by Brad Meltzer
Howling in pain, Barry crashed to his knees, unable to hold on any longer. He could hear Viv’s shoes scuff against the concrete. She scrambled deeper into the room. Not far. Just enough to hide.
Rubbing his back, Barry swallowed the pain and looked around the room. There wasn’t much light, making most of the shadows muddy blobs that seemed to float in front of him. In the distance, he heard a series of raspy grunts and nasally groans. Harris and Janos. It wouldn’t take Janos long to finish that, which meant Barry just had to focus on Viv.
“C’mon—you really think I can’t see you?” he called out, following the scratch of her shoes and hoping the bluff would draw her out. Up high, he could make out the edges of the air-handlers, but down toward the floor, the details faded fast.
To his left, there was a scraping of rock against concrete. Viv was moving. Barry turned his head, but nothing flashed by. It was the same muddy blob as before. Had it moved? No . . . stay focused. Especially now, Barry told himself. Once he got Viv . . . when they pulled this off . . . He’d been at the bottom—this was his turn at the top.
A second later, he heard a high-pitched clink behind him. One of the propane tanks. He turned to chase the sound, but the pitch was too high. Like a pebble against metal. She’d thrown a rock.
“Now you’re testing me?” he shouted, spinning back to the machines. He was trying to sound strong, but as he scanned the room—left to right . . . up and down—the shadows . . . no . . . nothing moved. Nothing moved, he insisted.
All around him, machines hummed their flat, droning symphony. On his right, the furnace flame flicked on, belching up a loud whoosh. On his left, a chugging compressor finished its cycle, clicking into oblivion. The wind whistled straight at him. But still no sign of Viv.
Searching for the panting rise and fall of her breathing, Barry isolated each sound—every clink, hiss, sputter, creak, and wheeze. As he stepped further into the room, it definitely got harder to see, but he knew Viv was scared. Off balance. This was when she’d make a mistake.
The problem was, the deeper Barry went, the more the sounds seemed to dance around him. There was a clang on his left . . . or was that his right? He paused midstep, freezing in place.
A brush of fabric wisped behind him. He spun back toward the door, but the sound stopped just as quick.
“Viv, don’t be stupid . . .” he warned as his voice cracked.
The room was dead silent.
There was a tiny snap, like a stick when it’s thrown in a campfire.
“Viv . . . ?”
Still no response.
Barry again turned toward the back of the room, scanning the outline of every machine. The blob was unchanged. Nothing moved . . . nothing moved . . .
“Viv, are you there . . . ?”
For a moment, Barry felt a familiar tightening at the center of his chest, but he quickly reminded himself there was no reason to panic. Viv wasn’t going anywhere. As long as she had that fear, she wouldn’t take the chance by trying something—
A loud screech tore across the floor. Shoes clunked at full gallop. Behind him . . . Viv was running for the door.
Barry spun around just in time to hear the mop bucket slam into the wall. There was a sharp grinding of metal against concrete as she picked up one of the empty propane tanks. Barry assumed she was moving it to get to the door, but by the time he caught sight of her, he was surprised that the mass of her shadow wasn’t getting smaller. It was getting larger. She wasn’t running away. She was coming right at him.
“Take a good look at this one, asshole . . .” Viv shouted, swinging the propane tank with all her strength. She held tight as it collided with the side of Barry’s head. The sound alone was worth the impact—an unnatural pop, like an aluminum bat smacking a cantaloupe. Barry’s head jerked violently to the side, and his body quickly followed.
“Did you see that? That bright enough for you?” Viv shouted as Barry fell to the floor. She’d been picked on since the first day they moved into their house on the edge of the suburb. Finally, there was a benefit to all the fistfights.
He reached for her leg, but his world was already spinning. Viv dropped the propane tank on his chest. With the wind knocked out of him, he could barely move. “You really thought you had a chance?” she screamed as streams of spit flew from her mouth. “You can’t see! What’d you think—you could beat me because I’m a girl?!”
Looking up, Barry saw Viv’s long shadow standing over him. She lifted her foot over his head, ready to stomp down. It was the last thing Barry saw as the world went dark.
79
STUMBLING BACKWARD TOWARD the open hole at the end of the air tunnel, I don’t waste time trying to slow myself down. Using everything that’s left, I spin to the side and try to turn myself around.
By the time I can see the depth of the pit, I’m only a few steps from the rim. But at least I’m moving fast. My foot touches down on the edge of the hole, and I use the speed to take a huge diagonal leap to my right. Inertia carries me most of the way. I just barely clear the corner of the hole—which is good—but now I’m headed straight for a brick wall—which is bad.
Putting my palms out, I slam into the wall at full speed. My arms take most of the impact, but as my full weight hits, my elbow gives way. The pain’s too much. Janos tore it up pretty bad. Collapsing to the floor, I roll over onto my back, prop myself up on my good elbow, and glance over at the open pit. Stray pebbles and flecks of dirt tumble into the mouth of the hole. I listen to see how long it takes till they hit bottom, but before I realize what’s happening, there’s a tight tug on the front of my shirt. I look up just as Janos tries to yank me up.
In full panic and unable to fight, I scootch on my rear end, trying to crab-walk away. His grip’s too tight. Holding me with his left hand, he uses his right to backhand me across the forehead. Again, he knows exactly what he’s aiming for. His knuckle slices open my eyebrow. The blood comes fast, rushing down the side of my face and blinding me even worse than before. He’s trying to take the fight out of me, but as the impact knocks me back on my ass, I lash out with the only thing I’ve got left. Kicking upward and aiming between his legs, I plant the toe of my shoe deep into his testicles.
Janos grits his teeth to hide the grunt, but there’s no mistaking the damage. Bent over, he grabs tight at his crotch. More important, he finally lets go of my shirt. Scrambling backwards, all I need are a few seconds. But it’s still not enough. Before I can even get to my feet, Janos picks himself up and plows straight at me. From the look on his face, all I did was make him mad.
Behind me, I bump into the side of the air conditioner, which dead-ends perpendicular to the wall. I’m all out of running space.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him.
As always, he’s silent. His eyes tighten, and a thin sneer takes his lips. From here on in, he’s doing this for himself.
Gripping my ear, Janos squeezes hard and twists it back. I can’t help but lift my chin. He tightens his grip, and I’m staring at the ceiling. My neck’s completely exposed. Winding up for the final blow, he . . .
. . . snaps his head to the left and staggers off balance. A loud hollow thud echoes through the air. Something clipped him in the back of the head. The amazing part is, at the last second, he managed to roll with it—almost as if he sensed it was coming. Still, he was skunked pretty hard—and as he holds his head and lurches sideways toward the brick wall, I finally see what’s behind him. Gripping the nine iron I dropped earlier, Viv readies the club in perfect batting stance.
“Get the hell away from my friend,” she warns.
Janos looks over in disbelief. It doesn’t last long. As he locks on Viv, his forehead furrows and his fists constrict. If he’s in pain, he’s not showing it. Instead, it’s all rage. His eyes are black—two tiny pieces of charcoal in sunken sockets.
Lunging forward like a rabid dog, he flies at Viv. She swings the club with clenched teeth, hoping to put another den
t in his head. I tried the same thing earlier. She doesn’t have a chance.
Catching the club in midswing, Janos twists it sharply, then jabs it forward like a pool cue toward her face. The blunt end of the club stabs her right in the throat. Teetering backwards, Viv clutches her neck, unable to breathe. From sheer momentum, she manages to rip the golf club from his hands, but she can’t hold on to it, and it drops to the floor. Janos doesn’t need it. As Viv violently coughs, he blocks the path out and moves in for the kill.
“S-Stay back,” she gasps.
Janos grips the front of her shirt, pulls her toward him, and in one blurred movement, swipes his elbow into her face. It catches her in the eyebrow, just like mine—but this time, even as the blood comes, Janos doesn’t let up. He jabs his elbow forward and tags her again. And again. All in the same spot. He’s not just trying to knock her out . . .
“Don’t touch her . . . !” I shout, hurtling forward. My arm’s so swollen, I can’t even feel it. My legs are shaking, barely able to hold me up. I don’t care. He’s not taking her, too.
Ignoring the pain, I rush in, slamming him from behind and wrapping my arm around his neck. He swipes his hand back over his own shoulder, trying to take my head off. The only chance we have is two against one. It’s still not enough.
Viv tries to scratch at his cheek, but Janos is ready. Lifting up both feet, he kicks her directly in the face. Viv flies backwards, slamming into the metal side of the air conditioner. Her head hits first. She sinks, unconscious. Refusing to let up, Janos whips his head back, smashing me in the nose. The loud pop tells me it’s broken.
Letting go of Janos, I stumble backwards, my face a bloody mess.
Janos doesn’t slow down. He marches right at me . . . a walking tank. I take a swing with my left hand, and he blocks the punch. I try to raise my right, but it sags like a tube sock full of sand. “P-Please . . .” I beg.
Janos pummels me again in the nose, unleashing a sickening crunch. As I continue to stumble, he glances over my shoulder. Like before, he’s got his eyes on the open hole.
“Don’t . . . please don’t . . . !”
He shoves me backwards, and I crash to the ground, hoping it’ll at least stop me from moving. Just as I look up, he clutches my shirt and tugs me to my feet. The hole’s right behind me. Unlike before, he’s not giving me any extra running space.
Janos pulls me in for one last shove. My right arm’s dead. My head’s on fire. The only thing my brain processes is the smell of black licorice on his breath.
“You can’t win,” I stutter. “No matter what you do . . . it’s over.”
Janos stops. His eyes narrow with his smirk. “I agree,” he says.
His hands burst forward, plowing me in the chest. I go reeling toward the hole. Last time, I made the mistake of trying to grab his shirt. This time, I go for the man himself. Stealing his own trick, I reach out, grip Janos’s ear, and hold tight.
“What’re you—?!” Before he can even get out the question, we’re both heading for the hole.
My foot slides down the edge. I still don’t let go. Janos’s head jerks forward. As I slip down, sliding off the edge, Janos grabs my arm, trying to ease his own pain. I continue to hold tight. He crashes down on his chest. It slows our descent, but I’m already moving too fast. The lower half of my body’s already in the hole . . . and slipping quick. As I slide, bits of gravel bite at my stomach. The concrete does the same to Janos’s chest. He’s following me, headfirst. As we continue to skid, he lets go of my arm with one hand and struggles to backpedal, clawing at the concrete; I kick at the inside walls of the hole, searching for a foothold to stop our fall. Janos shuts his eyes, digging in with everything he has. There’s a huge vein running down the front of his forehead. His face is tomato soup. He’s not letting me take his ear with me. And then, out of nowhere . . . we stop.
A final cloud of dirt and dust rolls off the edge of the floor, landing on my face. I’m dangling by my left arm, which is the only part of me not in the hole. My armpit’s on the edge, which holds most of my weight, but my hand grips on to Janos’s ear with whatever strength I have left. It’s the only reason he’s holding my wrist. Flat on his chest, and realizing we’ve stopped, he continues to hold tight. If he lets go, I’ll definitely plunge down the hole, but I’ll be taking part—if not all—of him with me.
Thanks to the pressure on his ear, Janos can barely pick his head up. His cheek is pressed against the concrete. But not for long. Twisting slightly, he glances my way—making sure I can’t get out. From inside the hole, my chin and arm sit just above the edge. He’s ready to send me the rest of the way down.
“Janos, don’t . . . !”
Trying to break my grip, he squeezes my wrist and shifts his position. He’s too off balance. We slide down again, deeper into the hole, then come to another sudden stop. Instead of my armpit, I’m down to my elbow, which now holds part of my weight. Janos is still on his stomach. His cheek’s in the dirt, and the way his body’s turned, one of his shoulders is already over the edge. My eyes barely peek above the rim. I still refuse to let go. I’m gripping his ear so tight, it’s turning purple. If I go down holding on to him, he’ll follow fast.
Below my feet, the tiny plink of fallen rocks echoes from below. No question, it’s a long way to the bottom. Ignoring the risk, Janos digs his fingers into the underside of my wrist. The pain is indescribable. I can’t hold on any longer. My pinkie slides off his earlobe. He pulls his head back, trying to tug himself free. My ring finger slips off next. He’s almost there. The way he’s gripping my wrist, it feels like he’s about to puncture my skin. I rake at the concrete with my free hand, but I’m down too far. There’s no way to get a handhold. The pain’s too much. I have to let . . .
“Janos, you drop him and you’ll race him to the bottom,” a familiar female voice warns. She puts a foot on his hip, threatening to shove him down.
Janos freezes . . . and grabs my arm. My weight’s no longer on his ear, but I still hold tight to it. He doesn’t even try to turn his head toward the voice. I don’t blame him. As close as he is to the edge, one wrong move, and we’re both going down.
I look over Janos’s shoulder. Viv’s on her feet, the golf club cocked in the air.
“I’m serious,” Viv says. “You let him go, and I’ll tee your head up and knock you to Nashville.”
80
THAT’S IT . . . HOLD him tight,” Viv says to Janos as he grips my wrist. She thinks he’s listening, but as he lies there flat on his chest, he’s still just trying to protect his ear and buy some time.
“Viv, watch him carefully!” I call out. My feet continue to dangle over the pitch-black hole, but I can see it in the dark crinkle between his eyebrows. Even with the pain, he’s plotting his final move.
“Exactly . . . just like that,” Viv says, nine iron arched above her shoulder. “Now pull him up.”
Janos doesn’t move. He’s clutching my wrist and keeping me afloat, but only because I’ve got his ear.
“Did you hear what I said?” Viv asks.
He still doesn’t budge. Even though he’s supporting most of my weight, he can’t support all of it. I keep up the pressure on his ear. His cheek is close to the concrete, and his head is cocked awkwardly toward the hole. His face is an even deeper shade of red than before. Janos is holding me, but the pain’s starting to burn. Closing his eyes, he presses his lips together, then breathes through his nose. The crinkle between his eyebrows fades, but not by much.
“Janos . . .”
“Drop the club,” Janos barks.
“Pardon?” Viv asks. In her mind, he’s in no position to make demands.
“Drop the golf club,” he repeats. “No fucking around, Vivian. Put it down, or I let Harris go.”
“Don’t listen to him!” I shout.
Viv stares downward, trying to get a better read.
“You’ll hear him scream the whole way down,” Janos says. “Think you can handle that?”
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Her mouth opens slightly. For anyone, this is tough. For a seventeen-year-old . . .
“You think I’m joking?” Janos asks. He digs his fingers back into my wrist.
I scream out in pain.
“Harris . . . !” Viv shouts.
Janos lets up, once again just holding my wrist.
“Harris, you okay?” Viv asks.
“T-Take his head off,” I tell her. “Swing away.”
“Do it and I drop him!” Janos warns.
“He’s gonna drop me anyway,” I add.
“That’s not true,” she says, refusing to believe it. “Just bring him up!” she yells at Janos. “I want Harris up here now!”
In spite of the pain that comes along with it, Janos slowly shakes his head side to side. He’s done negotiating. I don’t blame him. The instant I’m back on level ground, he risks getting kicked into the hole himself. Not only that, but it’s back to two against one.
Dangling by my arm, I feel reality settling in. There’s no way he’s bringing me up—which makes my decision that much easier.
“Viv, listen to me!” I shout. “Hit him now while you have the chance!”
“Not so smart, Vivian,” Janos warns, his voice unflinchingly calm. “You do that and Harris plummets with me.”
“Viv, don’t let him get into your head!”
Too late. She’s studying him, not me.
“I need you to focus! Are you focusing?” I shout. She turns my way, but her stare is vacant. She’s frozen by the choice. “Viv, are you focusing?!”
She finally nods.
“Good . . . then I need you to comprehend one thing. No matter what you do, I go down in the end. Either Janos drops me on his own, or you smash him, and Janos and I go down together. Do you understand? I go down either way.”
