Chapter 4- Back in the Game
It was painful to cry but he couldn't stop. It was the fear racing through him, taking all his energy…his fight. His throat and face burned though the tears seemed to freeze on his face. His broken ribs made every sob hurt. But Grace…no physical pain could match this. He knew with every cell in his body that if her heart stopped beating his would follow. He couldn't imagine life without her. The pain of it would kill him. So he had to save them both; it was up to him.
His breathing hitched and he tried to control it. He shook his head to clear it and wiped his eyes with the shoulder of his sweat stained shirt. He willed himself to be in the game, to be a player. With surprising strength he seemed to be saving, he got his arms free. They stung from the duct tape as he clumsily freed his legs from the chair. When he tried to stand he fell hard, the broken rib singing; an obstacle he would need to overcome to escape.
He crawled toward the tools dragging the chair in his wake. He used it to reach the shelf and knocked items to the floor. Behind the toolbox that took four hits to fall, he spotted a crow bar. With an agonizing movement he lunged at the shelf and used the chair to dislodge the crowbar. He went down again with tortured yell but managed to keep his head from making contact with the concrete again. When he laid hands on the crow bar he used the chain to drag himself back to the pipe on the wall. He stood up and leaned against the wall for support. He raised the crow bar and started to beat the pipe where one piece was attached to another. After many excruciating blows that he lost count of, the pipe finally broke free. Water flooded the floor as he pulled the chain free. His grip tightened on the crow bar and he gathered up the chain.
Willing himself to ignore the stabbing from the broken bones, he crept to the door and peered through the crack. No one was there. He made it through the door and up the stairs. He moved with silent careful steps. His vision zeroed in like a tunnel-a product of the fight or flight. He felt raw, pushed past endurance, he was a deadly machine and he knew he would not hesitate to kill any of his kidnappers. His mind was fixed on Grace. Grace his baby, his only child. He spat and used his rage to fuel his advance; to give him energy.
Around a corner he found a grimy kitchen. Good for him and bad for the kidnappers. He saw a knife block and pulled out a handful of knives. Around another corner was the living room. He recognized one of the kidnappers on the couch; not an innocent. He jumped out to surprise the kidnapper who gave a start and jumped to his feet. With deft skill, Danny threw a knife at him like a ninja star. It landed in his chest and he dropped like a stone writhing and gasping. Danny hit him with the crowbar and knocked him out. He didn't look back as he staggered out the front door.
The front yard and road were bright compared to the dim house but his vision blurred. His adrenaline was fading fast and he felt so dizzy he stopped, falling to his knees. He held one arm tight to his chest holding the ribs in place. He his vision blurred again, almost fading to black. He knew he was about to pass out. The ear ringing was back but he also picked up a familiar screech of tires and a shriek of police sirens. Finally…he thought, exhausted. Then the silver Camaro flew around the corner. Danny felt an odd floating feeling then hit the ground, feeling the grass on his face.
"Danny!" Steve yelled as he sprinted toward him. He skidded to a stop and dropped down next to Danny. He was wearing a bulletproof vest and sweat glistened on his forehead. "Hang in there buddy, we've got you."