No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

She remembered the sharp odor of vomit in Lars’s van.
Jay’s tremors, her exhaustion, her pale skin. This explained all
of it. And now Darby wondered — if you’re prescribed a daily
steroid shot, how bad can missing four of them be?
To Ed, she lip-synched: How serious?
He mouthed back: Later.
“Ashley and Lars are still by their van,” Sandi called out
from the window. “They’re … they’re doing something. I just
can’t tell what—”
“Preparing to attack us,” Darby said. No point in
sugarcoating it.
She paced the room, inventorying weapons. Two carafes
of hot water. Sandi’s pepper spray. Ed’s lug wrench.
It was a hasty battle plan, but it made sense. When the
assault came, Sandi would monitor the locked front door and
barricade with Jay, calling out the attackers’ movements.
Darby would guard the men’s room window. If the brothers
attempted their entry there, as she anticipated, she’d surpriseattack
Lars or Ashley from the blind corner with a splash of
scalding water. And Ed, with his wrench, would be a roamer,
moving to whichever side of the visitor center he was needed.
“What’s …” Sandi wiped her breath off the glass,
squinting outside. “It’s been ten minutes. Why haven’t they
tried to get inside yet?”
“To mess with us,” Darby guessed. “To make us nervous.”
“It’s working.”
In the building silence, her ears began to ring. The air felt
pressurized. The ceiling rafters felt lower. The floor was bare,
blotted with loose napkins and mop tracks. Somehow, moving
the table had actually made the room feel smaller. The air was
stuffy, all recycled carbon dioxide and sweat.
Darby kept waiting for someone to make a joke to relieve
the tension.