The lid was slightly loose.

A small puddle of dark oil sat on the ground beneath it.

If I could tip it over, the fuel would reach the hot exhaust of Derek’s idling car.

It was a desperate chance.

But it was the only choice I had.

I stood up slowly, keeping my body hidden behind the crates.

I slid the crowbar under the edge of the heavy drum.

I leaned all my weight onto the iron bar.

The metal groaned.

The drum began to tilt.

I pushed harder, my muscles straining.

The drum tipped further, the dark liquid beginning to pour out.

It flowed quickly across the wet gravel, moving toward the rear of the car.

The smell of gasoline filled the damp air.

Just then, a phone began to buzz in the pocket of the dead guard near me.

The screen lit up, casting a pale blue glow against the wooden wall.

A name flashed on the screen.

It was a name I recognized.

My breath caught in my throat.

The phone kept vibrating, moving slightly on the wet wood.