Free When the Chips Are Down by Anne Rasico Page A

truck. 
     
    “There’s no getting in through the back way,” Zane said, eyeing the closed steel doors of the shipping and receiving dock.  The three walked to the side of the building where there was a door with a smashed in lock.  Trent pushed the door gently, and it creaked open.  “What if someone’s in there?” Brooklyn hissed.  Trent pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined it into the building as he pushed the door the rest of the way open. 
     
    He saw nothing but crates and boxes.  “Hello!” he called.  His voice echoed.  He took a step inside and called again.  He turned towards Brooklyn and Zane, motioning for them to come inside.  “Coast is clear,” he said.  Brooklyn and Zane followed in after him.  “Where are we supposed to sleep?” Zane asked, staring at the concrete floor. 
    “Let’s look around for something to mak e a mattress out of,” Trent suggested.
     
    Trent and Brooklyn ventured off in one direction and Zane another.  Zane slowly walked past stacks of crates towards the dock when the moonlight from the window reflected something that caught his eye.  “Trent, Brook! Over here!” he called. 
    “Where are you?” Trent called back , shining his flashlight in the direction of Zane’s voice.
    “I’m on the other side.  Come here; you need to see this!” Zane yelled.  Zane stood beside the window, waving his arms as they made their way over to him.
     
    “Look!” he cried pointing.  There were several blankets and pillows lying on the floor surrounded by empty soda cans, beer cans, and syringes.  “There’s a mattress for you,” Zane said sarcastically. 
    “I told you someone was here.  There are crack addicts squatting in this place,” Brooklyn exclaimed. 
    “Maybe they’ve gone,” Trent said, shining his flashlight on the bed. 
    “Is that a risk you want to take?” Brooklyn snapped. 
    “She’s right.  These people aren’t going to want house guests,” Zane agreed.
     
    Trent sighed in frustration.  “I don’t know what to do. There’s nowhere else---“
    ““ Shhhhh, did you hear that?” Brooklyn hissed. 
    “Hear what? I think you’re so scared of this place, you’re hearing things,” Trent whispered.
    “No, I hear it too,” Zane said softly.  The three listened closely as the sound of footsteps outside became louder.
     
    They exchanged worried glances, hoping it wasn’t the police.  Finally they heard the door creak open as two shadows entered the warehouse.  Trent quickly turned off his flashlight.  “Great, the crack heads have come home,” Zane muttered.  Trent glanced behind him, looking for another way out, but he could see only darkness. 
     
    “Derek, you have the best ideas,” a woman’s voice said,” I can’t believe we held up a 7-11 with a fake gun.”  They kissed noisily. 
    “We got some good stuff too. Let’s put it by the bed,” Derek’s low voice said.  Trent stepped backwards away from the bed, knocking over a stack of crates with a loud crash.  “What was that?” the woman cried. 
     
    Derek dropped what he was carrying with a loud thud.  “I think we’ve got company, Krystelle,” he said, grabbing a large flashlight and shining it in their direction.  “Who the hell are you?!” he demanded. 
    “We thought this place was abandoned,” Trent said, squinting from the light .
    “Well, it’s not!” Derek snapped. 
    “We see that now, so we’ll just be on our way,” Trent replied calmly.
     
    “You do that,” Derek said coldly as he stepped into the moonlight with Krystelle following behind them.  The light revealed two very aged and washed out looking people.  Krystelle glanced in Zane’s direction as something caught her eye. 
    “Baby , he’s got a laptop!” she cried pulling on Derek’s arm. Derek shined the flashlight on Zane.
     
    “Get that thing out of my face,” Zane yelled squinting. 
    “You’re giving us that laptop,” Derek