Yount’s body heaves with sobs. You aren’t sure what to do, so you pat him on the back. He takes a deep breath, pushes himself up straight, wipes his eyes, and as a fierce determination casts over his face he says, “Someone will come, but until then, we need to survive!”
A rustling of the mini-blinds in the manager’s office causes both of you to bolt to your feet. You need a weapon! Grabbing a pair of cleats from a locker marked DIAZ, you quickly tie the laces together. Feeling safer with your makeshift nunchucks, you move behind Yount and inch toward the door. “It doesn’t sound like one of them, did you see anyone else?” Yount, eyes wide, just shakes his head. You grab the doorknob as adrenaline races through your body. Yount hoists his bat menacingly. “On three” he whispers. You hold up your fingers and count them down. As the third disappears into your fist, spikes whirling over your head, you throw open the door...
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