The Impossible Coin (The Downwinders Book 2) (17 page)

“Oh god,” Marty said, his knees
slipping below the floor. “Not like this! Please! Not like this!”

Winn put all of his strength into
pulling Marty, afraid he might pull his arms from his sockets.

“Wait,” Marty said. “It’s slowing!”

They watched as Marty’s descent stopped,
and the ground around his legs solidified just above his knees.

Winn let go of Marty’s arms and dropped
to the ground. He used the flashlight to illuminate the concrete around Marty’s
legs – it was solid, as though Marty had been buried in cement as it had dried.
There was no way to remove him without getting a pickaxe and chipping him out.

“I shouldn’t have come in with
you,” Marty said. “This isn’t my mission. It’s yours. Come back after you’ve
done what you need to do. There’s a chance it’ll release me then.”

“What, just leave you here?” Winn
said, desperation in his voice.

“What choice do you have? I’m not
getting out of this. It doesn’t want me with you while you do this.”

“I could leave. Go back out the
window.”

“That isn’t why we came here,”
Marty said. “There’s a reason it’s buried my legs, Winn. Left you free so you
could try to pull me out of the mess, just like you tried to save Brent, but
couldn’t. It already knows why you’re here. Go on, finish this business, then
come back. Hopefully when it knows we’re leaving it’ll let me go with you.”
Marty reached into his back pocket and removed the flask. He opened it and took
a sip, then capped it and passed it to Winn. “Here, take this with you. I’ll be
fine here. It’s not going to do anything to me, it just wants you solo. I’ll be
fine. Go on.”

“Jesus, Marty, this wasn’t the
plan,” Winn said, taking the flask. “I hate leaving you.”

“No choice, buddy,” Marty said,
wiggling in place. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you
get back.” He smiled.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Go.”

“I’ll come back, as soon as I find
it. I won’t leave you.”

“I know you won’t,” Marty said.
“I’ve got the car keys.” He smiled again.

As frightened as Winn was to
abandon Marty, he turned and looked back into the basement, searching for the
stairs that would lead him to the main level. This time as he moved his
flashlight around, he couldn’t see people in the periphery. It made him think
he must be doing the right thing, he must he on the right track. There were
short walls that partitioned part of the basement, and he walked around them,
trying to find the stairwell. Eventually he had covered the entire basement,
and he found himself back where Marty was sunk in the ground.

“Can’t find it!” Winn said to
Marty. “Can’t find a stairwell. Maybe it’s hiding it from my view?”

“There has to be some way to get
up there. Ida said you work your way up through each level until you reach the
attic. Search again, but look up at the ceiling this time. Look for a door or a
chute – anything that looks like it goes up.”

Winn started again, following the
same search pattern he’d used the last time. As he walked, he kept the
flashlight on the ceiling, trying to see through pipes and cobwebs that lined
the underside of the floor above them, between large beams that seemed to run
the length of the house. He couldn’t find anything that looked like a door, and
he was beginning to think the house was playing a trick on him, deliberately
hiding the stairs so that he couldn’t find it, when he came across an opening
in the ceiling, hidden away near a corner. It looked just over two feet wide by
eighteen inches, almost too small to enter.
That can’t be it,
he
thought.
It’s too small. I’ll never fit in there.

He made his way back to Marty. “I
found a chute. Looks like it goes up.”

“Good!” Marty said. “Go for it!”

“It’s small. I’m not sure I can
even get into it.”

“Must be something like a laundry
chute. If you haven’t found any other way, then that’s got to be it. You’re got
to try.”

Winn sighed. “Alright. If I make
it through, I guess this is it until I come back.”

“Go!” Marty said. “The sooner you
get it done, the sooner I can get out of this!”

Winn left Marty and returned to
the corner where he found the chute. He got under it and shined the flashlight
up into it – it seemed to go on forever, and it looked small. Too small.

He needed a few extra feet to
reach it, so he glanced around the room. There were two wooden crates nearby.
When he dragged them into position under the chute, he got the feeling this was
not the first time the crates had been used for this purpose.

The crates gave him enough height
to raise his arms and shoulders up into the chute. There was nothing to grab
onto, so he had to use pressure between his arms and his back. He jumped from
the crates, and then pressed his back into place, feeling his legs dangling
under him.

I won’t be able to stay this
way for long,
he thought.
If I don’t get my legs up into the chute
quick, I’ll lose what strength I have.

He used his arms to slide his back
further up the chute, bringing his waist and legs into it. The smooth wood of
the chute was just inches from his face, making him feel claustrophobic. Panic
began to overtake him as he felt the chute was closing in on him, becoming
smaller and smaller the higher he went. He looked down, trying to see the dim light
at the bottom of the chute.

I could just let go and slide
back down,
he thought.
If it becomes too much, I can escape like that.
Straight down and into the basement. I might not have enough strength to climb
back up again, but at least I can get out if I have to. It isn’t like I’m
sealed up in here.

He watched in horror as the light
at the bottom of the chute slowly lessened until it became black. Something had
covered over the bottom of the chute, and he was left in total darkness. He
looked above him - it was as dark as it was in front of his face.

He reached out with his right hand
and felt the wood – it seemed so close, as if there were only inches between
his face and the side of the shaft. He tried not to panic, but he could feel
his heartbeat pounding in his ears, betraying how anxious he felt. As he drew
in his next breath, it seemed labored, difficult.
I’m running out of air!
He
suddenly thought.
I’m trapped in here, and I’ll die. It’s like being buried
alive!

His heartbeat increased and he
felt himself gulping for air. He pressed against the wood, trying to force it
apart, to make the sides of the chute burst open so he could escape. The wood
held firm, and his arms began to ache. He knew it was a useless move, but he
kept pressing anyway, unable to control the panic he felt.

“Help!” he screamed. “I’m trapped!
Help me! Marty! I can’t breathe!”

He felt defeated, trapped like an
animal in a tube. He pressed harder against the wood, feeling absolutely no
give. His shoulders began to ache.

Although it made no difference to
what he could see, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would ease his
discomfort at the idea of the chute so close to his face. He’d never felt this
level of anxiety before. Even crawling through caves with Brent, it had never
been like this.
I might as well be trapped in a coffin underground, buried
alive!
he thought.
No air. No way to get out.

But there were ways to get out.
Drop, and find out what had covered the bottom of the chute. Or, continue up.
Keep going.

Out of sheer desperation, he began
pushing himself back up the chute, scraping his back against the wood as he
forced his torso to rise within the shaft. Soon he’d raised another couple of
feet, and focusing on the movement made him feel a little better, lessening the
feeling that he was trapped. His legs were the primary way of going up – he
could get the most leverage with them, and he used his arms to keep himself
stable within the chute after each rise. He felt like an inchworm, moving
barely a foot at a time.

After what seemed like an
eternity, his hands slipped over an opening in the chute, right in front of his
face. He pressed his hand into the opening; it was only a couple of inches deep.
He pushed on the wood inside the recession, and a small door, hinged at the
bottom, dropped down away from him, exposing the first floor of the house to
his view.
This must be the door to the laundry chute on the ground floor,
he
thought. The opening was small, but he might be able to go through it. The
chute continued to rise above him to the other floors, but he was not going to
stay in it any longer than necessary. If he could squeeze through this opening,
he was going to do it.

He reached through the opening
with both arms and pulled, feeling his head and shoulders pass through it, and
he knew he’d be able to make it. With his arms now on the outside of the small
door, he pressed on the walls of the room the door had opened into, and
extracted the rest of his body from the hole, sliding down a couple of feet to
meet the floor.

Out!
he thought, taking big
breaths.
So that’s what people mean by claustrophobia. I’ll never go into
something small like that again, if I can help it. Never.

He stood and looked around the
room, reaching into his pants pocket. The plaster on the walls had fallen,
revealing old slats that you could see through to other rooms. There was a pile
of broken furniture in a corner, stacked up long ago, with chair legs jutting
out.

He turned on the flashlight and
walked out of the room, watching his step. Piles of plaster and wood were here
and there, and he saw nails sticking out of some of the boards, which made him
paranoid of stepping on one. He weaved his way through the debris and into
larger rooms on this level, where sunlight from outside tried to enter the
house through separations in the wood that had been used to board up the
windows. Looking for a stairwell, he crossed through the room and toward the
front of the house. Sure enough, a large wide staircase was there, leading up.
It looked old and ready to cave in. He stepped onto the first step and waited
to see how it handled his weight, then he took another step, again testing the
wood’s integrity. It seemed to hold him. He carefully walked up, the lower
rooms disappearing, and the flooring of the next level coming into view.

He could hear people talking. It
sounded like they were outside, their voices faint. A man and a woman,
discussing something. He stopped walking and tried to listen. The sound went
away.

The house creaked around him,
adjusting to the heat of the day. Then, footsteps overhead, on the next floor
up. Someone was up there.

The vorghost,
he thought.
That’s
the ghost up there.

At the stairwell landing a hallway
proceeded to his right and left. Down the hallway to the right he could hear
more movement, and he expected to see people walk out of the doorways at any
second. He wanted to find the next set of stairs that would lead up to the
third floor, and he assumed they’d be behind him, stacked on top of the stairs
he’d just come up. So he turned left, ignoring the hallway. Sure enough, a
second set of stairs appeared.

There was a part of him that
wanted to stop and explore the second level, check out what was in the rooms
down that hallway. He knew it was unlikely that there’d be real people in them;
ghosts, most likely, like the images he saw in the basement. He didn’t know if
they were real, or just images put there by the vorghost. But the same
inquisitiveness that had drawn him into the cave with Brent years ago made him
want to stop and check out the rooms. Then he thought about Marty, trapped in
the basement, and knew he had to get to his goal as quickly as he could. The
vorghost was supposed to be in the attic, above the third level. Maybe after he
was done and he and Marty were safe, he could explore the house more. He
started up the stairs.

The third level came into view,
looking a lot like the second. He turned around the broken banister at the top,
and checked out the hallway to the left, hoping he’d find another stairway up,
but there was none. He’d reached the top of the house as far as normal stairs
were concerned. Turning back, he saw the hallway running down past open
doorways – laid out exactly like the second floor.

Well,
he thought,
I
guess I get to explore this level. Got to find the way up into the attic.

There was a thump from the floor
below. It sounded as if a body had fallen to the floor. It resurrected his
feelings of being trapped, as though his way out was now cut off. For a quick
second he thought about bolting back down the stairs and leaping headfirst into
the chute, diving down it as quickly as possible. But then what? Marty, stuck
in the ground? Would they be able to leave?

He looked down the hallway, the
flashlight starting to sputter. He banged it against his hand, and the light
returned to full intensity. Then he started down the hallway, sticking his head
into each room as he passed, lighting the ceiling, looking for an opening.

More talking, outside. People.
They were talking about using the side of the house for target practice.
Shit!
he thought.
I could get shot in here!

Another thump! From downstairs,
followed by steps on the stairs. Something was coming up.

This is all the vortex,
he
thought.
Playing tricks, like Ida said. Just keep searching for the way up
to the attic.

But the sounds were damn hard to
ignore. He heard the crack of a rifle, and the sound of splintering wood below
him. Three more shots in quick succession.

As he turned into each room he
expected to encounter something horrible, an image of a murder, or some grisly
apparition coming at him. But the rooms were always empty. The horror he felt
was from the sounds he was hearing, and the things his mind was creating in
response to those sounds.