On Solid Ground

by Quinn Anderson

  To Chance, you’re Kit the Suit. Don’t forget that. Not that you’d ever be brave enough to make a move.

  He dropped his hands and stepped away. “We should do what you said before. Check to see if anyone else is trapped on this floor. They may need medical attention.”

  “Which we can totally provide,” Chance said, straight-faced.

  Kit stared at him for a second before chuckling. “Was that sarcasm? Are you being sarcastic with me?”

  “You don’t get a free pass just because we’re stuck together.”

  It was a joke, of course, but it nagged at Kit. If they were the only people left, then they really were stuck here together. Kit would kill to know how Chance felt about that. Grateful? Cheated? Indifferent?

  It was useless to speculate. He gave himself a mental shake. “Come on. Let’s look around. Someone could be under a desk.”

  It was light enough for them to see, but Chance took Kit’s hand anyway. Kit had trouble breathing for a whole new set of reasons.

  Together, they checked the lobby, the bathrooms, and all the open offices. They found no one. The relief Kit felt was profound. At least nobody else was trapped here. He’d also been dreading the possibility that they might stumble across a dead body. He had no idea what he’d do then. Probably break down and cry like he’d been wanting to for the past hour.

  When they’d finished checking the offices, they wound up at the end of the hall in front of the one closed door.

  “This was Mr. Halford’s office.” Kit tried the knob. “Locked. Maybe he’s in there?”

  “Or he’s the sort of person who’d lock his office even when evacuating. I hear he keeps a stash of expensive Scotch in there.”

  Kit had heard that rumor as well, but he had no idea if it was true. “I could go for a drink right about now. What do you suppose the chances are the bottle survived?”

  “Slim to none, but it’s worth a look, if you ask me.”

  “Yeah.” Kit jiggled the knob wistfully. “Too bad we don’t have the key.”

  Chance stared at him.

  “What?”

  Slowly, and with deliberation, Chance bent down, picked up a random rock, and smashed it into the glass. It shattered and added to the debris on the floor.

  “Oh.” Kit glanced from it to him. “Right. Guess it doesn’t matter now, huh?”

  Chance looked like he was struggling not to laugh. “It sure doesn’t.”

  Kit reached through the pane and unlocked the door. It took some shoving, but they managed to get it open. Mr. Halford wasn’t in there, which was a big relief for all sorts of reasons. If Kit was going to die, he didn’t want to spend his last moments with his boss.

  The office hadn’t suffered as brutally as the others. It was still a mess—the ceiling dipped in the middle like it was about to burst, and the large windows were blown out—but the furniture was intact.

  In the middle of the room sat Mr. Halford’s giant mahogany desk. Kit wasn’t the least bit surprised it’d survived an earthquake. It could probably survive a nuclear winter. Next to it was his black computer chair—now gray—and a metal filing cabinet. There was also a small leather sofa. Mr. Halford had often lain there when he’d had “migraines.” Aka, too many beers during whatever lunch meeting he’d gone to.

  Chance whistled as he surveyed the room. “Nice place. What should we do now?”

  “The way I see it, we have two options. We can try to dig our way out—”

  “And potentially make the roof cave in on us.”

  “Exactly. Or we can stay put and wait for someone to rescue us. Option two isn’t going to be great for our sanity, but I think it’s better than being buried alive.”

  “I don’t like it, but I have to agree. I vote we camp out in here. This seems as good a place as any. It might even be safer, considering it’s in such good shape.”

  “I’m not opposed.” Kit walked around the desk and flopped into the chair. One of the wheels immediately broke off and went skittering across the ground, but it held. The second he sat down, his bones melted with weariness. It was as if he’d been running a marathon for a day straight. “Oh God. This is amazing.”

  Chance collapsed onto the couch, sending a cloud of white into the air, and groaned. “Oh yeah. That’s the stuff.”

  For a moment, they sat in silence. Kit wasn’t sure how much time passed. He didn’t care. He could have stayed like this forever—head back, limbs limp—if it weren’t for the mangled ceiling serving as a reminder of what had transpired.

  Kit spoke without moving. “How are you so calm?”

  He heard Chance shift. “I don’t know. I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m not letting myself think about it. Like, at all. Every time I start to, I want to curl into a ball on the floor and hyperventilate.”

  “I know what you mean. I guess I’ve been telling myself that freaking out isn’t going to help anything. We’re here, and we have to stay calm.” There was a sound like an exhale mixed with a sob. “Talking about not talking about it is making my heart race.”

  “Time for more denial.” Kit dragged his head back up. “Let’s see if we can find that Scotch.”

  The desk had five drawers. In the center was one of those thin ones that could only hold pens and little notebooks. Kit ignored that and reached for the top drawer on the right.

  Without sitting up, Chance jabbed a thumb at the cabinet to his left. “I bet it’s in there. The desk is too obvious.”

  “Go ahead and look, then.”

  “I’m actually going to check out that bathroom back in the lobby. See if the water is working.”

  Kit’s dry mouth and throat tingled at the word alone. “I would kill for some water right now.”

  “Please don’t. I’m the only one here.” He winked. “I’ll see what there is and report back.”

  Kit hesitated. “You don’t want me to go with you?”

  Chance’s face scrunched in thought. “No. Honestly, this seems like the safest place to be. I’d rather you waited here in case . . . Well, you know.”

  Kit did know. He wanted to protest, but Chance’s expression was determined. “All right. Hurry back. There might be Scotch waiting for you when you return.”

  “You know just how to motivate me.” He disappeared out into the hall, leaving the door open.

  Kit listened to the sound of his footsteps until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He turned back to the drawers. The first three held nothing but files, paper, and disappointment, but then the fourth one yielded an unexpected treasure.

  “Score.” Kit pulled out a battery-powered mini TV and placed it on the desk. By some miracle, it was in decent condition. Kit hit the power button, praying silently, and the screen flashed to life.

  He whooped. It was set to a sports channel. Mr. Halford must have used this to check scores when he was supposed to be working. Kit shook his head. Well, his slacking was their gain. The TV only got a few channels, but the news happened to be one of them.

  “—city of San Francisco was beset by one of the worst earthquakes in its history today,” the anchor announced, looking grim. “Not since the infamous quake of 1906 has San Francisco seen such devastation. A six-point-oh magnitude earthquake devastated the city and surrounding areas, demolishing buildings and claiming thirty-seven lives so far. Hundreds more are injured, and efforts by rescue teams have been stymied by damaged roads, collapsed buildings, and a flood of survivors fleeing the city.”

  “Holy shit,” Kit mumbled to himself as the screen changed to drone views of the city. They’d been damn lucky. A lot of bigger, newer buildings had toppled over like layered cakes.

  The anchor’s voice narrated the footage. “The National Guard has been called in to aid police, firefighters, and the many volunteers who are scouting the wreckage for survivors. Officials have advised everyone to stay out of residences and businesses until further notice, especially after a series of aftershocks caused additional struc
tural damage to several buildings.”

  “I would love to heed that advice.” Kit massaged one of his temples.

  “More aftershocks can be expected within the next twenty-four hours. Seismologists are working to chart a prediction path for possible activity. Again, citizens are advised to stay away from their homes and businesses until further notice.”

  “Is that a TV?”

  Kit jumped, jerking his head toward the door. “Chance. How’d it go?”

  “There’s a burst pipe in the back of one of the bathrooms that we didn’t see before.” He walked around the desk, eyes on the TV. “The good news is, it’s spraying water everywhere, so there’s plenty of that. Bad news, it smells like sewage, none of the sinks work, and the toilets are only good for one flush. I learned that from experience. What’d the news say?”

  Right on cue, they replayed the message from minutes before. Chance listened to it without comment. When it was over, Kit switched off the set and summarized, “We’re fucked, and the world is ending.”

  Chance snorted. “I shouldn’t laugh, but you have such a way with words.”

  Suddenly, Kit noticed his pockets were full. “Whatcha got there?”

  “I found some toppled vending machines. Here.” He pulled out a small bottle of water. “Take that. There’s a dozen more.”

  Kit snatched it up, uncapped it, and downed half the bottle in a blink. It felt so good on his throat, he wanted to weep.

  “Easy. Don’t choke on me after all this. You hungry?”

  “Starving.” It occurred to Kit that he never did get to eat his lunch.

  Chance unloaded several packages onto the desk. “Chips, crackers, and mixed nuts. There wasn’t much in the ways of nutrition, but at least we’ll have calories.”

  Kit’s hand inched toward a package of pretzels. “How much food was there?”

  “Enough for a couple of days. More, if we make it last.”

  Kit didn’t even want to think about being stuck here for that long. He inhaled the pretzels and followed it with a bag of chips. Chance went for the crackers and drank from his own bottle of water. They didn’t talk while they ate, which was fine by Kit. His head was so full, he didn’t know what to say anyway.

  When Chance had finished eating, he looked around the room. “What should we do now? There aren’t any more exits to hunt down, and we can’t call for help.”

  “I have no idea. We found food and water. And a shelter, albeit one that could crush us at any moment. Doesn’t seem like there’s anything else to do.” Kit wasn’t up for any more adventures anyway. Between the physical and mental strain, he was exhausted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life.”

  Echoing his thought, Chance yawned. “I know what you mean. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but I feel like I could sleep for years.”

  “It’s got to be all the stress. This is what we get for bottling it up.”

  They both fell silent.

  There was some sort of tension in the air. It took Kit a moment to identify why. They were both tired, and there was one convenient place to sleep nearby. A couch that had enough room for two.

  He looked away. “Take a nap if you like. I’ll keep watch.”

  “We can sleep at the same time.” Chance’s eyes drifted over to the sofa. “There might not be much room, but we’re adults. We can share.”

  Kit fought against the blood that wanted to rush into his face. The last thing he needed right now was to snuggle up to Chance. After everything they’d been through—the victories, the defeats, the heart-pounding tension—he didn’t know how he’d react to being so close to him. And now would be a wildly, wildly inappropriate time for his crush to rear its head. They could die at any moment. Romance should be the last thing on his mind.

  And yet it wasn’t. Kit had liked Chance before, but now he was downright enamored with him. He loved that Chance had remained so calm in the face of all this danger. He loved that he could still crack jokes. When Kit looked at him now, he didn’t see the cute guy from IT. He saw a man who was brave and selfless, and that was powerfully sexy.

  Kit had the worst timing of anyone on the face of the planet.

  He offered Chance what he hoped was an affable smile. “I think one of us should stay awake. For now, at least. That way we can keep an eye on the news and our phones. See if we can get a signal. And listen for helicopters and rescuers.”

  “Ah. That’s a good point.”

  Maybe Kit was imagining it, but Chance looked disappointed.

  He turned away before Kit could be certain. “Wake me up in an hour, all right?”

  “All right.”

  Without another word, Chance curled up on the sofa—shoes still on and everything—and fell asleep with his back turned to Kit.

  6:02 p.m., Monday, August 13th

  Chance woke up to a nightmare.

  It seemed he’d barely closed his eyes when the ground erupted into movement. He jolted awake and blinked at the scene around him, uncertain for a moment where he was. Then, as the vibrations crept up his limbs, a sickening sense of familiarity flooded into him.

  He didn’t truly become frightened, however, until he realized Kit was nowhere to be seen.

  “Kit!” The pitch of his voice rose with his panic. “Kit!”

  “I’m here!” The reply came from the hallway.

  Within seconds, Kit appeared in the doorway, staggering with every step. Before Chance could do more than process his relief, Kit was on him. He leaped onto the couch and covered Chance’s body with his own.

  Chance was too panicked to think. He grabbed on to Kit’s shoulders and held him like he was an anchor. He heard a crack, and something fell next to their heads. Dust swirled in the air—more fucking dust. If Chance never saw dust again, he’d die a happy man.

  Don’t think about dying.

  The aftershock seemed much shorter this time around. Chance barely had time to pray for the building not to collapse before the pulsing subsided, and once more, everything was still.

  Everything except for Kit, who was breathing hard on top of him. His face was tucked into the crook of his elbow. He was so close, Chance could smell sweat and the final vestiges of whatever cologne he’d put on that morning.

  He froze. Oh God. Don’t think sexy thoughts. Two seconds ago, you were afraid you were going to die. How can you even think about sex right now?

  But with Kit warm and heavy on top of him, it was impossible not to.

  When the building settled, and it seemed like nothing else was going to fall on their heads, Kit drew back. A piece of ceiling slid off him and clattered to the floor.

  He looked around. “I think we’re okay.”

  “You’re on top of me,” Chance blurted out.

  Fuck. If his arms weren’t trapped between their bodies, he’d smack himself.

  Kit looked startled, as if he hadn’t quite realized it himself. “Oh, sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I . . . Did you . . . Were you trying to protect me?”

  Kit stared down at him, brown eyes liquid with emotion. “I, uh, don’t know. When the shaking started, I remembered that you were asleep. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up in time to react if something happened, so I dove in here. I wasn’t— I didn’t plan it.” He turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. It was . . . kind of adorable.

  Chance was inexplicably breathless. He spoke without thinking. “My hero.”

  And insert foot into mouth.

  Kit chuckled and climbed off him. “I have a vested interest in keeping you safe. Otherwise, I’ll have to find a volleyball to talk to.”

  Chance propped himself up on his elbows. “Nice reference.” He looked around. “How long was I asleep?”

  “An hour and a half.”

  “I asked you to wake me after an hour.”

  Kit rubbed the back of his head. “I know, but you went out like a light, and you seemed like you needed it.”

  “Thanks.” Chan
ce rolled off the couch and climbed onto unsteady feet. “It’s your turn. I’ll keep watch.”

  “I’m all right. I got my second wind. I figure I’ll stay up until I can’t anymore. However long that will be. I usually go to bed early.”

  That brought up an interesting scenario. They’d both need to sleep tonight. Kit had turned down his offer to share the couch before, but what would he say when it was nighttime? Getting rejected once was about as much as Chance could handle. If it happened again, he was going to scuttle under the desk and hide.

  He needed to approach this with delicacy. Kit’s staunch refusal to share the sofa sent some clear signals: maybe he wasn’t into Chance after all. Maybe Chance had imagined there was a spark between them, and Kit was every bit the macho suit he appeared to be.

  It made sense, much as Chance hated to admit it. After they’d talked at the office party, Kit hadn’t done anything to pursue him. Chance hadn’t either, granted, but he wasn’t one to take risks. As the more confident of the two, he’d sort of expected Kit to take point. Now, it seemed there was a reason Kit had dropped the ball instead.

  If that were the case, shit could get awkward in a flash.

  Maybe he’ll curl up on the desk rather than sleep next to me.

  Chance shook his head to dispel the gloomy thought. “Well, I could stand some more water.”

  “Sure. That’s one thing we can be grateful for. There’s plenty to drink.”

  That last word triggered Chance’s memory. “Hey, we never finished looking for your boss’s Scotch.”

  “Oh yeah.” Kit glanced around, and his eyes settled on the cabinet. “It’s not in the desk, so if it’s anywhere, it’ll be in there.”

  Chance did the honors. He made it through three drawers before he found one that had a leather-bound black box in it. “Please, God, if you’re listening, let this be it.” He undid a clasp and flipped the lid. “Jackpot.”

  Kit bounded over. “It’s the Scotch?”

  Chance held up a decorative glass bottle filled with amber liquid. “It’s. The. Scotch.”