When I awoke, I realized two things about my face. The first thing was that it
hurt a lot. The second thing was that it was on a concrete floor.

I tried to sit upright, but as I pushed myself from the floor my arms gave out
on me. I was so weak. My head weighed 100 pounds.

I heard grunting and coughing behind me. Startled, I rolled over and saw Dave
as he began to come around. There was a moment of confusion, as I looked
around the dusty room. Then it all snapped back in place.

Adrenaline pumping, my muscles found new strength. I grabbed Dave's collar,
"Dave, we've got to get the fu-"

I stopped midsentence as I heard voices upstairs.

The first voice said, "excuse me sir, we've had reports of a disturbance out
here. Have you heard anything unusual?"

There was very long pause, and the a baritone voice said, "yes sir, officer
there were some kids in this place making a hell of a racket I came over here
to clear 'em out."

The police officer asked, "you own this property?"

But the man didn't get a chance to answer because I started screaming bloody
murder. Dave joined me. Jeff stirred but I was to busy running up the stairs
and pounding on the hatch to pay attention.

Dave grabbed a couple of metal film canisters and smashed them together,
making an unholy racket.

If any more dialog was exchanged upstairs, we didn't hear it, what we did hear
was a scuffle than ensued. The men upstairs were slamming each other into the
walls. One of them fell to the floor. There was a heavy thud, a gunshot, and
then another. Finally we heard a second body slump to the floor.

We all stayed silent for a moment, praying the police officer was triumphant.
We heard nothing.

"Officer?" I shouted through the hatch.

I heard a moan. Then, "I I think I'm hurt I think I think" and then there was
nothing.

"Officer?!" I shouted again, and pounded on the hatch. There was no response.

Jeff and Dave were behind me at the base of the stairs. Dave said, "we need to
get the hatch open."

There was more stirring upstairs. But it was from the direction of the second
thud. I was pretty sure it was our captor. My heart pounded.

I heard something smash in the dark of the basement. I spun to see Dave
destroying a metal shelf. He ripped off a sturdy, narrow metal support piece
and then ran up next to me on the stairs.

Dave wedged the metal piece through the iron bars, and pushed upwards against
the hatch. In the process, he created a small rip in the plastic tarp. I
immediately began clawing at the tarp like a crazed cat.

Jeff followed Dave's lead and grabbed another piece of the destroyed shelf,
wedged it between the iron bars, and pushed.

We heard the welcome groan of bending wood, followed by a delightful snap. The
hatch, and part of its frame swung upwards a few inches. It was clear that
something was on top of the hatch.

I pushed through the bars with my bare hands, as Jeff and Dave redoubled their
efforts. We heard something heavy and metallic crash over on its side. The
hatch door swung open, allowing the us to see the scene above.

A police officer lay a several feet away from where we stood. Something was
sticking out of the side of his head. A kitchen knife! It was ghastly. The
worst part was the man's eyes. They were alert! He was looking at me.

It was clear that he could not speak and his right hand, still grasping a
small revolver, was experiencing some sort of rhythmic tremor.

The officer kept shifting his eyes from my gaze to a point somewhere behind
me. He did this twice before I understood. I turned to where he wanted me to
look. Against the far wall, the large bear of a man was trying to use the wall
to pull himself to an upright position. The man had been shot in the leg, and
in the shoulder. He looked pale but determined.

I reached out for the officer's gun. His eyes tried to tell me something. He
wanted to hand me the gun but could not. His mouth opened and closed like a
fish. An awful gibberish came out- something that wanted to be words, but were
spilling forth from a dying brain.

I strained my arm to its limit feeling the iron bars pressing into my flesh.
My fingertip touched the barrel of the gun but I couldn't quite reach it. The
cop made another awful sound and flexed his torso. His body lurched closer to
me and I gripped the gun firmly. I pulled it from the officer's hand, and
quickly reoriented myself to point it at the large man. The bars made this a
difficult task, and by the time I got my arm facing the right direction, my
view of the man was obstructed by the open hatch door, as it lay on top some
contraption the gas canisters perhaps?

I ducked down with Dave and Jeff. "I got the cops gun. He has knife in his
head. The big guy is over there," I pointed, "but I can't get a shot."

Dave said, "how many bullets?"

I glanced down, "I think 3? No, 4."

Dave whispered, "we could get under him and try to shoot him through the
floor."

We heard the large man groan and move closer the hatch. aimed the gun in the
direction from which I thought he might appear.

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If life gives you melons, you may be dyslexic.