A door slammed shut and Peter looked up . His captor had returned-he could hear him yelling for him. Peter buried himself again under the blanket, afraid.
The door to the room opened with a bang and slammed into the wall. Peter's eyes grew wide. The man slammed the door shut again, and Peter could see a slight dent in the wall where the heavy metal door had cracked the plaster. He gulped.
In two quick strides the man had crossed the room. He ripped the blanket away and heaved it across the room. He reached to Peter and grabbed him around the neck.
"You didn't tell me you were in a band, you little-," the man growled, shaking Peter hard.
"You didn't ask?" Peter offered meekly. It was true, he hadn't. The man snarled and threw him back down on the bed.
Then, before he could move, Peter jumped up and tackled the man. He tried to return the pain he'd just been given. But the pain wasn't strong enough and the man was too strong.
With one quick motion that made Peter believe he'd had years of experience, the man stood up again, and Peter found himself thrown back on to the cot, head pounding as it hit the wall behind him. Involuntarily, he let out a groan as he tried to clear his head of the pain he felt.
His captor left the room then, leaving the door open as he went, but Peter made no move to run for freedom. His head was pounding hard.
A moment later, the man returned. Peter was in too much pain to notice, but -other than the black cowboy hat -the man was now dressed in his clothes.
Peter had no concern for fashion, however, and didn't notice. His captor carried a rope and a box, and Peter managed to lift his head slightly to observe.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, but the man did not reply. Instead he took the rope and remained silent as he tied Peter's wrists tightly to the edge of the cot.
Peter numbly struggled with the ropes, still dazed from hitting his head. His captor took something out of the box. Peter saw what it was. Dynamite.
The man turned and smiled, pleased at the shocked reaction on his face. He lifted the cowboy hat, and allowed Peter to see his face. Then he grinned again, set the timer, and left the room before Peter could say anything.
Peter stared numbly at the slammed door for a moment, still startled by what he had seen. In one quick instant, his questions about motive and desire had all been answered.
The clock attached to the dynamite continued to turn. Peter turned and saw that the timing mechanism showed less than five minutes before the exposion would occur. His heart began to pound. Hurried, he began to struggle to untie himself, but to no avail. The rope only began to cut deep grooves in his wrists, and the clock ticked on.
Peter thought wildly. He HAD to get out of this. And he wouldn't unless he managed to get out of the ropes. There was only one way to do that....
"Mark, what are you doing? You can't go in there!" Buddy shouted.
Mark paid no attention as he scaled the fence and dropped down on the other side. He turned to his younger sibling.
"Stay here," he ordered through the wire fence. Buddy nodded. He wasn't leaving without his brother, but he wasn't climbing the fence.
"We're gonna get in trouble," he warned, but Mark pretended not to hear him as he headed towards the building.
Mark ran a hand through his curly dark hair to get it out of his face and surveyed the building. Whatever had happened had certainly destroyed the old dump.
Mark was more and more convinced that the sound he and Buddy had heard from across the street was an explosion. But the old factory had been unused since they'd moved to the neighborhood three years ago. Why would it suddenly explode?
There was no one in the area to even set the explosion-no demolition crew.
Mark slowly walked to the back of the building when a strange noise met his ears. Low, but high-pitched. And continuous. Mark glanced towards the fence where his brother was.
"Buddy, did you hear that?" he asked. His brother's expression was the answer. Buddy's blue eyes were wide and alert as he nodded.
"A dog," he whispered, fear in his voice. He spoke low, but Mark got the message.
"I'll find him," he decided. He turned his head and ran off in the direction of the noise.
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