But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through
the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for
help, pounded on the wall with his fists.
Nothing.
Thomas backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He
felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.
"Somebody...help...me!" he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.
A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line
of light appeared across the celling of the room, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy grating
sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in the darkness, the light
stabbed his eyes; he look away, covering his face with both hands.
He heard noise above - voices - and fear squeezed his chest.
"Look at that shank."
"How old is he?"
"Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt."