Deadly News: A Thriller Page 11

  You stare at him.

  “Bomb?” the champagne bottle woman asks.

  He looks at her. “Yeah. Bomb. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  “Who said anything about a bomb?”

  “Terrorists,” the scruffy man says. “Of course it’s a bomb.”

  You’re shaking your head, but stop yourself.

  “Not exactly terrorists,” Abby says.

  “Oh?”

  She sighs. “Look, I really am thirsty, just talking like this is starting to hurt.” She wipes her face. “And, God it’s hot in here. I’ll finish when we get back.”

  “It might not be safe,” the doctor says. “If there’s smoke, get low and come back. It can kill you fast.” He snaps his fingers, which causes the man with the suit to jolt and look franticly around.

  Abby nods, and you and the thirteen-year-old follow her out.

  Once outside, you take the other path you saw earlier, which is fine with you. There is smoke here, but not that much. You wouldn’t expect there to be much fire still, although you’re glad the tunnel is still open enough that there’s oxygen.

  “This way,” the thirteen-year-old says, and you both follow her.

  You and Abby walk side by side as the girl leads you through twisting passages formed from wreckage. You pass a body, and only Abby checks to make sure it is just that, and not still a person. It is, and it isn’t.

  You continue on. The going is slow, the path is not so much a path as an area that isn’t completely impassable. You must at some point have forked off into another tunnel, because the wall of debris is gone, and in its place is a wall of brick.

  You want to say something to Abby, but can’t think of a way to start.

  “Here it is,” the girl says after you round a corner. It looks like some kind of food cart. It looks empty. You say as much.

  The girl frowns at you. “You’re silly.” She points at the building which you only now notice. It’s a little shop, or a restaurant. You didn’t know there were such things down here, but this you keep to yourself.

  The three of you enter the store-restaurant. It’s dark and empty. You begin to scavenge around, but the girl stops you and beckons to follow her.

  You end up in a kitchen-like area, though again, there is no food here. You spot what looks like a dumbwaiter, and wonder where it leads.

  This question is answered as the girl points at it. “All right, I think all of us can fit if we go one at a time.” She looks from you to Abby, nods. “I’ll go first.”

  You want to say that you’ll go, but don’t.

  She loads herself into the dumbwaiter, and you watch as she pulls on some rope, and begins slowly moving upward.

  “This is safe,” Abby mumbles.

  You smile at her, but she continues watching the impoverished elevator.

  “Okay,” the girl calls, and Abby loads herself into the claustrophobic looking box. She then is gone from sight. Moments later, it’s your turn.

  You have trouble fitting, but you’re not sure if it’s due to dimensions, inflexibility, or simple lack of desire to be doing this.

  As you pull yourself up, you think how much higher you’re going than you thought you would be. Is this ground level? Has the girl found a way out and not even realized it? Will Abby?

  You disembark in another kitchen-looking area, although this is more like a storeroom.

  “See,” the girl says, panning her arm across the room. It’s somewhat large, with stainless steel surfaces, likewise the cupboards and multiple sinks. The floor is some kind of tile, and you follow a pattern in it to a pair of swinging doors. The twin port holes are dark, so that what lies beyond remains a mystery.

  “There’s food here?” Abby asks.

  “I only found those bottles.” She points to a steel surface near the middle of the room. “Right there.”

  “They were just sitting there?” you ask.

  She nods. “Come on, I am hungry.”

  As the girl searches, you wonder how long it’s been since the crash. Two hours? Three? What was taking so long? Shouldn’t someone have come by now?

  “Hey,” Abby calls after the girl, who is on the other side, going through some steel cupboards.

  The girl pauses her search and faces Abby.

  “Did you look around at all? Where is this?”

  “Like I said, just saw the bottles and grabbed them.” She shivers. “It was pretty creepy up here by myself. I kept hearing noises.” She shakes her head. “Probably just in my head.”

  “No, I’m asking if you found any way out.”

  The girl again stops her search, but this time just stares blankly at Abby, a surprised look on her face, mouth open, eyes wide. She moves her eyes over to you without changing her expression, then back to Abby. “Oh my God. I didn’t even think of it.”

  “It’s okay,” Abby says.

  “Idiot,” the girl says, hitting her forehead.

  Abby laughs and walks over to the girl, putting an arm around her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had just been in a train wreck. That you were able to do anything at all is amazing. I once did a story about a fire at a server farm, and several of the people there just froze. There’s security footage of some people watching the servers burn.”

  “What’s a server farm?”

  “Computers. You know?”

  “Oh, like a bunch of computers?”

  Abby nods. “Now, let’s see if we can find a way out of here.”

  You hesitantly follow the two of them out of the room through the swinging double doors. You enter into a corridor, which is the best way you can describe it. It could be anywhere; a submarine comes to mind. It’s dark, and the three of you walk slowly to the left, a direction picked for no other reason than it was the direction Abby chose.

  You reach the end, where there’s a large steel door with a metal wheel in its center. You feel a sense of panic begin to build in your lower abdomen. Maybe it is a submarine.

  The girl tries to turn the wheel, but it doesn’t budge until Abby begins to help.

  By the time you think to aid them, the door’s already swinging outward.

  The stench hits swiftly, and you actually stumble backward, so unexpected was this latest development.

  “Oh!” the girl says, sticking her tongue out her open mouth while making gaging noises. “Shut it, shit!”

  Abby seems less debilitated than the two of you and manages to get the door shut before anyone loses precious liquid to regurgitation.

  “Egh,” the girl says, wiping her mouth as if she could wipe away the smell.

  “Other way then?” Abby asks.

  “Yeah,” you agree. You wonder what architect thought it was a wise idea to put a kitchen so close to a sewer entrance.

  The two of you begin to move that way, but the girl stops you both: “Wait.”

  You stop.

  “What?” Abby asks.

  She puckers up her face. “I mean, it’s gross, but, shouldn’t we try to get out that way?”

  “Huh, I didn’t even think of that.” Abby considers for a moment. “I guess you’re right. But not unless we have to.” She flicks her head to one side. “Let’s check that way first.”

  Great, you think. You really hope they’re not serious, or that they’ll change their minds when their shoes begin to soak through with excrement. Maybe you can bring up the possibility of flooding.

  You pass the doors you entered the corridor though—at least you think they’re the same ones—and continue on. There are other doors here, but most seem to be small closets. It’s too dark to see what’s in them. Some of the doors are locked, and resist your attempts at gaining access.

  Finally, you reach the end. “Yes!” Abby shouts, and yanks on the door in front of you. You can see this, because there’s a lit exit sign above it, which casts its light on the scene.

  As you stare at the door, you wonder what kind of architect would place it in such a bad place. T
his door is in a small alcove, and the sign is as well. Meaning it is invisible outside the alcove, which seems to defeat the purpose. You wonder if this particular architect still had a job after finishing this place.

  There’s the sound of a door not opening, and you look down to see Abby yanking on the door.

  “Fuck.” She slams her fist against the small glass window. She then leans in and peers through this. When she looks at you and the girl, she’s nodding. “Stairs.” She shakes her head. “Damn, a way out.”

  “We could try to break it,” the girl says.

  “I don’t know,” you say.

  They look at you.

  “It’s better than just waiting for rescue.”

  “You could use a fire extinguisher,” the girl suggests. “Or an axe.” She looks around. “Do they actually keep axes in walls?”

  You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s go back to the kitchen, there’s gotta be something there.”

  The three of you head back. It’s harder to find your way this time, and you pass the doors to the kitchen twice, having opened the same broom closet three times now. It is very odd to have swinging double doors lead into a closet, and each time you push through the doors and stumble into cleaning supplies, a new wave of surprise briefly suffuses you.

  You do finally find your way back, and once inside, the search for heavy blunt instruments begins.

  You find another bottle of champagne, but leave it where it is. Why so much alcohol? you wonder.

  “What about this,” the girl asks, holding up a meat pulverizer.

  Abby is bent over, looking into a low cabinet. She tilts her head toward the girl. “What is it?”

  “A hammer.”

  Abby stands. “Hammer should work.”

  “It’s kind of light.”

  Abby takes it. “Hmm, tenderizer.” She shrugs. “I’ll go try it, you guys keep looking.” She makes to leave, then stops. “Oh, food and water too, let’s not put all our hopes on this.”

  The door shuts after she leaves, and you wish she’d of thought to prop it open. That way you could hear if the glass broke. This suspense is making it hard to think about finding food. Already you’ve passed over a white packet of something edible looking.

  You grab it now. Some kind of biscuit, or cookie. You shove it in a pocket and continue searching.

  Before either of you have time to have much success, Abby comes back.

  “Well?” The girl is holding a jar of something white.

  Mayonnaise? You squint at the jar. Maybe it’s just a white jar.

  “I broke the window.” She shakes her head. “But there’s steel mesh I can’t get though.” She holds up a bent out of shape meat tenderizer. “Tried to pry it out of the frame. Didn’t work. Then I tried prying the door open. Same result.” She tosses it on the counter, where it clatters tinnily before coming to rest. “Any knifes, or anything sharp?”

  You and the girl both shake your heads.

  “Food, water?” She looks at the jar in the girl’s hands. “What’s that?”

  The girl shrugs, and, with a mighty effort, twists off the lid of the jar. She keeps her head well back, perhaps anticipating something rotten. But after a moment she leans in, sniffs. She dips a finger in, smells it, touches it to her tongue. “Oh my God!”

  “What is it?” you ask.

  She looks at you with a huge smile. “Heaven!”

  It turns out that it is not, exactly, heaven, but in fact some type of frosting, which is very good nonetheless. However, now, staring at the torn paper cup you used as a spoon, you’re even more thirsty than before. “We really should try to find water.”

  “We did,” the girl says, putting the lid back on the jar.

  You and Abby look at the teen.

  “The door. Remember? Plenty of water there.”

  You stare at her, but can’t tell if she’s joking. But then Abby laughs, so you do too.

  “At least we found food,” Abby says.

  “Maybe we can check around the area, see what’s here. It’s kinda fun to explore around here without worrying about getting caught.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting caught right now,” Abby responds.

  “That’s what I mean, win-win.”

  “What do you think?” Abby asks you.

  You pause for a moment, then say, “Walking around seems dangerous, and what if we get lost, or rescue comes and we’re not there?”

  “Just for a bit,” the girl pleads. “I’m really thirsty.”

  This, you agree with her on. Maybe just the immediate area. How much trouble could that be? You nod.

  “Okay, let’s be quick then. You’re right about the getting lost thing. That would be bad.”

  You leave the way you came, through the dumbwaiter. This time you go first. You notice the door to the dumbwaiter has a latch with which to lock it. You wonder if the outside has a matching one.

  That would be unpleasant, you think, getting stuck in there.

  Outside, by the abandoned hotdog or whatever-cart, the three of you peer around the dim area. There’s not much else, and now you see that this is sort of a dead end, a concave tiled wall at the far end, then a few doors dotting the wall, which your eyes follow back to a few feet from where you stand.

  “Split up?” the girl asks.

  “No way,” Abby says.

  “Kidding, kidding.” She lifts her chin toward a door. “Let’s try that one.”

  You do.

  Inside there are magazine racks, and candy racks, and racks of other things which you ignore to head straight toward the back wall and the cooler which you hope is filled with abundant beverages, but which reflections and dark prevent you from discerning.

  The thirteen-year-old squeaks when she sees the coolers, and rushes past you to yank open one of the doors, then another. She’s checked three by the time you reach her, and your elation is dropping.

  The first one you open lets out a draft of stale air. It’s dark, but you can tell that it’s empty. The next one has a bottle of Dr Pepper, which is not what you want right now. Nevertheless, you say, “I found something.”

  “Me too,” Abby calls.

  “Yep,” the girl says.

  You meet back toward the front of the store, near the candy ranks, which you now see are just empty boxes. You examine your loot. Two bottles of water, one carbonated, a Dr Pepper, an exotic fruit flavored Diet Pepsi, and a single can of Milwaukee’s Best Light, which must have fallen out of the package, given how distressed the can looks.

  “Can I have the beer?” the girl asks.

  Abby starts to hand it to her, but then stops herself. “Kid, how old are you? I don’t think I should be giving you alcohol.”

  The girl shrugs. “It’s legal in Holland.”

  You frown at her, you don’t think that’s true.

  “Let’s see if we can find any food, then get back.” Abby says. She looks around the darkened store. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Oooh, scared?” the girl taunts.

  “Shh,” Abby says.

  “Don’t we want people to hear us?”

  “I just remembered that, don’t people live down here? I remember a story on that.” She makes a face. “Or maybe somewhere else. Underworld, where the two guys go through the subway?” She sucks her lower lip into her mouth. “Come on, let’s hurry up.”

  The three of you search the store, but don’t come up with much that you can use. There’s a bottle of lighter fluid, which you leave right where it is, a stale bag of chips. Or possibly crackers, you can’t tell. Probably stale because you were greedy and tried to eat them yourself, you think.

  You make one more round, but find nothing, so follow the others out.

  In the slightly greater light out here, the three of you examine the bounty.

  “Candy,” the girl says. “That’s good, right? Sugar? Our brains use sugar. We could live for like months off just candy. Until
we get scurvy, or rickets.”

  “There’s not much,” Abby says. She looks around again. She seems to be growing more and more nervous, which is making you more nervous. You wish she’d be calm again, like she was earlier, like you’d gotten used to her being. “Let’s get back to the others, so they know we’re okay. Split this stuff, then see if any of them want to help pry open that door, or try to get out through the sewer”

  Damn, you think. You were beginning to believe she had forgotten.

  “Ew,” the girl says, her face a mask of disgust. “Yeah, I guess we should try.” She looks at the bag of candy she holds. “Maybe I could stick these up my nose.”

  “I doubt that would help.”

  You all head back into the tunnels, back past the food cart, in into the hall of debris, and back to the smoky darkness; through the corridor of destruction, past the forking of the ways, into the chamber of isolation, and finally, at last, through the final doorway, into the room of deception.

  The doctor’s wife is talking as you enter. “And if you remember, we had already received one earlier. And this, you know, was quite a surprise finding it there.”

  “Did they say anything?” the long-haired man asks.

  But then the wife sees you. “You’re back! Is everyone okay?”

  “Okay and bearing gifts!” the thirteen-year-old says, holding up a bottle of water.

  This elicits a murmur of excitement from the group.

  The circle breaks up, and everyone gathers around the pile of food and drink on the bench Abby had been sitting on.

  “How do we split it up?” the man with the suit jacket asks.

  “I think the doctor should do it,” the champagne woman says.

  “We should split it evenly,” the long-haired man says.”

  “No,” the scruffy man says, “she has the right idea. For instance, I ate right before getting on the train, so I can conceivably go longer without.”

  “Yeah,” the champagne women continues, “and he knows everyone’s condition.” She turns to the doctor. “Right?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. And liquid at least, we should split it more or less equally, there’s not much variation in how much an individual needs, at least when we’re talking about survival levels and dehydration.”