The nurse seemed indifferent to Fantine, though—too busy trying to open the door leading to the main floor lobby.
Fantine ran beside her. “Is it locked?” Another gun shot from downstairs echoed through the stairwell. “Fuck.” She jiggled the door handle. “Don’t you assholes have, like, safety protocols?” She leaned in to inspect the space between the door and the frame. Not enough room to fit something like the nurse’s ID card through.
The nurse frowned. “Can you open it?”
“Do you care?”
“Look, lady, I wanna get the fuck out of here more than I need to do anything to you.” The nurse peered over her shoulder. “You get that door open, I’m gone.”
Fantine held a hand up to shush her and reached into her pockets. Nothing.
“Damn it.” Plan B. She reached behind her and snatched the pen knife back from its hiding place. Slipped it into her waistband. She yanked her bra off in a single pull and produced the knife again. “I have no idea how well this is going to work.” She sliced the fabric near the underwire of the bra open and tugged a length from it. It took some effort, but she was able to get a reasonable amount out. The only option was to use one of the first picks her mother taught her to make and use; the Bogota rake. The pick wasn’t ineffective, if anything, it’s strange, jittery end would be perfect for the cheap stairwell lock, but Fantine didn’t have all the supplies she needed to craft a proper pick. She used her fingers and knife to fashion the end of the pick to resemble peaks and valleys. It was half-assed to hell, but they had seconds to spare.
“You joking?” The nurse eyed Fantine’s makeshift pick.
“Shut up and go over here.” She positioned the nurse beside her, but facing the stairs leading down. She’d need a shield.
“Fuck me.”
“Stop whining.” Fantine jammed the rake into the keyhole of the knob. It got in, but she was thrown off. With actual lock picks, a pro picked up certain tactile cues from the lock. At this rate, she may as well have been trying to put in a screw with spaghetti. She tried her best to ignore that Placido was probably a floor below. She bit her lower lips and twisted the wire while alternating a twist of the doorknob. She followed these motions with a quick pull. Three attempts and nothing. No love from the lock. Then—click—the door opened. “Oh, thank fucking God.” She slipped the pen knife into a pocket.
Fantine jerked the door open. A torrent of water flowed over her ankles. It was cold—hard to ignore—and filthy. One look down and there was a brown ring on her pants where the water had reached a peak before settling down to engulf her sneakers. She shoved the female nurse away from her and ran out into the lobby. “Dad!”
“Fan, here.” Jae was down the hall. He’d been busy with the sad sacks Fantine forced upstairs. “Are all these boys drunk?”
Fantine caught up to him and smiled wearily. “Something like that.” Outside, the power looked to be out. No streetlights, no lights in the buildings. There were a few cars with their headlights flashing. It was as if the world had ended. The glass doors at the front entrance shook as the wind picked up again.
“Phones are all dead,” Jae said, “Something blew up further uptown, and then all the power went out. The sky turned orange out there for a second. Thought it was the end of the world.”
“Oh, fuck.” Fantine laughed awkwardly. She wanted to find the levity in all this. No, she needed to find the levity.
A shot rang out. Fantine turned to see the second nurse face down in the water. An angry Placido standing at the doorway. He eyed the escapees and snarled. Lifted the piece to aim at Fantine and pulled the trigger.
Fantine had luck on her side, the clip was empty. She grabbed her father’s hand and pulled. “Hate to say it, old man, but you’re gonna need to keep up.” She broke into a run. Counted on Jae to keep quiet and deal with it. They got to the front door and she pushed it open. Outside, the saved donors all milled around on the steps staring out into the street.
It hadn’t occurred to Fantine that all that water came into the building with a staircase leading up to the main entrance—a staircase that came up maybe four or five feet. She gasped as she caught site of the street. Only tops of cars were visible. Down the block, the Battery tunnel was clearly flooded. It was still pouring and the wind whipped detritus—tree branches and trash—everywhere. Water surged up in waist-high walls with every gust of wind.
“What do we do?” Jae asked.
Fantine turned to answer. Missed that chance when Placido tackled her at full speed, sending them both into the filthy, cold depths of the flood waters.
16
Fantine couldn’t see. She only felt the cold shock of water as she fell in. Heard the swish as the river poured into her ears. Salt scratched at her throat. Bubbles erupted from her nose and her sinuses screamed. The water wasn’t so deep that she couldn’t feel the concrete at her back. The trouble was the two-hundred-pound psychopath pushing her down with both hands.
He’s going to drown me, Fantine thought, he’s going to drown me and kill my father.
She reached up and tried to push him away, but the water and lack of oxygen made her useless. Her back lifted from the ground and struck down again. Something pinched at her waist. The knife. She reached down and found the grip. Her chest on fire, her eyes stinging, her fingers working against her. She swore she heard bubbles popping inside her head. It felt like hours before her hand wrapped around that pen knife, unsheathed the blade, and thrust it up. Where it found a home didn’t matter. Placido was a large enough target and the way he released her and jerked backwards let her know she hit pay dirt.
Fantine didn’t release the knife—no—she pulled her hand back and forth as many times as she could before the popping in her ears went silent. When she felt nothing in the path of the knife, she mustered the strength to push up and break the surface of the water. Fantine drank in the air instead of the filthy water and found a car to lean against. She could stand in the water, but it reached her neck. She decided it was a good choice to swing herself onto the hood of the car and let the oxygen get back to her brain. The coughing didn’t help—it got in the way of the dry-heaving from the taste of river water in her mouth.
She thought she heard her father call out to her, but there wasn’t time to answer back. Placido stood only feet away—lit by the slow strobe of headlights—teeth bared like an animal, his left eye closed and bleeding.
Fantine snarled. “I got you good.” Her head was pounding. She spit. Her mouth tasted like a New York City summer smelled. She had to ignore it. Not with Placido still standing. There was no way she could handle another attack from him. She had to stall him, or at best, find time to get a little more energy—lead him away from everyone else. Preferably closer to a place where other people lived. She stood on the roof of the car and turned to find a path behind her. There was no way she’d navigate without getting herself killed, but sticking around would do about the same. She dropped off the opposite side of the hood and pushed herself forward—a water-logged penguin walk towards what would hopefully be a shallower part of the flood.
She heard Placido’s curses behind her. He was getting closer—probably a swimmer.
The water was now to her waist and it only took a few more steps before Fantine could high step into a movement that resembled jogging. She took another step forward towards the center of the street. This was a mistake—the water was deeper there for some reason. Fantine wondered if there was an open manhole or worse, a sinkhole. There wasn’t time for that since she felt Placido’s now familiar grip on her shoulder.