“Stay!” Graham shouted at me, flinging out a hand in the universal sign of Stop. I crouched down, my ears still ringing from the blast of the revolver. The metal door clattered up. Graham was gone. I heard footsteps running down the dark hallway, but no more shots were fired. Grunts and sounds of a scuffle floated over to me as I rooted around in my satchel for my flashlight. At last, down at the other end of the corridor, an exterior door opened, letting a bright beam of light into the hallway. I saw the silhouette of a man slipping through the opening before the door slammed shut again. “Graham!” I called out, flashing my light down the corridor. “Here,” came his voice. “I’m okay.” My light finally landed on Graham lying on the concrete floor not far from the exit. I ran to him and knelt by his side. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” “It’s nothing.” He yanked away from the bright beam of my flashlight. He struggled to his feet, limped to the door, and looked out.
