gave him power armor on par with Mach-IV or freaking' Iron Man. Or maybe Toomes made a deal with the Devil...
...nah. Only idiots make a deal with the Devil, even if all they wanted was one more day.
Another swish passed over the top of the container. Before it had faded away though, a second sound, knives cutting through the air, echoed through the alleyway. "Where are you, Herman," I heard a voice ask from directly above me before another swish reached my ears. "I told you to keep running...how dare you try to hide."
Gently, I probed at the wound on my arm while Toomes flew overhead. I couldn't even touch it without gritting my teeth in pain. If the blood had stopped flowing, I couldn't tell in the darkness behind the dumpster, but I could still flex and move all five fingers. My gloves still functioned, even after the soaking they had taken from the fire hydrant that broke my fall.
Ok, Herman, let's break this down. Adrian is hell bent on killing you, or getting zombies to do it for you. He's strong, he's quick, and apparently ghouls completely ignore him. And there's no way I could outrun him. Toomes would just swoop down and pluck me off the ground. I could get underground somehow, but I had no damn clue where I was...in any case, it was a damn long run back to Houston Street, and I'd be exposed the entire time.
As long as he was airborne, the chances of me shooting him down were pretty damn small. I had gotten lucky earlier when he insisted on getting close to me and swipe, but that was just it: luck. Toomes was clever, he wasn't going to be that stupid again. And he knew I wouldn't be that dumb again and pass up a shot to finish him off.
A sound above me...this time, metal on metal, and the soft sound of metal wings curling around a warm body. "You're close, Herman...the ghouls are restless, but not agitated. They know you're here, but they don't know where." A low cackle, scraping on my ears. "Isn't this turnabout? You striding the streets like a colossus, an Internet darling, an inspiration, but now you're hiding like a rat."
God, I'd give real money if he'd just shut up.
"It's funny, isn't it...you're injured, bleeding, alone, against a superior opponent. You're not the Shocker anymore, Herman. No, no." I could see his bald head shaking back and forth. "No, Herman, you're not the Shocker. You're that damnable wall crawler who never knows when to quit. But unlike Spider-Man, Herman...well, this is just a brand new day, with new rules. And rule number one is, the hero doesn't walk away."
Did...oh, that bastard just compared me to Spider-Man.
Screw that, he's going down.
Alright, Herman. You need to get hand-to-hand with him. To do that, you need to somehow ground him. To do that, you need to get your hands on that harness on his back and blast the hell out of it.
Great, I have a plan. Now how the hell do I pull it off?
"You know, Herman...vultures, as a rule, don't just see the dead, but those about to die. It's why the birds hover above the thirsty, the hungry, and the hopeless. It's why I see you, Herman. I know you're here."
He's right above me...with a trash can lid and who knows how many stories of fire escape to absorb any blasts I throw. Even if I stepped to the sides, the metal railings would still be in my way. And I'm in an alleyway, without all that much room to move around and dodge those damn spikes of his. Damn it, damn it, damn…ok, calm down, Herman. You needed to hide and catch your breath. Bad luck he decided to roost here…unless he knows you're down here. And he's just waiting you out.
I craned my head slightly, peeking out over the closest side of the dumpster. I could just make out the tip of a metal wing a few stories above me. Ok. I could step out, throw a blast, and run for it while he's recovering…no, damn it, it's too far to the end of the alley. I'd be a sitting duck.
Metal clicking above me, as Toomes shifted his weight. I pressed my back flat against the wall again, eyes trying to see through the lid above me. I shifted my weight to my other foot to relieve some pressure as I tried to figure out my next move. That move had to be getting out from behind this dumpster. Since I couldn't walk through walls, I craned my head again, peeking around the other side of the garbage container. At the end of the alley I had run through, a few ghouls had followed me, or were attracted by the taunting voice of the Vulture.
"Herman…" he said in a sing-song voice. "Come out and play…"
As best I could in the small space, I turned around as slowly as I could. The moans were just starting to reach my ears as I managed to put my back flat against the metal dumpster. "Hear that? They're coming to get you, Herman…"
I had only one shot at this. I put my good hand against the dumpster, and lifted one foot. It took some tricky balancing, but I managed to do it. Alright, Herman…don't screw this up. One…two…
Gritting my teeth, I used my bad arm to shove at the lid above me. The hole in my forearm complained like it was at a town hall meeting, but the lid swung upwards, giving me a clear line of fire straight up. My eyes glanced at the fire escape above me. Through the metal gratings and steps, the steely gaze of the Vulture was beginning to turn in my downward direction. The lid clanged shut even as I shoved backwards, pushing away from the wall with my leg and pressing against the dumpster with my back and good arm. The city of New York must have sprung for a brand new dumpster with non-rusted or clogged wheels, as my efforts easily pushed it out into the middle of the alleyway. I stepped with it, both arms taking aim at their target, my thumbs holding down for a solid level-four blast. Toomes had been perched on the fourth floor railing of a five story fire escape, and as I stepped into his unobstructed view, he began to spread his wings, leaning forward slightly to glide down and make his attack.
If I had shot at him now, I would have probably missed, even if I aimed low. The altitude was enough for a skilled flyer like the Vulture to adjust. But I wasn't aiming for him.
I was aiming for the fire escape.
Fire escapes are an architectural afterthought, a simple staircase-and-railing system bolted onto the side of a building in case of emergency made out of thin metal railings and grated floors. You always hear, every summer, about some Brooklyn or Queens party that ends with a whole bunch of people overloading a fire escape and causing it to break away from the building and crash down onto the street. They're not long-term load bearing structure. Too much weight could break it. Or, in this case, two level four vibro-blasts.
The recoil from my bad arm's shot was like sticking a finger into an electrical outlet, but the blast landed true, smashing into the third floor's railing and causing it to buckle. Toomes hadn't quite let go of the railing let to swoop down at me, and the talons on his feet pulled at the not-quite-fully-attached fire escape. It groaned as it pulled just a bit away from the building...by itself, this wasn't going to do much.
But when the level-four slammed into the fifth floor railing and jarred it loose, suddenly the fire escape had lost its top support and its middle support. That, boys and girls, is when the proper application of forces comes into play. Without the fifth-and-third floor to hold the fire escape into place, the primary motion of the fire escape was being applied by two things – the claws of Adrian Toomes as he leaned forward, maybe not quite grasping what I had just done, thinking I had missed him, and gravity. And gravity always wins.
I could hear the mortar give way as the fire escape ripped itself from the side of the building. For me, time slowed down as the whole structure gave way, creaking and groaning like a horde of the living dead, and all the noise the falling fire escape was making was definitely going to attract a whole bunch of those things to here. But that was later, this was now.
Above me, Toomes had taken flight, flapping his wings once to get a little bit more height...and his head cracked right into the steps with a lovely "thwack." Caught off-guard, Toomes flapped his wings again. This time, he managed to gain air, but instantly came to a halt as he bumped into the steps that had gone from the fifth floor to the roof. "What is this," he exclaimed as his wings clanged and brushed against the falling fire escape. He thrashed with arms, trying to free himself from the structure, but by now, his upward motion bumping him into the steel was the only thing keeping it from pulling completely away from the building.
I admit, there are times I really like what I do for a living. And one of them is when a plan bears better results that I had hoped for. All I wanted was to buy some time for me to run and think of a better plan. But now, Toomes was trapped...oh, God, I was about to say 'trapped like a bird in a cage.' He kept banging his head against the fire escape, and his wings were scraping and tearing at the metal. Given enough time, sheer force and the lift provided by his harness would get him free.
Instead of giving him that time, I stepped right underneath where he thrashed and fired off several level-two blasts in rapid succession. Instead of holding down the trigger for a steady stream, this was a scattershot salvo, each one just slightly off. I had him pinned, but I didn't want to damage the railing enough for him to fly away. Each arm, aching and one of them oozing just a bit of blood, was pointed just to the side of the Vulture's body. I prayed for one good shot, just one connecting where I needed it to connect, as the air vibrated and exploded around his torso. His hands came up in front of his face, my blood still on the talons as he tried to defend himself. Come on, come on...
It was when Toomes had almost freed himself that one of my shots hit home. One of his wings, his right/my left, had full extension, batting away some of the metal and bending it out of shape. Stretched out so far, for a brief moment, the connection between his wing and the flying harness he wore was exposed, just as my blast slammed home. The resulting vibrations tore into the hydraulics, sending a spray of fluid and sparks into the air. Instantly, the right wing crumpled, losing all power and mobility as the metal folded inward a bit, pointing towards the ground and pulling the Vulture along with it.
This is the best analogy I can use right now, so bear with me. Ever see a helicopter lose its rear rotor, and as a result, the whole thing goes into a flat spin that's damn impossible to recover from? Well, proverbially tilt that imagine on its proverbial ear and you might get what's happening here to Adrian. He's got one wing that's still flapping away, trying to get him airborne. And he's got a dead wing that's not giving him any lift at all, meaning that only force that's acting on it is the force of gravity. Again, I'm not familiar with the Vulture's harness. Is it like a bird's wing, strong but hollow on the inside? Or is it solid metal and it's the lift generating by each flap of the wing that keeps him airborne?
The way that wing's pulling him to Earth? I'm guessing it's a solid wing.
It happened quickly enough that Toomes can't quite recover. He fell out of the fire escape "trap" wing-first. The broken/shut-down piece of his harness dragged him down, and his other wing couldn't make up for the loss of lift. First his wing, and then the rest of his body, crashed onto the floor of the alleyway. Now, I'll give Toomes credit, if there was one guy in this alleyway who could handle a crash landing, it was him. He managed to turn his body so he was falling chest first. Both hands shot out, and he curled up his knees. The power armor he was wearing took the impact for him as he landed on all fours, one wing crumpled while the other curled up, ready to lash out...
My foot connected square with his jaw. I walked right up to him, and kicked like I was playing for Red Bull New York, my metal boot slamming home. His head snapped back, and his arms went limp, his entire body sliding to the alley's surface. The good wing was still flapping slightly as I took another step forward towards the fallen Vulture, trying to...
The good wing sliced through the air. I barely leaned backwards in time, the sharp edge whipping just past the edge of my mask. Toomes was on his hands and knees, breathing hard from my kick to his face, but I'll say this for the bastard, he sure as hell wasn't giving up. He clicked his talons together as he got up on one knee, blood dripping from his nose, and an angry mask locked on his face. "Alright, Herman, it's time to show you this old bird still has some teeth."
Bold, brash, and brave. The Vulture was definitely standing his ground. Even with one wing, he was still dangerous and fully capable of kicking my ass.
So I blasted him in the face.
Adrian's skull took the full brunt of the level-two. He staggered back, crossing his metal gauntlets in front of my face just in time to ward off a second blast, but the impact still drove him backwards. Each shot, and I was just rattling them off, pushed him further and further back, a barrage that he couldn't counter. His wing lashed out, trying to slice into me, but my ass was staying well out of range. I poured it on, my arms feeling fatigued as shot after shot exploded around him. Power concerns? Hey, this time, I brought spare power packs. I could do this all night long, if it wasn't for all the noise we were making. It was just like ringing the lunch bell for the dead.
First things first, and that was putting Vulture down for good. Every blast was a step backwards for the guy who just tried to kill me, and eventually, his back hit a brick wall. My assault had driven him against one of the buildings lining the alleyway. He still had his arms crossed in front of his face, lashing out with his good wing, keeping me away with wild slashes. I had one eye on the end of the alleyway, the closest opening, which was slowly filling up with shambling forms. Already they were too close for comfort as I heard a low moan, several different voices mixing together as they closed in on the source of the ruckus Vulture and I had made.
"Alright, Adrian, I got you dead to rights." Both of my fists were raised, thumbs on the triggers, aimed squarely at him from a distance of about ten feet. "Give up and start talking and I won't shatter every bone in your body."
"Harumph." You're kidding me. Who the hell still says "harumph?" "Go ahead, Herman. I can endure anything you throw at me. You'll never defeat me before the ghouls trap you in this alleyway."
"Yeah, you and me both," I countered.
"And you and I both know," he sneered, "that doesn't bother me in the least. The worst that happens, I get blood on my outfit while they're tearing you limb from limb."
Damn it, he's right. They'll probably ignore him again...ok, ok, worry later, finish this job now. "Last chance, Toomes, to sing."
"Last chance, Herman, to run." He clicked his claws together, still protecting his face from me. "Run, and we can continue this dance another night. I'll keep a spot open on my card for you."
I sighed loudly. "Adrian, I rea..." And then I charged in, mid-sentence, hoping to catch him off guard. Stupid, yeah, but hopefully it came out of nowhere enough to take this jerk by surprise. I got two steps off before that damn wing whipped through the air, the point driving forward like a stake going for a vampire's heart. I lunged forward, ducking slightly, and felt the wing pass over my back, the razor tip barely missing me. But I was where I wanted to be, inside his wing's "reach." This close to the Vulture, with my chin out, I was exposed to an attack by his actual limbs. One good swipe with his claws and you could call me "One-Eyed Schultz." But just like I had hoped, Adrian kept his arms crossed to protect his face from my vibro-blasts. Not a bad plan, it had served him well this far. But it had one flaw that I was going to exploit like a drunken ESU sorority student.
My fist came up as I lifted upwards with my body, and I drove an uppercut right into the exposed chin of Adrian. No blast, no trigger, just a hard, heavy blow right to a vital point. I could feel my knuckles impact his jaw, and deep down inside, I smiled. Throwing around blasts is well and good, but sometimes, there is nothing like a well placed punch, and this one was squared on the money. Adrian's head rocked backwards, the crown of his head lightly smacking into the brick wall behind him as I followed through, cocking back my left hand and launching a short, vicious jab. This time, the entire back of his head bounced off the wall, caught between the rock of my fist and the hard place of a brick building. Adrian's eyes rolled backwards in their sockets, and his body went limp, both his limbs and his deadly wing slumping towards the ground. He slid down the wall a bit before toppling forward, smacking into the pavement of the alleyway. He didn't move, even after I poked him a few times with my boot. My desperate plan had worked. The Vulture was unconscious on the ground, no longer a threat.
One more blast smacked his head into the brick with a sickening thwack.
Just to be sure.
X
Adrian's power armor was lighter then it looked. I expected to have to drag the dumpster over to him, but when I pulled him away from the brick wall he was out cold against (after checking for a pulse, of course. The last thing I needed was him snapping his teeth at me), it was almost like he wasn't wearing anything at all…
…shudder.
If it wasn't for the moaning zombies at both ends of the alleyway, the engineer in me would be asking every question under the sun. Polymers? Anti-gravity discs? It was almost a shame, from a professional point of view, to roll Adrian's lump body over onto the ground and fire several vibro-blasts at the joints of his metal wings. It took a few shots to sever each connection, a shower of sparks followed by leaking hydraulic fluid as each wing fell onto the pavement. All he had left now, once he woke back up, would be his claws and talons, and I was banking on them not being strong enough to carve their way through thin walls of metal.
I hooked him around the neck, and dragged his body over to the waiting garbage dumpster. Above me, the fire escape creaked as gravity slowly did its work, swaying slightly as it rested between the two buildings. One good shot would bring the whole structure crashing to the ground, which is exactly what I was hoping for. With one hand, I flipped open the dumpster's lid before using my aching arms to toss Adrian inside. A soft landing greeted him as he landed on several days worth of refuse. I would not want to be him once he woke up, because a trash dumpster filled with refuse decomposing over two days probably smelled worse then Mole Man.
I slammed the lid shut with a clang. Bending down, it took me a few seconds to find what I was looking for. The zombies coming from the near side of the alleyway were maybe fifty feet away as I picked up a thick metal bolt from the ground. It used to help hold the fire escape against the side of the building, but now it was going to keep the Vulture under lock and key. Making sure both lids were closed, I shoved the metal bolt into the padlock hole, jamming it in as tight as I could. It refused to go in at first, and I had to force it with a few smacks of my palm, but eventually, with a reluctant scraping sound, the bolt stayed put, acting like a Masterlock and preventing both lids from opening up. A metal jail cell. Yeah, maybe Adrian could cut his way through the plastic lids, but I had that covered.
My arms protested, but luckily for me…I'm really damn wary of using the word 'luck' and all assorted nouns, adjective, and adverbs…the dumpster was still easy to move, even with the added weight of the Vulture inside. I pushed it away from where the fire escape towered overhead, towards the near end of the alleyway. The crowd of undead marched almost in time, lurching with the same speed and cadence, any and all limb damage the same across the board. A solid line of ghouls stretched across the alley from wall to wall. Good, it'll make it easier to break through them.
That one solid shot came from my right gauntlet, and just like I had expected, the fire escape came crashing down, slamming onto the ground in a squeal of bending metal and cutting me off from any zombies coming from that end of the alley. In front of me, the noise and clatter agitated the crowd already coming my way. Well, they wanted to come get and me, and who the hell was Herman Schultz to disappoint the millions…thousands…hundreds…dozens…about eight of the Shock's fans and not go over to them?
I will neither confirm nor deny that I've watched professional wrestling, save for the fact that it's the one thing on TV you can't really bet on in the Bar With No Name and hence doesn't lead to frowned-upon bar brawls and property damage.
The dumpster led the way as I jogged down the alley, pushing it in front of me. The sharp pains in my ripped arm had quieted down to a dull roar, and the smooth ride the dumpster was taking didn't send jolts of agony up my limbs. I kept a steady pace, my hands always on the narrow end of the dumpster, keeping it in the center of the alley and not drifting towards the walls. The voices of the living dead didn't change. No alarm was raised, no sounds of joy from approaching prey, and no curious groans of "what in the hell?" They just kept that needing moan as I approached them, dumpster first. In the last ten feet, I kicked it up to a sprint, the exhaustion in my arms a dull burn. I did my best to "aim" the dumpster at a small space in between the two center-most ghouls, as much as one can aim a wheeled New York city trash can.
I felt an impact shudder through the dumpster as it slammed into the line of zombies. Doing my best to keep moving, I shoved the dumpster as hard as I could, never letting up. The dumpster wavered slightly, veering off to the left. And then it hit something on the ground, stalling for a moment until I gave a strong push with both arms to get over…well, it was one of the zombies I had smacked with the dumpster.
With that shove, I was past the line of zombies. Though, it wasn't really a line now, but a group of zombies trying to turn in place and grab the dumb idiot who was trying to push a dumpster through them.
At this point, I'll take questions. Yes, the black-haired girl in the front row. You want to know what I was thinking with THIS plan? Ok, this one's…a little off the charts, I admit, even for an improvisation. The way I saw things at that moment in time, there was two immediate matters that required my attention. One, getting out of the alleyway with my body parts fully intact and unchomped. Two, interrogating Adrian Toomes and trying to figure out who was trying to kill me. I needed to find a safe place to talk to the Vulture. I could have dragged him up to a rooftop and talked to him, especially since he turned out to be a hell of a lot lighter than I had initially thought. Having him slung over my shoulder, climbing a fire escape, put me at a major disadvantage if he woke up. One good swipe with his claws and I'd really be a spineless super villain. Hence, the dumpster. Not only is it a portable prison, but it makes an awesome battering ram, perfect for smashing down zombies and getting the heck out of the alley.
I didn't feel any hands clawing at my back, arms, or legs for that matter, as I broke through the line and kept going. Looking back? Not this guy, I kept going for all I was worth. I could make out the end of the alleyway a few feet ahead, and seconds later, I was out on a residential street. A quick look at a nearby street sign told me exactly where I was. Sullivan Street, on the north end of Greenwich Village. And a quick look up and down the street showed a distinct lack of the living dead. As I turned the dumpster, a metallic glint on the asphalt caught my eye. Several brass shell casings were scattered along the road. Five bucks says the Army had already swept this block, which bode pretty well for me. I just had to find the right place to hole up and give old Adrian the third freakin' degree.
Alright, now to find that place. I turned north and pushed the dumpster up that way. Over the squeaking wheels and the faint moans of the roadblock I had shoved past, I couldn't hear a peep from inside the dumpster. Either Adrian was still out cold, or he was playing possum. Either way, as long as he wasn't trying to get out, that gave me time to figure something out.
The end of the block spilled out onto West 4th Street. To the east, a few cars were scattered through the road, but I didn't see any movement among the motionless autos. To the west, more of the same. After a few seconds of not seeing any movement, I took a more active stock of the area. West 4th Street was the southern boundary to Washington Square Park. Ever see that Will Smith movie with the infected? This is where his house was. The big arch, the fountain? The only difference was the park and streets weren't filled with a screaming horde of vampires trying to get at lucky me. The park itself, obviously, was deserted. Usually, Washington Square was a mix of tourists, buskers, and students from nearby New York University. Right now, the streetlamps were still burning, and under the trees and branches, I didn't see anything. More brass shell casings were scattered on the sidewalk and stone walkways throughout the park, pointing to the Army having cleaned out the park at some point. Makes sense, clear out NYU and evacuate the students.
The dumpster bumped up onto the sidewalk as I pushed it into the park proper. My eyes scanned all around me, especially the pools of darkness provided by the trees. No movement. There were a few low-level moans from nearby, quiet enough that I couldn't quite pinpoint where they were originating from. Fine by me, if they were that quiet, they probably wer…
As I came up to the arch, I saw it, stopping immediately in my tracks. Off to the side of the marble arch that was the trademark to Washington Square, a blackened pile smoked slightly, smoldering from the top and along various spots throughout its surface. From where I stood, I could make out individual bodies, curled and contorted from the intense heat they had experienced. The filters in my nose blocked the sure stench of ashy flesh, but I still felt my stomach turn over slightly. One of the garden spots of New York, used as an impromptu crematorium. Again, it made sense. Pull bodies from the residential areas surrounding the park and burn them in an open space where there's nothing other than the stone arch to catch on fire.
Next to the pile, a small tractor trailer, emblazoned on the side with an advertisement for Budweiser, stood with its rear doors wide open. Still keeping the dumpster in front of me, and still not hearing any protests from Adrian, I pushed over to the truck. The light from the bright lamps surrounding the arch illuminated the first few feet of the trailer, enough for me to make out the small blood stains that dotted the metal floor and some of the walls. A quick check with my mask's low-light vision showed nothing left inside, just a few more blood stains from the cargo this trailer had hauled before being abandoned.
Perfect. A plan was forming in my mind, and even as I worked out the details, I was already moving the dumpster into place.