The server building was a concrete block from a bygone era, sunk into the grass on the wrong side of the airstrip for civilization.
I pulled my coat tighter and tucked in my chin. Across the runway, the windsock made a perfect right angle with its pole – and there was no shelter on this side of the building. I thought of the hotel bar that waited for me as soon as today’s work was done, and silently urged Sean to hurry with the door.
Then with a clang, the last bolt slid clear. Sean gripped the handle with both hands and a foot braced against the frame and before I could step forwards to help, he’d given it an almighty heave against the wind and aging hinges.
“Grab that box from inside. We need to jam the door open.”
I darted forwards and manhandled the box over the lip sealing the bottom of the doorway. “What the hell is this anyway? Some kind of stone age