The blood rushed to Private Snyder’s head as he hung upside down with his feet shackled to a plumbing pipe. He wiggled his legs. The shackles had some flexibility. Maybe enough.
He thrust himself up and grabbed the pipe with his left hand. He scrunched his body tight and reached into his shirt pocket. The creep that kidnapped him had taken his lock-picking kit. He reached into his right pants pocket. No Swiss Army knife.
He stared at the red shimmering object on the ground. I’m certainly not going back down to get it.
Last shot. Wallet. Snyder grabbed the bar with his right hand and let go with his left. He carefully moved his hand towards his back left pocket, where his wallet was. One false move, and the wallet would fall to the ground and out of reach.
He grabbed the wallet, pulled it out and put it in his shirt pocket. He grasped the bar with his left hand, let go with his right, and held the wallet with his teeth. His right hand searched for his back-up kit. Thankfully, the creep had failed to notice the wallet. Most people didn’t carry them. With the ICA microchip, all anyone carried in their wallet was family photos, movie store memberships, library cards-and lock picks.
Snyder picked the lock. He smiled as first the shackle on his right leg opened and then the one on his left.
Freed, his legs released his body from the extreme sit-up with great relief. He dropped six feet down to the floor, picked up his pocket knife, and walked to the door. Locked from the outside. He delivered two kicks to the lock and the door gave way.
In front of him lay a hallway leading to a staircase. He made for the stairs, his Swiss Army knife drawn.
A heavy object poked his back. “Where you think you’re goin’, Spunky?”
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