Jack and Marcellus

Watching the others sprint quickly across the open space of the floor to the far side of the hall, Jack assisted Marcellus to his feet. “Come on,” he urged.

Moving up the wall to the next door, they dropped down and slid underneath the opening to find themselves in a short corridor that turned abruptly left up ahead. The floor was comprised of medium brown tiles with a darker colored grout between them.

“What do you think, washroom maybe?” Jack asked, looking sidelong at Marcellus.

Marcellus nodded. “Might be a good place for us to find a hiding spot,” he suggested, eyes surveying the brightly lit area.

Pushing onward, what they originally thought might just be a simple washroom, turned out to be much more expansive. While there were three washroom stalls and a counter with a like number of sinks under a gigantic mirror, the opposite end of the room opened up into another corridor, except the wall was lined with much larger white tiles from floor to ceiling.

“Showers,” Jack suggested, looking at Marcellus. The large black man nodded, breathing heavier. “Come on,” he urged.

Marcellus raised a hand, “I got me a bunch more muscle than your skinny white ass be packing,” he joked between breaths.

“Skinny?” Jack shot back. He knew he was in wicked shape, but standing next to Marcellus he actually did feel kind of skinny.

Marcellus flexed then laughed and nodded.

“We need to keep moving. We have no idea how many people are here. We don’t even know where here is. But I want to be holed up before Dagmara shows up and the shit and fan become one, you know what I’m saying?” Jack asked.

“I feel you,” Marcellus said, nodding. Taking a big breath, he started ahead of Jack loping off in the direction of the showers.

Jack grinned, easily catching up then overtaking Marcellus to arrive at an elevated tiled lip leading into the shower area. Bracing himself, Jack boosted Marcellus up first, who in turn reached down and help pull Jack up. Lowering themselves over the other side of the lip, they padded in the n expansive space, two showers head set high up in the wall. On the other side of the showering area was a change room, a half dozen off grey colored metal lockers along the wall with a wooden bench directly in front of the lockers. Scaling the ten foot high lip, they dropped down into the changing area.

Sitting on the floor next to the end of the bench was a huge black tote bag with pink piping and accents. It was open and there was evidence of some dark colored cloth through the opening atop the bag.

“That girl that stomped on Russell looked like she been working out,” said Marcellus. “My guess, up there around that bend, we going to find a room full of weights and shit,” he suggested.

Jack nodded. The woman had been attired like she was exercising and logic suggested more than likely this being the only obvious tote was her bag.

“We can go scout it out,” Jack said, in reference to what lay around the corner.

Marcellus waved a hand, “You go, I’ll rest up here awhile,” he said, doubling over, deep bass voice laden with the effort to breathe.

Frowning, Jack turned and walked back, “You alright?” her asked.

Marcellus laughed and looked up, “Do I look like a Kenyan?” he asked, ebony skin slick with perspiration.

Shaking his head, Jack wasn’t sure where the big man was going with the question, “What?”

“Shit, do I look like I’m put together for running miles across the African safari?” he asked again, big toothy grin on his sweaty face.

Jack grinned, “More like a defensive tackle on a football field,” he conceded.

“True that,” Marcellus replied. ”Now, you go, I’ll stay here near the bag,” he added, waving Jack onward.

Although sweaty and fatigued himself, he felt capable of carrying on, “Okay,” Jack said, moving through the locker room to cautiously peek around the corner into a spacious brightly lit workout area. Devoid of people, he stepped into the room. The floor was comprised of several interlocked thick black rubberized mats and there were a number of various pieces of workout equipment, treadmill, stair climber, stationary bicycle, and a universal workout machine. Aside from the door he had entered through, there was another along the wall to his left. Windows lined the wall ahead and the wall to his right. From his perspective at floor level, all he could see through the windows was darkness. On the wall to his left, passed the door, was a large flat screen television mounted on the wall with a stand and some type of media player. There was a handful of thick blue exercise mats in front of the TV for what he guessed were for stretching or yoga or some other type of exercise.

Looking around, there were several excellent places to hide, especially inside some of the cardiovascular exercise machines. He stood there a moment, evaluating, knowing it would be near impossible for any of the program people to ferret them out. But. Maynard, for all his arrogance and before Marcellus had snapped his neck, really had not been too far off the mark when he had asked now what? While there were smart places where they could hide away from the women running the project, but for how long? Food and water would become issues. Once resources started getting more and more scarce, the fragile peace would crumble and it would become survival of the fittest. More people would die.

What they needed was to figure out how to reverse the process. Anyone of the cons would be more than a match for the women. Hiding would not help them and they had zero leverage with which to coerce cooperation. Not one to succumb even in the face of overwhelming adversity, there was a feeling of resignation as he walked out into the room amidst the titanic exercise machines.