Shock Wave

by Dana Mentink

  “I’m not going to bother you,” she told the rat. “Just here to find a woman. Have you seen one?”

  The rat twitched his whiskers and turned away, disappearing back into the yawning darkness. She trained the flashlight toward the place where he had retreated. Cool air blew in from the gap. On impulse she turned the flashlight around and rapped on part of the wall that was intact.

  Let there be an answer.

  She rapped a few more times just to be sure there was no reply before she edged around the bricks and continued on. The corridor ended abruptly at a closed door, hanging crookedly on its hinges. She pushed at it and it swung open a few inches until it hit an obstruction on the other side. The gap was only about four inches wide. Shoving her flashlight in the crack, she could not see much, but one item made her heart leap. It was an old piece of lighting equipment, twisted and rusted from many years of disuse.

  Bingo. She’d found her way into one of the many theater storage areas, which she estimated was somewhere under the stage.

  She kicked at the door, startled when a shower of grit trickled down on her from above. “Antonia,” she shouted into the gap. “Are you in there?”

  Bracing her back against the jamb, she propped her feet on the metal door and pushed with all her might, yielding only a fraction of an inch for all of her effort.

  “Antonia?” she yelled louder. A spider scuttled down the wall and she drew back.

  She pulled out her phone and texted Antonia again.

  Where r u?

  Her breath caught when the phone came to life with a reply.

  In...

  She waited with bated breath for the rest. Nothing else materialized. Sage chewed her lip and pushed again at the door, but she did not have the strength to move it any more. Use your head, Sage. She looked around for something to use as leverage.

  She retraced her steps down the corridor, scanning the debris on the floor for some bit of pipe or broken board that might be useful. She made it back to the pile of bricks without finding a thing. Once again she beamed the light over the heap, but this time she noticed an area just to the side of the pile that was clear of debris. It gleamed like a dark black eye against the brickwork. Gingerly, she climbed up until she reached the spot, which was about the size of a loaf of bread. She pushed away some of the loose bricks and cleared a larger area, knocking at the aged mortar until the opening was big enough to accommodate her.

  Sharp fragments pressed into her stomach as she beamed the flashlight into the hole. She could not tell if it opened into the same storage room she’d been trying to access via the door. What was on the other side? Unstable ceiling? Live electrical wires? An impenetrable darkness that would swallow her whole?

  Tremors swept through her torso, her breathing sounding loud and raspy in her own ears. Her body tensed in expectation of explosions, of bullets, of death. And after that...what? Luis had firmly believed he would be delivered into the very presence of God. It sustained him at the end and he had squeezed her hand even as he bled to death, comforting her while he lay dying.

  Comforting Sage.

  The woman who had led him there.

  Comforting the woman who had killed him.

  Luis said that Jesus forgave all, and how could a human being do any less? She tried to remember her childhood, when she knew God was real and Jesus forgave all just as clearly as she knew the sun would rise in the morning. When had that sweet certainty slipped away?

  Battling back the panic that lay so near the surface of her mind, she inched forward, her head almost through the gap. A hand grasped her ankle and she cried out.

  Trey stood beneath her, fury painted on his face. “Planning a one-man sortie?”

  She tried for a nonchalant shrug. “One-woman sortie. You scared me.”

  “I’m not even going to waste my breath,” he snapped.

  She noticed he carried a pack. “Stocked up at the hotel?”

  “I packed supplies. You know what supplies are, right? Those things you need during a well-planned rescue attempt?”

  She huffed. “All right. I get it. You’re angry, but I got a text from Antonia.”

  His eyes widened. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. It just said ‘in’ and that was that. I was trying to get through the door, but it’s wedged so I moved on to plan B, as you would say.”

  Trey’s posture was still taut with anger as he left her to try and ram through the door. Though his muscles bulged with the effort, his attempts were no more successful than hers. When he rejoined her, he seemed calmer, as if the physical exertion had drained away some of the anger.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said, starting to climb up next to her.

  They both stopped as the pile trembled beneath them.

  “Earthquake,” he barked, flattening himself on the pile and covering her head with his upper body.

  A storm of tiny particles rained down on them. Her neck was twisted at such an angle that she could see the water below, swirling and rippling like a river current. The shaking continued, increasing in intensity.

  Sage clamped her lips together to keep from crying out as the pile shuddered and slid underneath them.

  The trembling stopped suddenly, but an echo of a scream remained in the air.

  Trey lifted his head and eased off of her, his eyes wide and questioning. “That scream wasn’t from you, was it?”

  Sage shook her head slowly, still dizzy. “It came from behind there.”

  They both turned their attention back toward the opening, listening to the echo of the woman’s scream as it died away.

  TEN

  Trey eased quickly through the hole and offered a hand to Sage, surprised when she actually took it. Her fingers were chilled in his, trembling violently.

  “Okay?” he said, trying to squeeze some warmth back into them.

  She didn’t look at him. “Sure.”

  When they were through they both began to yell Antonia’s name, their shouts echoing and swirling through the chamber. From somewhere below the sound of water grew louder, but Trey could not discern any answering call from Antonia.

  “Where are we?” Sage asked, climbing onto a squat wooden box to keep her feet out of the water.

  They both shone their flashlights around the darkness.

  “In some lower level storage, I think.” Trey used the light to point at a metal shaft with a collection of mangled gears sprinkled around it. “It’s the bottom of an elevator platform.”

  Sage could see it now, a network of pipes and levers that vanished into the upper darkness. “They were used to raise and lower performers so they could appear and disappear.” She thought of an opera she’d attended with Barbara when they were barely out of their teens. Tosca, Puccini’s tragic heroine, distraught at the death of her beloved Mario, hurled herself out of the castle window to her death. Though the moment was accomplished with nothing more than some clever stagecraft utilizing a platform like the one in front of them now, the effect was startling.

  Trey drew her out of the memory. “Stage tricks before the high-tech days.”

  “It must have been dangerous,” Sage mused. “The platforms moved quickly.” She peered closer. “Not many safety measures built in.”

  “So that means,” Trey said, craning his neck, “somewhere up there is the stage. Maybe two stories up?”

  Sage wasn’t looking up. Trey found her gazing at the water instead. “I think it’s rising.”

  He’d been so focused elsewhere he hadn’t noticed. Now he realized the water was flooding in from somewhere and the level was indeed creeping up slowly, but steadily. It was well past his ankles. “Pipes must have ruptured. They had to be rusted in the first place.” He located a pipe near the ceiling that spilled water down the cement
wall and wondered how many gallons per minute were now pouring into the space. “We don’t have much time.”

  “It sounded like the scream came from above,” Sage said.

  “Only way up is the elevator shaft,” Trey said. Not a surprising turn of events. Nothing about the last two days had been easy so far and that didn’t bother him, but he wished he could go it alone, without feeling the inexplicable need to make sure Sage didn’t get into any more trouble.

  That was a useless wish. True to form, she was already climbing down from the box and splashing toward the rickety contraption. Trey pulled the radio from his pocket. “Derick, can you hear me?”

  A crackle of static preceded Derick’s relieved reply. “Ten-four, Captain Black. You’re not clear, but I can hear you. I was worried after that little shaker. What’s happening? Where are you exactly? Have you found her?”

  He wasn’t sure if Derick’s last question referred to Sage or Antonia. “We heard a woman’s scream.” He relayed the route they’d taken.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Rosalind’s gone for the police, but she’s not back yet.”

  “You might not be able to get through if the water rises much higher. Pipes are shot down here.” And adding a couple more people is the last thing we need in this wreck.

  “Not a problem. Rosalind and I are both great swimmers, and I can hold my breath for nearly a minute.”

  Superhero Sly Steel was back. Swell. “Right. We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Ten-four. Over and out.”

  Trey resisted an eye roll as he moved the radio to his pack to keep it above the waterline and waded after Sage. The elevator was a crisscross of rusted pipes. It supported the actual platform, which was suspended some thirty feet above them, probably at stage level. He presumed if he could climb the network of pipes, there would be a way to exit on to the main stage, which was the most likely place from which the scream had come.

  Sage had obviously arrived at the same conclusion. As she grasped the first rung of pipe to start the climb, he laid a hand on her arm. The simple touch seemed to send a shock wave through her and she pulled away so quickly she lost her grip on the bar. He caught her easily, cradling her against his chest, surprised again at how petite she felt there in his embrace. In an action that was no more than a reflex, he was sure, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Sparks charged through his body at the feel of her, painting trails of warmth through his belly and up to his heart. He could not resist putting his mouth to the delicate shell of her ear and whispering, “I’ve got you.”

  She gave what might have been the saddest sigh he had ever heard as she pulled away. “Let me guess,” she said. “You want to go first.”

  The words were sarcastic, but there was something in the tone that betrayed uncertainty, vulnerability, longing even. He was not sure how to respond to it, nor was he sure why he wanted to press her again to his chest. She reminded him of the falcons he’d seen trailing through the impossibly blue skies over Afghanistan. Fierce, strong, determined, but at the same time so delicate that one break in a single slender hollow bone would render them flightless. The previous women in his life had not been nearly this complicated.... Or fascinating, his mind supplied from some deep recess where good sense did not reside. Get it together, Black.

  He swallowed the confusing emotions and edged in front of her. “Yep, I should go first. If the platform starts to come down, I’ll yell.”

  “And what do I do if that happens?” she said, starting up after him.

  “Make yourself as small as you can against the side.”

  He heard her sniff, unconvinced. “And what exactly will you do?”

  “Pray,” he said automatically.

  That silenced her. Trey had to admit he’d sent up a bucketload of prayers already since he’d met this maddening woman a year ago in the middle of a war. Falcons could be admired from afar but for some reason that only God could understand, he was once again up-close and personal with Sage Harrington, their lives linked firmly together. The bars were cold and caked with rust under his fingers. Though he was happy to be out of the rapidly pooling water, their current condition was not optimal.

  He planted each foot carefully. Sage moved steadily behind him. About three meters up, he shouted again, “Antonia, can you hear me?”

  There might have been a faint reply, or it could as easily have been the old metal protesting under the weight of their ascent. He made it another meter before a pipe broke under his hand, sending him off balance. Skidding down the length of the pipe, he managed to catch himself on the crossbeam, wrapping his legs around it like a bear cub clinging to a tree. He heard Sage calling, voice tight and high.

  “Trey?”

  “It’s all right. I’m secure.”

  Heart pounding, he let out a breath and heard her do the same from below.

  “Let’s not do that again, shall we?” she said.

  He smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, climbing back up, ignoring the abrasions on his palms from his slide down the rusted length of metal. The air was cold and the constant sound of dripping water and creaking metal competed with the loud beating of his heart. He and Sage were now a few more meters from the bottom of the platform. To his right was a fairly solid cement wall. To the left was a small passage that appeared to open onto a sub-stage level. It was too dark for him to see much. To Trey’s mind the Imperial was a ridiculous rabbit warren of poorly planned architecture, and he intended to share his thoughts with Derick in no uncertain terms. The thing was ripe for the wrecking ball and nothing else.

  Then again, Derick already agreed with him on that, judging from his earlier comments. The only reason he had any interest in the opera house was Barbara, who was either in New Mexico vacationing or the victim of foul play, according to Sage. They’d better find Antonia soon and hope she could shed some light on the whole ridiculous mess, if they survived. He felt a slight shudder in the pipes under his feet.

  A low rumbling moan reverberated around them, the noise escalating with every passing second. He could feel the kinetic energy shuddering through the pipes, in his fingers and under his feet, increasing until it was a live thing pulsing all around them. Something snapped above his head.

  “Is that sound coming from...?” Sage began.

  “Incoming” was all he could think to yell, as the elevator platform above them began to fall.

  * * *

  She didn’t have time to reason it out, only to dive in the direction Trey did, left, into yet another dark void. Something metal rubbed across her cheek and she felt an enormous air disturbance as the platform careened past them, thundering back down to the bottom. The boards underneath her bucked and shook as if in the grip of an earthquake, and she held on to the nearest pipe she could fasten her hands around.

  The horrible sound and vibration seemed to last for hours though it could not have been more than a minute. With a final boom, the platform hit bottom, sending a billow of fragments and a shower of water back up the chute.

  Sage lay still on her back, feeling the sifting of dust on her face but unable to raise her arm to stop it.

  She breathed in and out, eyes closed, listening to her lungs trying to keep up, pleading with her mind not to take her back to that war, to the time and place she could not escape no matter how hard she tried. When the darkness became unbearable, she opened her eyes. Trey was sitting next to her, his expression showing that he understood, that he, too, had been rocketed back in time to the battlefield with its explosions and agony and death.

  “Sucks you into the past, doesn’t it?” he said softly, forcing out a slow exhale. “But we’re here, and we’re all right.”

  She wondered if he said it as much for himself as for her. “Do you...?” She swallowed. “Do you have flashbacks?”

  “Some days none at all and
others...” He rubbed the grit from his chin. “Other days it seems like I just arrived home.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed to contain a sudden onslaught of tears, but one escaped anyway, tracing a hot path down her cheek. “I don’t think I ever came home at all.” She felt the delicate pressure of his fingertip capturing her tear as if it were a precious pearl.

  “You did come home, Sage,” he said, his face close to hers. “It may take some time for your mind and heart to catch up with your body. I know it’s difficult, probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Why is it so hard?” she whispered.

  “Because part of us stayed behind with the ones who didn’t get to go home, a little bit will always be with them because they blessed us and we won’t forget that. I wouldn’t want to.”

  Luis. She remembered his smile, his round cheeks pinked from the desert heat, the way he would consume any food offered him as though it was the finest cuisine prepared by a master chef. How could he be gone? How could she have ruthlessly followed her own agenda and gotten him killed, that decent, loving man with a wife and grandkids to come home for? It should have been her. There were no children waiting. No spouse to grieve. Pain squeezed her heart in a vise-like grip until she thought she could not bear it a moment more.

  Trey’s lips surprised her, soft and warm, against her temple. Her mind demanded that she pull away, that she draw back into the darkest corner of that terrible place, but her heart lost itself in the warmth, the exquisite ministrations of someone who knew exactly what she was and held out comfort to her anyway. She reached out a hand and clasped it for a moment over his and they stayed there, frozen between fear and relief, her grief, it seemed, flowing through the both of them as time stood still.

  Then her mind began to chime in. Shut it all away. Keep the grief locked inside or you’ll drown in it. She forced herself to sit up, relieved and slightly sorry when Trey got to his feet and redirected his intense gaze to their surroundings.