47- Concrete Pit

  It was a construction site at a rest stop on an interstate highway. The foundation for the restaurant had already been laid, but nothing else had been built on top. It was only a big pit in the ground, maybe eight or ten feet deep, with utility pipes and stuff in it. The truck noise I heard was a concrete-mixer transport. The big drum was rotating. Its chute was aimed at the pit, ready to fill it with cement. A third guy was sitting in the driver’s seat. A couple of floodlights were trained on the area so they could see what they were doing. From the road, I’m sure, nothing appeared suspicious. Just looked like workers doing night construction.

  They dropped my legs when I was at the edge of the foundation. Then one guy kicked my shoulders hard and I rolled off into the pit. I landed like a ton of bricks on the concrete floor. It took tremendous effort not to make a sound, even though it hurt—really hurt.

  “Frank, I think he is dead,” I heard the driver say.

  Frank called to the truck guy, “Okay, Mac, let her rip!”

  The concrete mixer made a gurgling sound and started to sputter. Wet cement began to pour out of the drum, down the chute, and into the foundation.

  They were going to bury me in concrete underneath a Charlie’s restaurant.

  So how was I going to play it? If I got up now, which I could do, it would still take some time to get out of the restraints and climb up to ground level. By then the guards could simply shoot me. They still had their side-arms on their belts. Then there was the third guy, Mac. I didn’t know if he was armed too.

  The best course of action was surprise. I just hoped my improvised plan would work.

  The concrete dumped out fast. Already I felt the stuff inching up around my body. In seconds I’d be covered with the thick muck. I waited … waited … until exactly the right moment … when the cement was about to cover my face … and I took a deep, deep breath.

  A minute later, I was completely covered. The wet concrete was heavy. They’d keep filling the foundation until the cement was level with the ground. How much time would it take? Could I hold my breath that long?

  Concentrate …
...

  I was aware that I was no longer lying on my side on the foundation floor. I was squatting. I didn’t recall moving into that position, but I had done it. Summoning every ounce of strength in my legs, I pushed off and upward. Death’s arms released me. I was free! But it was like swimming through molasses. The surface was close, yet so very far away. With my wrists bound, it was a near hopeless dream.

  But I kicked my feet like a machine and slowly ascended, inches at a time.

  I sensed I was nearing the top.

  Harder! I had to kick harder!

  And then … at last … my head broke the surface and I gasped the lovely, valuable oxygen. A surge of power coursed through my veins as I filled my lungs with the warmth of …

  Life.

  I climbed out of the pool of wet concrete and stood at the edge. I was covered in the stuff. I must have looked like a monster. I was a walking gray thing.

- Hitman: Damnation, chapter 23