We crouched behind an overturned shelving unit. “Who is that?” “Probably the same guys who were here before,” I said. A face appeared at the accordion door. I didn’t recognize the guy. He was wearing a torn T-shirt and looked like he’d just dragged himself out of a ditch somewhere. It was dark enough inside, I hoped, that without a flashlight he wouldn’t see us. “I thought I saw something move in here,” the guy said. He pulled on the doors, trying to separate them. He pushed a leg and part of his torso through before one of the other guys ran by and smacked him on the head. “Get out of there, dillweed. There’s no one here.” “Hey,” the guy in the door said. “What’s this?” He bent down and picked up a pry bar. “Hey guys!” he yelled before running toward his friends. “Guys, look what I found. We can smash stuff with this.”
