The room stretched up past the reach of our flashlights. A intricate framework of ropes and scaffolding filled the space that we could see. Somewhere up in the darkness we could hear someone moving. Ropes squeaked, boards and metal complained as they took on weight and then were relieved of it again.
Rodriguez chambered a round into his shotgun. I gave him a stern look. I said, “I’m going up. Try not to shoot me.”