Deadly News: A Thriller (13 page)

Shutting the door, she looked around the place. There seemed to be fewer vehicles than she had remembered. The only other thing of interest on this level was a smallish room, maybe an office, near the center. It had four half-glass walls, so she could tell that it was unoccupied.

“This is weird,” she mumbled without realizing as she walked toward it. Her footsteps were not loud, but there was no other noise, and so she could hear their echoes.

The door was locked. She peered in through the glass, but there didn’t seem to be anything of interest. Just a cabinet, two—no, three, and a trunk, which seemed odd to her.

She leaned away and sighed. Upstairs it was.

The quietness began to wear on her as she walked, and she was becoming more and more convinced that everyone had left. Had left her, and she was alone. “Great fucking job protecting me,” she whispered, shaking her head as she climbed the stairs.

She paid more attention this time, looking for alternate routes. It was also much darker up here than down below, which made it much creepier.

She thought she heard something, and halted. As she listened, her own breath seemed to grow in volume. All she heard was vague ringing and her own breathing and heartbeat.

She licked her lips and continued on. She thought she had gotten lost, but then came to the dim hallway. She followed it to the door she had been taken to earlier. It was locked. She checked her pockets for her key, found it, and opened the door.

She entered into a completely black room. Her breathing quickened as she frantically slid her hand up, down, and across the wall looking for a switch. When she couldn’t find one, she reached for her cell phone to use for light, but of course, that was gone too.

There’s no one else here
, she told herself.
I’m alone. All alone.
She continued sliding her hand on the wall, imagining dark shapes darting around to avoid her, all the better to frighten her when she did turn on the lights. Or maybe she wouldn’t ever find the lights, and they’d lock her in so they could torment her with sounds in the dark.

The room lit up. Abby froze. She hadn’t felt any switch.

“Abby,” a familiar voice said.

Oh God, she thought. No, not him. Move, she thought. Move.

She did, quickly taking in the room. It was empty. “What do you want?” she asked the empty air.

No reply.

She frowned. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

She searched the room for speakers or cameras, even checked the three air vents she found. But there was nothing obvious.

She sat down on ‘her’ bed, telling herself she had just imagined it, but then she remembered the lights. She scanned the walls. There were no light switches. A sensor? Timer?

“What the fuck?” she said with exasperation, falling backward onto the bed. The FBI had taken her into protective custody, and then left her all alone. “What the…” She threw her arm across her eyes. Then she groaned and got up. At the door, she listened for a moment, then quickly locked it. Doing this made her feel better than it should have. Though now she didn’t feel much like lying down again.

Instead, she went to what looked to be a window with curtains covering it, and peeked through. It was a wall. She sighed and went back to the bed. She was stuck here, unless she wanted to walk. Was it night? she wondered.

She looked around the room for some indication of the time, but there was none.

She again lay on the bed, trying to figure out what to do. It was weird how tired she was. Coffee or tea would be good. It’d been awhile since she’d had any.

And so, Abby drifted off to sleep, thoughts of creamy caramel and mocha lattes and boba tea occupying her conscious thoughts, until they faded away into the dark, and she had no more.

“They just left you?” the man with the suit asks.

You can’t believe it either. You never exactly thought of the FBI as optimal babysitters or anything, but still.

Abby chuckles. “You know, out of everything that happened, that was one of the strangest.” She nods as she goes on, “I mean, it seems less crazy now that I know why, but—” she shakes her head and lets out a short laugh.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense,” the doctor says.

“I’ve been talking a lot. I’m really thirsty.” She looks at the thirteen-year-old. “And someone didn’t find any water.”

“What? No. Like you said, I didn’t find any. Not my fault. We can go back there if you want. Maybe there’s food, or other things I missed.” She purses her face. “I don’t think I was— I was kinda out of it when I went there, you know?”

“I’m not leaving here,” the man with the suit jacket says.

“The two of us can go.”

“I’ll join you,” you say.

Abby looks at you, then nods. “Anyone else?”

“We should wait for rescue,” the man says, now clutching the jacket.

“We are,” the doctor’s wife says. “Doesn’t mean we can’t look for supplies.”

Abby stands, and the thirteen-year-old follows suit.

You do as well.

“If they haven’t gotten to us yet, that probably means it’s going to take them some time to get down here. So yeah, we should look for supplies.”

“They might be worried about another bomb,” the long-haired man says.

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. This 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.