The Impossible Fortress(48)

“Billy,” Alf said.

I blinked. He was standing on the edge of the bike shop, reaching for me.

“Can you reach out your hand?”

I shook my head. Not a chance.

“Put out your hand,” Tyler said, “or I’ll throw this crowbar at your goddamn skull.”

I put out my hand. Even with Alf leaning off the side of the building, there was still a large gap between our fingers. “Can you step a little closer? Just a half step closer?”

No way. Not happening. Tyler could throw a crowbar at my skull, but I wasn’t budging.

Alf stepped onto the far end of the plank, then crept closer, one inch at a time, testing the strength of the wood. The board groaned and shuddered, but Alf kept pressing his luck, advancing while reaching toward me. It was by far the riskiest, most dangerous, and dumbest thing he’d ever done—and I am talking about a guy who once ate a strip of staples on a dare.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m going to help you, Billy. I’m going to get you out of here.”

By the time his fingers touched my hand, we were standing in the center of a giant V. He kept whispering encouragement, coaxing me along, and with his hand on my wrist I found the confidence to shuffle forward. Clark watched us from the roof of the bike shop. I realized he was gripping Alf’s other wrist, holding him steady while he stepped out to retrieve me. If anything happened to the plank, all three of us would have toppled into the void.

Instead they pulled me to safety. I reached the roof of the bike shop and immediately sank to my knees. Tyler pulled in the plank, then looked down at me with disdain. “Are you finished fucking around?”

“He’s fine,” Alf said, clapping me on the back. “You’re okay, ain’tcha, Billy?”

“Sure he is,” Clark said. “It’s smooth sailing from here.”

I was thinking just the opposite—it was not smooth sailing, because I had to cross the bridge again to get home. But that was a problem for later. The guys helped me stand, and we followed Tyler across the roof.

To anyone down on the street, the bike shop, travel agency, and Zelinsky’s all appeared to be three distinct buildings with their own unique architecture, but this was just an illusion. In truth, they were three identically sized units within a single large building. The roof was a wide, flat expanse—there was no way to tell where the bike shop ended and the travel agency began—but each unit had its own roof access hatch and each hatch was stenciled with the name of the corresponding business.

Rene had already unpacked his duffel bag and arranged its contents beside the hatch labeled ZELINSKY’S. He had brought a carbon steel crowbar, a cordless power drill with multiple fittings, WD-40, wire cutters, a socket wrench, and (most inexplicably) a knife shaped like a meat cleaver. He wore plastic safety glasses and held a small torch to one of the hinges; it emitted a bright blue flame, and the air smelled like a gas station.

“Almost done?” Tyler asked.

Rene nodded. Rather than carefully removing each bolt so we could reaffix the hatch later, he was slicing the hinges in half, destroying them. When he was finished, we would essentially rip the doors right off the roof.

I pulled Alf aside. “We have to fix everything when we’re done. We have to be like ghosts, remember?”

“They know what they’re doing.”

“This wasn’t our plan.”

“They’re just hinges, Billy. They cost less than the magazines.”

“We’re paying for the magazines.”

“What do you want me to do? We can’t stop them now.”

Clark joined our huddle. “It’s safer this way,” he assured me. “I don’t want to get caught.”

Then he pulled the T-shirt up over his nose, choking on the acrid fumes of melted metal. The rooftop was thick with smoke, and I wondered if it was visible from street level. If Tack had finished his loop without interruption, he’d be back at the train station by now. He would see Zelinsky’s building in its entirety. He’d likely notice a plume of gray smoke rising above the roofline.

Rene finished cutting the last hinge, then switched off the torch and removed his safety glasses. He called Tyler over, and they spoke to each other in low whispers. Then Tyler called for all of us to stand around the doors.

“Everyone take a corner,” he said. “We’re going to lift the doors straight up. These fuckers probably weigh a hundred pounds, so watch your fingers.”

We moved into position around the hatch, Tyler and Rene across from Alf and Clark. There was no corner for me to lift, so I squeezed between my two friends. Tyler told me to step back. “As soon as we lift, the alarm’s going to trip. You’ll have forty-five seconds to get downstairs and enter the passcode. Can you do that without fucking up?”

“Yes,” I said, speaking with confidence for the first time all night. I knew I could find my way around the store, even in the dark. I could turn off the alarm and take five copies of the magazine. I could bring them to the roof, and we’d all go home, and there was no need for anyone else to get involved. “You guys can sit tight,” I told them. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Good,” Tyler said. “Because if anything goes wrong, we’re dropping the doors and leaving you here.”