The city was a fishbowl. And the bowl was overflowing.
He pushed himself from the soft mattress, setting his feet on the floor. He walked the short distance to the television and stood directly in front of it, staring at the endless stream of men, women, and children evacuating their homes. He looked at their faces: bewildered, shocked, sometimes blank with anguish.
Doc reached out and touched the screen, his fingers lingering on the close-up face of a young boy. The child couldn’t have been more than three. He held his tiny hands over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. He was floating in an open red Igloo cooler, bouncing in the wake created by the woman pulling him through the water. She was up to her waist in water and she was crying. Doc couldn’t hear her cries, but he could see them in her stretched expression and the tremble of her body as she moved through the chest-deep water.
He couldn’t know where in the city this was happening. The location description at the bottom of the screen didn’t help him. Yet he couldn’t stand in his room and do nothing. That wasn’t what people like him did. These survivors would need medical care. They would need a shoulder on which to cry. They would need much more than that.
Out the window, lightning flashed, illuminating the droplets of water that stuck to the glass and curled their way down it in trickles. They looked like converging rivers on the window, seen from high altitude. They swelled and shrank as the trails of water moved and slithered with gravity.
Water always finds the easiest path to its destination, he thought idly.
Doc blinked himself away from the window and found his pants hanging over the back of the desk chair, the belt strung through the loops. He slid into them and pulled on the shirt he’d worn the night before.
It smelled like the bar, a dank mixture of stale cigarette smoke and sour beer. It didn’t matter. Where he was headed didn’t have a dress code or care if he was washed and starched.
He shuffled to his suitcase, pulling out a folded raincoat. It was really an expensive fishing jacket meant for poor conditions, but it was what he owned. He slid it on, zipping it up, then found a pair of cheap slip-on sneakers he’d worn on the plane ride and put those on over his bare feet. No need to wear socks.
He withdrew some cash, a credit card, and his ID from his wallet, then locked the wallet into the closet safe. He grabbed his room key and phone, stuffed a prepackaged first aid kit into a jacket pocket, then headed for the elevator. The moment he left his room and the door clicked shut behind him, the hallway went dark. The power was out.
Doc cursed, realizing he’d have to find the stairs, as he tapped on the flashlight app on his phone. He used the narrow white beam to search the walls for directions to the stairwell. Then he noticed the glowing overhead signs pointing in the right direction. He picked up speed, half running, half walking, until he reached the heavy metal door that led to the stairwell.
He pushed open the door, it slammed behind him with a thud, and he stood in complete darkness. The echo of the thud cascaded through the well and Doc exhaled. This wouldn’t be fun.
He aimed his light down the first set of concrete steps and began the slow, lonely descent. He had sixteen floors until he reached the lobby. At least he wasn’t climbing up the stairs. That would be far worse.
Each of his heavy steps echoed in the well. He methodically took each one carefully. Even with the dim band of light from his phone flashlight, it was a treacherous descent. He’d been at it for a good five minutes when he heard the metallic thunk of a door opening on the floor below where he stood.
He stopped moving for a moment as the door slammed shut again, and he heard two people murmuring to each other. He put his free hand on the cold concrete railing and resumed his foot-by-foot trek down the well.
“Hello?” called a woman as he rounded the flight onto her level. She was standing on the landing with someone else. Doc couldn’t make out if the other person was a man or woman.
He accidentally shone the light in the woman’s eyes and she squinted, pulling her arm up to shield herself. He swept the light to the other person. It was another woman. Both of them appeared to be the types of guests who were paid to be there by the hour.
“Watch the light,” said the first woman, her voice shrill. “You’re blinding us here.”
“Sorry,” said Doc, pivoting back to the first woman. “It’s hard to see in here.”
“You’re a regular Captain Obvious, aren’t you?” said the second woman. She was taller, but appeared to be wearing the same sized skirt and top as her smaller colleague.
He frowned at them, though he doubted either of them could see it. There was no point in debating them as to education or profession. He let the snark slide.
“I’m headed downstairs,” he said, keeping the light at their stilettoed feet now. “You’re welcome to follow me if you like.”
Without awaiting an answer, he turned the corner in front of them and took the next flight of stairs. They mumbled something, the unintelligible murmur echoing off the walls, and started the descent.
Once they’d rounded a few more flights, he asked, “What floor were you on?” continuing to take the stairs one plodding step at a time.
“Nine,” said one of them.
“Ten,” said the other.
The two of them argued it another two flights before they settled on eight. Doc counted in his head, not having caught the last few floor markers with his light. They had to be getting close now.
Another five minutes and they were at the lobby level. That was, they were two steps above the lobby level, which was flooded. Doc’s light reflected off the brownish water, a thin rainbow film of grease coating its surface.
“Great,” said the taller of the two women. “It’s flooded.”
Doc turned to her, shined the light on his face, and raised an eyebrow. Then he turned back to the water and scanned the surface from the last dry step to the door.
“Touché,” said the tall woman, snickering.
“You and your French,” said the shorter one. “You don’t speak French. Stop trying to use French words. It’s embarrassing.”
The two women bickered about romance languages, and Doc came to a decision. Judging by the height of the water on the door, which was below the handle, he figured he could easily wade out into the lobby. The issue would be what was submerged under the water and what danger that might pose as he trudged through it.
It didn’t matter, he decided in that moment. He needed to help people. He took a tentative first step into the water, feeling the icy rush of it seep into his shoe, between his toes, and up his leg. His second step was more sure-footed, and then he made the plunge. The water was breathtakingly cold, but it was beneath his hips. Shivering, he made his way to the door, shining the light on the handle. He grabbed it and pulled. At first it didn’t give, then he braced himself with one foot against the wall beside the jamb, and it slowly swung open against the water.
The lobby was bathed in the devilish red of the emergency lights. The fiery glow danced on the surface of the murky water, giving it the appearance of being on fire from below.
He hadn’t waited for the women, but they were steps behind him. He could hear the splash of their movements.
Not needing the white light of his phone, he turned it off to save the battery and tucked it into a zippered pocket at his chest. It was a water-resistant pocket, and he hoped it was enough to keep his phone alive.
The lobby was surprisingly empty of guests. There were a pair of security guards standing atop the concierge stand. Both of them seemed to be trying to reach somebody on a walkie-talkie. They ignored Doc and his new traveling companions. But the woman sitting on the check-in counter acknowledged them.
“Hello,” she said in a familiar voice, and Doc recognized her as Shonda. She was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her arms held her legs tight, and her hands were clasped in the front. She was soaked and shivering.
Doc nodded at her, start
ed to wade past the desk, and thought better of it. He waded across the lobby toward Shonda. As he approached, it was apparent how young she was. Twenty? Twenty-one? She had to be a college student.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded the way someone trying to fend off an emotional outburst does. She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyebrows together in a furrow above her dark eyes.
“Where is everybody?” he asked. “Your boss? More than…two security guards? I don’t understand.”
“I’m the night manager,” she said. “We don’t have a large staff this late at night. Our maintenance staff is working on emergency power and coping with the water.”
“You’re it?” he asked. “You’re a…college student, no?”
Despite shivering, Shonda appeared to bristle at the suggestion she couldn’t do her job. She tightened her grip around her knees and frowned. “Yes,” she said. “Xavier. But I’m perfectly capable of—”
Understanding he’d apparently offended her, Doc cut in. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’m saying you shouldn’t be alone. This is too much for anyone by himself. Or herself.”
Her frown relaxed. “I can’t leave. I’d lose my job. They’ve got reinforcements coming. Before the lines went dead, the general manager called. He’s on his way.”
Doc looked to the front entrance to his left. He couldn’t see beyond the floor-to-ceiling, two-story frameless glass panels and onto the street, or where the street should have been, but he knew nobody was coming.
“If he can get here,” said Doc. “And I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest your GM won’t be getting here anytime soon.”
“He’s Captain Obvious!” shouted the tall date-for-hire standing several feet behind him. “He’s good with nuance.”
“Really?” whined the shorter of the two. “French again?”
“Ignore them,” Doc said to Shonda.
Shonda arched an eyebrow at Doc and glanced at both of the women and then back at him. The faintest hint of a knowing, yet disapproving, smile curled onto one side of her face.
Recognizing this, Doc shook his head. “Found them in the stairwell,” he said under his breath. “Not with me.”
“He’s bourgeoisie,” said the taller woman. “Wouldn’t be caught with us. He’s too good for us.”
“Except that he’s not,” said the shorter one.
“Look,” said Doc. “You could come with us. I’m going to try to find some emergency crews…a shelter, and help some people. I could get you to a shelter.”
“And lose my job?” asked Shonda. “No thanks.”
Doc took another tentative step toward the desk. The cold water moved through his body, sending a chill up his spine. “You won’t lose your job,” he said. “It’s not a safe environment.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Shonda. She was looking at the entrepreneurial women behind him as she spoke. “I’ll be fine.”
Doc shrugged with resignation. “Okay. Suit yourself.”
He waved a reluctant goodbye to her, trying to formulate some sort of convincing argument for her to come with him. He couldn’t, so he sloshed toward the main entrance, the two women crawlers in tow.
The entry doors were large electric sliding doors that were stuck open with about a two-foot gap to squeeze through. Doc sidestepped through the opening and waited for the women, their faces crunched into disapproving sneers and their heels in their hands, sloshing through the water, which was obviously deepening.
The second Doc cleared the opening, he felt the strong undercurrent of the water outside. It was as though he’d stepped from a wading pool into a rapid. He set his gait wider, trying to balance himself against the strong rush of water that threatened to knock him off-balance.
It pushed him sideways for a moment, causing him to have to use his hands as paddles to maintain his foothold on the concrete sidewalk. He told the women, “Hold onto one another. The current is intense.”
The first of them, the taller Francophile, waded out only a couple of steps before willing herself back into the lobby. She shook her head vigorously. “I’m not going out there. We’re better off in here. That water will kill me.”
Doc held out a hand. “You can make it,” he said. “I can help you.”
The woman’s eyes, heavy with shadow and mascara, were wide with fright. She backed away another step, deeper into the lobby. “Not happening.”
Her partner in crime, albeit a crime subject only to a five-hundred-dollar fine and up to six months in jail for a first offense, stood with her. She shook her head too. “If she’s not going, I’m not going.”
“The water is only going to get deeper here,” he said, pointing beyond the cover of the hotel’s decorative sidewalk overhang. “It’s raining. You’re no safer here than—”
The taller one saluted with a flick of her wrist. “Merci, Captain,” she said. “We can take care of ourselves.”
Doc shook his head with disappointment. “Suit yourself,” he said, and turned to head across the wide street in front of the hotel. He glanced back at the women, their high heels still in their hands. “Laissez les bon temps rouler.”
The women laughed. “He’s got jokes,” said the shorter one. “Captain got jokes.”
Doc laughed, the tension in his body easing for a moment. He took a deep breath, still bracing his legs at shoulder width to withstand the torrent flowing underneath the surface.
He took one step, then another, and a third toward the street. He shuffled his feet as he neared what he imagined was the edge of the sidewalk. He found it and bent his knee to wade deeper into the water. Trash floated by, spinning in the baby jetties that formed and dissipated in the dark froth.
He took his other foot and stepped from the curb, finding the gutter at the edge of the street, but the current slid him to one side. The undercurrent, stronger than anything he’d ever felt in the trickiest of ocean shorelines, yanked that leg out from under him and pulled him under the surface. He was sucked under, an aquatic tractor beam intent on dragging him to some invisible magnet.
He blew the air from his lungs, bubbles streaming to the surface of the water, and fought to escape the pull. Then his foot was stuck in something, and his body twisted and rolled with the whims of the angry torrent. It dragged him like a rag doll, twisting his body at his ankle, using it as a fulcrum for its whims.
He managed to control himself for an instant and reached down to his foot. His lungs were beginning to burn. He had no air and he was blind in the consuming darkness.
As panic crept into his rational mind, he maintained his wits long enough to understand his foot was caught in a sewer grate, and the force was yanking him downward, trapping him in the swirling vortex. He grabbed at his foot, trying to turn it, to work it free of the grate. It wasn’t happening. His throat tightened, the sting of water in his nose distracted him, and the water pushed his body awkwardly away from his foot.
But as that happened, miraculously, his foot was torqued free of the grate. The freedom was invigorating, and Doc pushed himself back the short distance to the surface. He emerged and gasped for air, choking on it, and steadied himself in the street.
Even as he stood as tall as he could, the water was above his chest now. And it was getting worse. He wiped his hands across his face then pushed his hair back. His glasses were gone.
His heart pounding against his chest, his pulse thickly throbbing at his neck, he struggled to regain his composure. He spun in a circle, trying to reestablish his bearings. The hotel was behind him now and to his left. He was closer to the opposite side of the street than he’d first thought and was farther down. It confused him. How had he moved so far from the curb so quickly?
The press of water at his side made it difficult to stand in one place. He danced on his tiptoes, acquiescing to the pull of the current. He was already exhausted and unsure he could make it the rest of the distance across the street.
Doc glanced back at
the hotel through the dense curtain of rain and stared at the faint emergency red glow leaking through the large glass frontage. He wondered if he should go back. Maybe Shonda the night manager and the two independent women contractors had the right idea.
It was too far now. He was better off forging ahead into the uncertain waters beyond him. His breathing having returned to normal, at least for the circumstances, he walked diagonally away from the hotel toward the opposite end of the street. The farther he moved, using his hands as oars to fend off the push and pull of the water, the darker his surroundings became.
When Doc found himself clinging to a street sign pole on a corner, he realized he had no direction. He didn’t know where he was going or how he could find help. He swung himself halfway around the pole, peering into the darkness of one street and then in the opposite direction.
He’d assumed that emergency personnel would be everywhere, that he’d be able to toss a pebble into the water and a ripple would slap against the side of a high-water truck or rescue boat. He thought for sure he’d find aquatic caravans of desperate families in need of support or guidance. He found none of it.
But as he stood there, again reassessing his hasty decision to leave his dry hotel room, he saw the distant strobe of red and white lights. At first he thought lightning had flashed in the sky. But absent thunder, he kept watching the spot where he’d seen the flicker.
It was there. It belonged to a fire truck or an ambulance. No doubt. He couldn’t tell, however, how far down the narrow alley of a street he’d have to travel to reach it. The lights were reflecting off the water and the sides of the buildings. It was faint enough, in the driving rain and light-absorbing dark, that it could easily be a mile from him or a quarter as far.
It didn’t matter. It was the only option now. He let go of the pole and waded, half-swimming, toward the lights.
As soon as he’d cleared the corner of the buildings at the intersection, the current eased enough that he didn’t have to fight against it. The water was rising still, and he bounced along in it, using the force of his push from the street to propel himself forward. Push with his left foot. Rise. Glide. Sink. Push with his right. Rise. Glide. Sink. He found the movement required less effort now. It conserved his energy. It helped him see above the choppy wake of the surface when he elevated, and it let him more easily evade the floating trash and debris that littered the alleyway.
The Alt Apocalypse {Book 3): Torrent Page 13
