Deadly News: A Thriller (14 page)

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.”

Despite his protestations, the doctor does end up in charge of ‘snacks’, as the thirteen-year-old calls them. You drink your ration of water too quickly, but it is so, so good. It hurts your throat going down, but in a good way, a way that lets you know, ‘Death may not have been far, but I’ve taken care of that now.’

You also have a handful of skittles, which are beginning to melt in your palm. You think of all the dirty things you’ve touched, and wish you’d brought some of those cups from the kitchen.

“That’s the last of the water,” the doctor says, holding up an empty bottle. “We have Perrier, some soda, and a beer—which I suggest no one drink. I’d suggest waiting, but it’s up to you.”

Abby quickly swallows the candy bar she has been chewing. “About waiting. We also—” She swallows again. “We also found a way out—”

“What!” the women who’s barely spoken cries out.

Abby makes a calming gesture at the women. “I know, I know. It’s not exactly easy though.” She rushes through the next part before she can be interrupted. “It’s through a sewer, and we don’t even know if it will actually lead us out of here. I mean, of course it has to lead somewhere, but it doesn’t mean we can get out, fit through”—she throws up her hands—“whatever it is.”

“A sewer?” The man with the suit jacket asks. He wears the same look the thirteen-year-old had earlier, enough to make you look between them to see if the resemblance is only imagined. “With… Sewage?”

“Duh,” the girl says. “What else would be there? Potpourri? Gold fish?” She looks away. “Well, we might find dead gold fish.” A wide grin spreads across her face, and she looks at the man with the suit jacket as she says, “We could go fishing. They’re pre-marinated.”

“Ugh. You know, there’s a song, it goes, ‘Teenagers scare, the living shit out of me.’ It’s very accurate.”

While you were distracted by this exchange, Abby, the doctor, his wife, and the scruffy man were talking, though you don’t know what they said, since you had, after all, been distracted. You focus in on them now, tuning out the girl and the man, and also the long-haired man who has joined in by singing a part of the song the suit jacket man recited.

“Alone?” the wife asks.

“She’s right,” the doctor says. “It’s safer that way, no need to risk everyone.”

“Right,” Abby agrees. “And it’s better if most of us stay here.”

“Wait for rescue,” the scruffy man says, nodding.

“How long will it take?” the quiet woman asks.

Abby looks at her, smiles. “Don’t know, but I’m in good shape, I can move quick. I’ll go as fast as I safely can.”

You really don’t like the idea of this. What if she does get out? Even if she means to come back, wouldn’t it be more likely, indeed easier and more reasonable to just tell the police where everyone else was than to crawl back in through sewage and tell the rest of them the way was clear?

Even you couldn’t fault her for sending a proxy instead of coming back herself.

You’ll have to go with her, you decide, and can already smell the stench, imagine the slimy feel of the blackwater as it washes over your legs, seeps into your clothes and up toward— “I’ll go with you.”

The three of them stop conversing and look at you.

Abby shakes her head. “I don’t think—”

“Look,” you interrupt, “it will be safer if there’s two of us. What if something happens to you? Or me? With two of us, one can came back for help.”

She contemplates this.

“That does sound like a good idea,” the wife says. She looks you over. “Should you go, or maybe…”

“I’ll go,” you say.

Abby shrugs. “Okay.” She grimaces. “This isn’t gonna be fun.”

Ten minutes later, trudging through dilute human waste, you agree with her earlier assessment. You try to only breathe through your mouth, but this doesn’t seem to help.

At a fork, the two of you pause.

“Any ideas?”

You look at both passageways. Neither looks better than the other. You randomly point to your right.

“Sure, why not.” She heads off in that direction, and you follow.

You wonder if you should have tried to put more effort into deciding, maybe see if you could feel a breeze coming from one direction.

As you continue on, the tunnel seems to shrink in around you. You are not sure if this is just in your head, until said body part scrapes against the ceiling.

“It’s getting tight,” Abby says, hunching down.

You follow suit and you both continue on. Shorty, you reach a sight that fills you with both joy and dread.

“A ladder!”

“Yeah,” you call ahead.

“Okay,” Abby says, facing you. You’ve both stopped at the ladder. Looking up, you see it’s rather tall; the rungs disappear into darkness. “I’ll go first, you wait here until I get back or call you up.”

You begin to object, but it’s too late. She climbs the ladder swiftly. Soon she is out of sight, and the only evidence you are not alone is the sound she makes ascending.

After what feels like far too long, you shout upward. “Abby?”

“Hold on,” her voice echoes back. It sounds strained.

You hear a dull thudding. Then it sounds like she’s coming back down.

“Fuck!”

“What?”

“I think it goes to a street, or, I don’t know, a manhole anyway. It seemed kinda quiet.” She kicks at the water, and some splashes on you. You’re already so dirty— but still, you take a step back. “Sorry. But I can’t budge it.”

“Want me to try?”

She shakes her head. “If you want. I think it’s welded. I don’t know, it might just be a drain hole or something. I don’t really know anything about sewers.” She looks at you expectantly.