the smuggler’s bible

Merv

The silence is absolute except for the faint scuffing of Merv’s boots. He leans over the railing, his flashlight cutting like a golden wire through the gloom.

“Watch this,” he says and heaves a crescent wrench from his bag down the stairwell. The clatter is immense as it bounced against steel and concrete.

“Great trick.”

“Shh. Listen.” Merv cups a hand to his ear as the echoes fade. “Hear that? Nothing. Place like this, you never know. Could be zombies, mutants, spider-men and et cetera.” He adjusts his pack and steps down. “Best to huck a wrench and be sure.”