I could smell smoke—was I dreaming?

  I turned over in my goose down bedding and dug myself deeper under the sheets and pillows wrapped around me; I hadn’t known comfort like this since I had wasted thousands on a honeymoon, which was short-lived because Claire had discovered she was pregnant with our eldest and had wanted to go back home.

  It didn’t matter that it was the first vacation I had had in ten years, it didn’t matter I had worked sixteen-hour days non-stop for nearly a year, none of it mattered.

  Claire had wanted to go home so home we went.

  I coughed lightly clearing my throat and tried to welcome the embrace of sleep, when another bout of coughing came upon me, I tried to clear my throat but this only made it worse. Slapping my hand against my chest, I forced myself up to my elbows.

  Wait…. I took a sniff of the air and leapt out of bed.

  That was smoke I could smell. “Lights!” I said, waiting for the room lights to come on but nothing happened, I said it again but they just weren’t responding. I ambled forward and slammed my shin into one of the wooden posters of the bed; hopping on one leg I swore under my breath as I tried to get my bearings.

  Being unfamiliar with the layout of the room I needed some light if I wanted my shins to see me through the night; clicking my fingers I woke my computer on my forearm up and switched on the light bulb feature, which acted as a mini torch.

  Faint wisps of smoke curled around my legs as the light illuminated the room. Walking out of the bedroom I made it into the lounge, where the smoke was the thickest. I grabbed a towel off the table and wrapped it over my face, having seen a movie where the lead character had said it helped against smoke. I had no idea if it was true or not, but what harm could it do?

  As I followed the smoke through the apartment it got stronger at the entrance, I took a hesitant step back and contemplated what I should do. If there was a fire behind the door, then the last thing I should do was open it, but if I didn’t try to escape the apartment, then I would slowly choke to death and die.

  Burnt to death or choked to death.

  Suffocation or cremation.

  I could feel the seconds tick by as I paced back and forth before the door. Finally, throwing my hands up in the air I moved forward and opened the door—well, I tried to but it wouldn’t budge. I waved my hands in front of the door like an asshole;, nothing happened. I pressed the emergency button next to it to force it open and I could hear the gears turning as they tried to do their job but the door only opened a couple of inches then halted.

  Gritting my teeth in frustration, I looked around the room for something to pry it open and came upon an expensive-looking metal art sculpture sitting on a desk. Grabbing it by the base I jammed it into the gap of the door and began working it back and forth.

  The muscles in my arms strained as the gears in the doors ground loudly together. Finally, they gave way enough that I could slip through the gap I had created.

  I stumbled forward into the hallway and sprawled along the floor.

  Getting back up to my feet, I tried to see what had caused me to fall, and I hurried backwards until I smacked against the opposite wall.

  A dead body.

  Blood coated the floor around it, with my footsteps imprinted in the blood like a prehistoric creature’s paw print left in tar.

  The body was of a man with blond hair who wore combat fatigues. He had a hole through the centre of his head that I could see all the way through; apart from that there didn’t appear to be any other wounds.

  I inched closer and tapped his shoe with my foot. I didn’t know what I expected to happen but I did it again, just in case this was some sick joke.

  Nothing happened.

  He was murdered outside my door! What if someone thought I was the murderer?

  I looked around for the murder weapon but failed to find one; I took another step back and wiped my feet along the floor. Surely no one would think I did this?

  I would just explain if anyone asked. They would believe me. Why wouldn’t they? What did I have to gain from doing this? I… I—

  My chest grew tighter by the second as my breaths became shallower. About to wipe my hands over my face I stopped, as they had become coated in blood. Looking for something to wipe them on I glanced down at my body and realised I was naked except for a pair of boxers I had worn to bed. I made my way back towards my room when a shout to my left grabbed my attention. I lifted my arm and projected light, so I could see further down the hall, but the smoke made visibility poor.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Cussing my bad luck I thought of what to do.

  I could return to my room and hide while I waited out whatever was happening, but that meant a lack of anywhere to run if the wrong person turned up at my door. The killer was still at large and with no weapons to defend myself I would be a sitting duck.

  Another shout.

  This one sounded like a command.

  Looking back longingly at my room, I picked up the metal artwork I had used to open the door and crept forward.

  That’s it, dickhead! Walk towards the shouting.

  I stopped every so often and scanned my surroundings; doors to rooms that looked similar to mine were open. Someone had ransacked the rooms leaving clothes and broken glass on the floor.

  I continued until I heard a sound up ahead. When I doubled my grip on the metal art piece its weight gave me confidence as I leaned against the wall and waited.

  Footsteps approached me.

  I waited for a second or two and came around the corner I was hiding behind with the art piece lifted above my head. A roar of anger escaped my lips.

  I didn’t get far as a calloused hand grabbed me round the throat and threw me against the wall, and then the barrel of a gun was placed under my chin.

  My eyes bulged as my feet dangled off the floor.

  “What kind of fucking moron tries to sneak up on someone when they’re lit up like a Christmas tree, from the light they’re holding?”

  I tried to respond, but the only thing that came out was a gargle. He released my throat and I slid down to the floor, coughing and spluttering. I rubbed my neck and slowly got up to my feet.

  “Are you the killer?”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at me as if I was the world’s biggest idiot. “Who would ask someone that? But better yet, why would I tell you the truth if I was?”

  “I dunno,” I said with a shrug. “Thought it was better to just get it out in the open. Save us both some time.”

  “No, I’m not the killer but you are in extreme danger from whoever is. Do you have any weapons…” he began to say, but trailed off when he took in my attire.

  “What? I was sleeping, I normally sleep in the nude so I would call this a bonus. Do you know what the killer wants or who they are?”

  “No, Quinton, we don’t.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  A scream from down the hall behind us snapped our heads in that direction. A quick burst of gunfire followed it.

  “It doesn’t matter how I know your name, all that matters now is—hey! You need to listen to me,” he said, forcing me to pull my eyes away from the sounds.

  “What I need you to do is go back to your room and find somewhere safe to hide. Can you do that for me? Somewhere like the closet or bathroom? This will all blow over soon and we’ll be on our way.”

  I looked into his eyes and I wanted to believe him, really I did, but I could see the lie in his eyes as much as he could see the fear in mine. He turned his head back towards the way we heard gunfire and I saw Little Red Riding Hood atop a wolf, with an Uzi in each hand, tattooed on his neck. It was the same logo I had seen on the rucksacks in the cargo hold when I had first entered the ship.

  “Who are you and what are you doing on this flight? This should be a simple delivery mission; instead, I am surrounded by what I can only guess are soldiers.”

  “Mercenaries actually,” he said, turning back to face me.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, they hired us to protect this flight.”

  “Fat load of good you’ve done doing that!”

  “Keep your voice down,” he said, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. “I want you to make your way towards your rooms and hide somewhere safe. When it’s safe I’ll come and get you.”

  I moved towards the direction of my room, but a blast of gunfire lit up the hallway ahead of me halting me in my tracks.

  The merc got in front of me and lifted his gun into the air, scanning the area ahead of him.

  Without warning, he let off three quick rounds from his rifle that made my ears ring. I staggered back and worked my mouth open and closed while he scanned the area with one closed eye.

  “You could have shot a friend—shouldn’t you radio to see if it’s one of your teammates?”

  “No point, they’re all dead.”

  I looked at him in shock while I recalled how many rucksacks I’d counted on the way in.

  “What do you mean they’re all dead? Who is attacking us?”

  “It means what it means, and if I knew that then I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”

  Another flash of gunfire and the metal ceiling above us pinged as bullets bounced off it.

  The merc dropped to his stomach and grabbed my shirt on the way down, so I followed him. Flat on the floor, I lay next to him as he sighted down his scope and let off another round.

  “I think I got the bastard,” he said in a low voice, slowly getting up to one knee. He kept his sights on whatever he could see up ahead, then slowly stood.

  “This whole thing stinks,” he said, scanning the passage behind us before moving forward. “They hired me and my team to protect this ship. From what or from whom, they never gave us that information. All we knew is, we had to accompany this ship to and from its destination. Me and the boys thought this was the easiest gig yet until someone drugged us.

  “When we woke up, we found the pilot’s throat slit and all our gear damaged or missing. Lucky some of the boys are paranoid fuckers and always hide a stash of weapons away, I feel bad for teasing them about it—if it wasn’t for those guns then we would be all dead right about now.”

  “Xcorp hired you?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yeah.”

  “But that makes no sense—”

  He waved a hand in front of me for silence as a shape took form in the smoke. He inched forward; I trailed behind him until we saw what it was.

  A body crucified against the wall.

  The man wore combat fatigues similar to the merc’s; the latter was now walking forward with a look of fire in his eyes. I could see the muscles in his jaw grind back and forth while he kept on inching forward.

  “I think we should—”

  I began but never got to finish my sentence as a body dropped from the ceiling duct behind us. I half turned but was shoved out of the way as metal flashed in the air and blood sprayed behind it. The merc fired a shot but the person ducked low and swept their blades up in an arc taking the merc’s hand clean off.

  It and the gun fell to the floor with a clatter.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but two blades penetrated the sides of his neck before a sound could leave his mouth. He dropped to his knees, the light slowly fading from his eyes, and then fell face-first on the floor, leaving me alone with the attacker.

  I ran, but was tripped and came crashing down to the floor. Turning around I looked up at a familiar face that smiled down on me.

  “I hope I didn’t spoil the trip too much for you, Quinton, but you have something I need,” said Paige.