The guard jumped, firing a short burst of bullets into the dark.

The muzzle flash lit up the terminal for a fraction of a second.

In that brief flash, I saw a dark figure moving swiftly along the side of the container.

“He’s on the left!” the guard shouted.

“Kill him!” Derek roared.

He was shaking now, his grip on my neck tightening until I could barely breathe.

I knew this was my only chance.

I felt the cold steel of the punch resting against the flesh of my palm.

I looked at the guard nearest to us, who was reloading his rifle.

I looked at Derek’s hand, which was holding the gun right next to my cheek.

The red light inside the container blinked again.

In the brief red glow, I saw the outline of Derek’s throat.

I drew in a sharp, quiet breath.

The silence returned to the terminal, heavy and suffocating.

Then, a low, mechanical hum began to rise from the ground beneath our feet.

The metal container next to us vibrated.

A heavy metal door on the upper level of the terminal building creaked open.