Drop him! Lose the weight, you’re not a nursemaid, for Chrissake, this isn’t you, Ada—
“I’m thirsty,” Leon whispered, his breath warm across her neck. She looked up into his gore-stained, blinking face and found that the voice inside was easier to ignore this time. She’d have to leave him, of course, in the end there would have to be a parting of the ways—
“Then we’ll have to find you some water,” she said, and steered him gently in the direction she needed to g°.
Sherry woke up in the dark, a terrible, bitter taste in her mouth, a river of cold gunk tugging at her clothes. There was a rumbling sound all around her, a sound like the sky was falling, and for a second, she couldn’t remember what had happened or where she was—and when she realized that she couldn’t move, she panicked. The thundering sound was fading, fading and then gone—but she was stuck in some awful stinking river, pressed against cold, wet hardness, and she was alone.
She opened her mouth to scream—and then re-membered the screaming monster, the monster and then the giant bald man, and then Claire. Remember-ing Claire stopped her from screaming; somehow, the image of her was like a soothing touch, easing through the blind terror and allowing her to think. Got sucked into a drain hole, and now I’m—some-where else, and screaming won’t help.
It was a brave thought, a strong thought, and it made her feel better to think it. She pushed herself away from the hardness at her back, treading the dark water, and discovered that she wasn’t stuck at all; she had been up against a row of bars or openings in the rock, and the force of the current had held her there—held her, and probably saved her from drowning. The disgusting goop was flowing around her, tinkling and burbling like a regular old stream, not nearly as strong as before—and the bad taste in her mouth meant that she must have swallowed some of it. ...
Thinking that opened up the rest of her memory. She’d been floating along and then had gotten twisted somehow, and had gulped some of the horrible, chemical-tasting liquid and freaked out—passed out, she thought.
At least the noise had stopped, whatever that had been, a sound like a moving train, maybe, or a giant truck, roaring away .. . and now that she was more awake, she realized that she could see. Not very much, but enough to know that she was in a big room filled with water, and there was a tiny, feeble shaft of light coming down from high above.
There has to be a way out. Somebody built this place, they had to have a way out. . . .
Sherry swam a little farther into the big room, and kicking, she felt the toes of her shoes glance off against something hard. Something hard and flat. Feeling stupid for not thinking of it already, she took a deep breath, lowered her legs—and stood up. The water was all the way up to her shoulders, but she could stand.
The last traces of panic slipped away as she stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly, her eyes finally getting the most from the weak light—and saw the ladder shape against the far wall. She was still scared, no question, but the sight of the shadowy rungs meant she’d found the way out. Sherry lifted her feet and paddled toward the ladder, proud of how she was handling herself.
No screaming, no crying. Just like Claire said.
Strong.
She reached the ladder and pulled her knees up to the bottom rung, a few inches above the surface. She got her feet beneath her and started to climb, grimac-ing at the thick, slimy feel of the metal bars beneath
her pruned fingers. The ladder seemed to go on forever, and when she risked a look down to see how high she’d gone, she could only see a tiny, shimmering patch of the water’s lapping top where the light hit it directly. She could see the source of the light, too—a narrow slit in the ceiling, not much higher than where she was.
Almost to the top. And if I fall, I won’t get hurt.
There’s nothing to be scared of.
Sherry swallowed heavily, willing the thought to be true, and looked up again.
A few more rungs, and when she reached up for the next, her hand touched a bumpy metal ceiling. She felt a burst of accomplishment, pushing at it with one hand—
• and it didn’t move. Not at all.
“Shit,” she whispered, but it didn’t sound annoyed, the way she’d hoped; the word sounded small and lonely, almost like a plea.
Sherry hooked an elbow through the rung she was holding, touched her pendant for luck, and tried again, really pushing this time. Straining with all of her might, she thought she felt it give, just a little—but not anywhere near enough. She lowered her hand, cursing silently this time; she was trapped. For several minutes she didn’t move, not wanting to go back down into the water, not wanting to believe that she really was stuck—but her arms were getting tired, and she didn’t want to jump, either. Finally, she started down, much more slowly than she’d come up. Each step lower was like admitting defeat. She was perhaps a third of the way back to the water when she heard the footsteps overhead—a light thumping at first, more of a vibration than anything, but then quickly redefined into separate steps, getting louder. Then closer—and getting louder still, ap-proaching the top of the pit where she’d awakened. Sherry gave about a second’s thought to ignoring the footsteps and then scrambled up the ladder, deciding that it was worth the risk; it might not be Claire, or even anyone who meant her well—but it could be her only chance at escape.
She started shouting before she got back to the top.
“Hello! Help, can you hear me? Hello, hello!” The footsteps seemed to pause, and as she reached the ceiling again, still calling out, she hit the metal several times with her fist.
“Hello, hello, hello!”
Another smack with her decidedly sore hand—and suddenly she was hitting air, and a blinding light was in her face.
“Sherry! Oh, my God, sweetie, I’m so glad you’re okay!”
Claire, it was Claire, and Sherry couldn’t see her but was nearly overwhelmed with delight at the sound of her voice. Strong, warm hands helped her up, warm, damp arms were hugging her tightly. Sherry blinked and squinted, and started to be able to make out the features of a vast room through the brilliant white haze.
“How did you know it was me?” Claire asked, still holding her.
“Didn’t. But I couldn’t get out by myself, and I heard walking. . . ”
Sherry looked around at the big room that Claire had pulled her into, feeling stunned amazement that Claire had heard her at all. The room was huge, spanned by a series of thin metal catwalks laid out in diagonals—and the section of floor that she’d come out of was at the farthest corner of the darkest part of the room, the panel that Claire had lifted only a couple of feet across.
Man. If I hadn ‘t knocked, or if she’d been going any faster....
“I’m very glad it’s you,” Sherry said firmly, and Claire grinned, looking just as happy and amazed as Sherry felt.
Claire knelt in front of her, her smile fading a little. “Sherry—I saw your mom. She’s okay, she’s alive—“ “Where? Where is she?” Sherry blurted, excited by the news—but feeling a kind of nervous uncertainty tensing her muscles suddenly, making it hard to breathe.
She looked into Claire’s worried gray eyes, and saw that she was thinking about lying again—that she was trying to figure out the best way to tell her something unpleasant. Even a few hours ago, Sherry might have let her do it, too—
• but not anymore. Strong and brave we have to be.... “Tell me, Claire. Tell me the truth.”