Part 2

Another gust ruffled his pant leg and he traced its source to a vent near the floor. Forgetting his sandwich he dropped to his knees, the open soda bottle rolling an oblong spiral of Pepsi around him. He mashed his ear to the grate, hands spread on the smooth concrete of the foundation wall.
He could hear them out there, but he guessed that the opening on the other end of the shaft was secure enough. No way to really know for sure, he thought. He looked down at the remains of the sandwich, now soaking in cola. With a grunt he pushed himself standing and took a good look around.
For a moment he was reminded of MacGyver, surveying the scene, searching for anything that might come in handy. I don't have a Swiss Army knife. I guess that means I'm fucked. I suppose I'm pretty well fucked anyway. The basement was mostly empty. Aren't basements supposed to be full of shit people don't have room for? He kicked the almost empty soda bottle across the room where it struck the wall and went spinning into a corner, rolling to a stop in front of an old roll-top desk.