Falling Together (All That Remains #2) (9 page)

“Yes,
all! The whole fucking area!” he yells. “As far as we can fucking see! Fuck!” With
his hands linked behind his neck, he stares at the muddy stagnant lake that has
swallowed the neighborhood. “That’s the apartment building where Brandon
lived.” A five story brick building stands a few blocks away, half submerged.

“I
suppose we can mark him off the list. I doubt he’s in there doing water
aerobics,” I remark. Eric shakes his head, overwhelmed by the day’s events. A
cold misty rain begins to fall, a cherry on top of our stellar day. “Let’s get
inside somewhere and get warm,” I suggest. “We can figure out what to do next.”

We
back track a few blocks before turning onto a small side street lined with
nearly identical houses. After dragging two mattresses into a small interior
room of our randomly chosen refuge, we warm ourselves beside the kerosene
heater and eat in silence. I feel like I should say something. “I’m sorry about
your father.”

Eric
glances up at me. “Thank you. I knew it was a long shot. At least I know he
isn’t out there searching for me.” I nod and toss him the bottle of bourbon
that somehow found its way into my bag. He accepts it gratefully and takes a
swig before handing it back. “Brandon’s body could still be in that apartment.
He lived on the fourth floor, and there’s no way of knowing when the flood
occurred.”

“I
suppose, but it’s unlikely.”

“I
saw a boat in a garage a few blocks away. We could still check it out,” he
offers.

We
should, after coming all this way, but spelunking through a flooded building
full of corpses isn’t exactly appealing. “Does Carson’s father live in the
flooded area as well?”

“No,
he’s on the south side of town.”

“All
right. Why don’t we try the boat tomorrow, and then look for Abby’s ex
afterward? Then we can get the hell out of here.”

“Sounds
good to me. I hope there are life jackets on the boat. I can’t swim,” Eric
remarks.

I
cock an eyebrow at him. “You never learned to swim?” Taking another shot of
bourbon, he shakes his head.

“I
don’t really like water,” he mumbles.

“You
don’t have to go with me, man. I can do it.”

“It’ll
be safer with both of us,” he insists, wrapping himself in a sleeping bag and
bedding down for the night.
He’s doing it for Abby
. I should be
grateful. Instead, I’m pissed off. She doesn’t need him to play the hero.
Swallowing the flare of irrational anger sweeping through me, I try to sleep.

Eric
shakes me awake in the morning. “We need to go if we’re going to do this. It’s
snowing.”

“Fuck.
Next time, we go to New Orleans. It’s probably seventy degrees there right
now.”

He
snorts. “This is nothing. Another six weeks and it’ll be below zero. Get the
fuck up.”

Luckily,
the boat is on a trailer, and though the wheels are rotted, we’re able to tow
it to the edge of the water. Eric finds life jackets under the seat and we
strap them on. It’s snowing like a son of a bitch, and the wind whips the water
into a frenzy of choppy waves. Eric looks terrified.

“Are
you sure you want to do this?” He nods and climbs in, holding on for dear life.
A gust of wind cuts through me, finding every inch of bare skin and scraping it
raw. It takes an hour to make it to the apartment building.

Tied
to the railing, the boat sways precariously while I boost Eric onto a third
floor balcony. I’m pulled up after him, and we break a window to get inside.
It’s such a relief to escape the bitterly cold wind.

“You
okay?” Eric asks, after we take a few moments to retrieve the sensation in our
numb hands and feet.

“I
could use a cup of coffee and a blowjob,” I reply, locking my jaw to keep my
teeth from chattering.

He
smirks. “I’m fresh out of both. Come on, let’s see if the stairs survived.”

The
interior of the building held up surprisingly well. We move slowly, testing the
floorboards as we go. A rustling sound makes me take a step back when Eric
opens the stairwell door.

“The
fuck was that?” A shiver runs through me and the back of my neck prickles.

“Probably
just rats.” The beam from his flashlight sweeps across the floor and up the
steps.

“Wonderful.”
Pitch dark, surrounded by water, and wading through rats. Not at all
disturbing. We manage to make our way to the fourth floor without getting
chewed on. “This is it. Apartment four D,” I murmur, forcing open the door. Staring
around the tiny dilapidated studio apartment, it’s instantly apparent we’re
wasting our time.

A
moldy mattress and rotting sofa with no cushions take up most of the room. A
small grease caked stove and mini fridge are tucked into a corner. The
furniture is so tightly packed together I could have sat on the sofa and
grabbed a beer from the fridge. There’s barely enough space to turn around in
the bathroom. A grimy shower stall and toilet take up the entire space.

“Christ,
I can’t believe anyone lived here.” I shake my head in astonishment, and Eric
cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Abby
lived here for a few years when she was a kid.”

“Are
you shitting me?”

He
shakes his head. “On the top floor. She said she used to sleep on the balcony
when it was too hot.”

I
don’t know what pisses me off more, the fact that Abby lived in such a place,
or that Eric seems to know so much about her childhood. “Let’s go,” I bark. The
stairwells are dank and dark, enclosed by mold streaked walls. When we open the
door to the third floor, something sweeps by us in a dark blur. It almost
looked like…

“Was
that a fucking monkey?” I blurt, feeling like a grade A asshole.

“It’s
possible.” Eric laughs while we sweep the hall with our flashlights. I’m really
on edge now, just waiting on some creature to pop out at us.

“If
you’re going to tell me that monkeys are indigenous to Indiana…” I warn.

Chuckling,
he points to a wide white roof in the distance. “That was the Water’s Building,
which was a part of the Indianapolis Zoo. The animals had to go somewhere.”

“Great,
I’ll be sure to watch for tigers.” I shake my head in disbelief.

“Can
tigers swim?”

“How
the fuck would I know?”

An
odd crackling sound is followed by Eric’s yelp as a section of the floor gives
way beneath his feet. The top of his head drops below the spongy, mold covered
wood before I can react, and a loud splash echoes through the room.

“Fuck!
Eric!”

“Airen?”
His voice, thick with confusion and edged with panic, floats up from the
darkened hole.

“Eric?
Are you all right?”

“I’m
freezing…the water’s over my head…I can’t swim.” He’s losing it.

“You’re
wearing a life jacket. You won’t drown. Calm down. I’ll get you out.” I have to
figure out something fast. Between his panic and the icy water, it won’t take
long for him to go into shock.

“Calm
down?” His high pitched shriek is like an ice pick through my brain.

“What
can you see? Is there a window? A staircase?”

“I
can’t see my goddamned hand in front of my face! It’s pitch dark down here.”
Okay, first thing we need is light. Jerking my pack off my shoulders, I dig
through it, scrambling to find the military grade glow sticks.

“Airen!
Oh fuck. I’m standing on something…mushy…I think it’s a body.” Tingles race up
my spine, the hairs on my nape prickling at his words. He’s trapped in a pitch
black room, submerged in filthy arctic water with God knows what floating
around him.

“It’s
not a body, Eric. Do you hear me? You’re standing on the back of a couch or
chair.” The glow stick lights up quickly when I crack it over my knee. “Tell me
you understand.”

Breathing
hard, he chants, “It’s not a body. It’s a couch. I’m standing on a couch. Oh
God…get me out of here.”

“I’m
dropping a glow stick down to you. I need you to dial down the hysterical
elderly woman act and tell me what you see.”

“I’ve
got it!” he cries out, relieved. “I can’t see a window. There’s a doorway, but
it’s barricaded with debris. Shit…there’s no way out.”

“Can
you see where you fell through?”

“Yeah,
it’s about five or six feet above my head.”

“All
right, listen. Take your backpack off and find the coil of rope in the back
compartment. Tie one end around your chest, under your arms. When I lower my
rope, tie it to the end of yours. Tight, Eric. If the rope snaps, we’re
screwed.”

“I
outweigh you by fifty pounds. You aren’t strong enough to lift me.”

“Quit
arguing and do it before you freeze to death, asshole. I can do it.” I hope I
sound more confident than I am. Drywall has crumbled away from the ceiling,
exposing thick wooden beams. I toss the rope over two that run side by side,
tying the other end around my waist. After the floor gave, I don’t trust the
wood to hold, but I don’t see much of an alternative.

“Ready!”
Eric shouts.

A
glow stick tied to the end makes the rope easier for him to find when I thread
it through the hole. After cautioning Eric to move back, I tear at the jagged
edges of the pulpy wood, expanding the hole so he can climb back through.
Christ, I hope this works, and I don’t get jerked into the darkness with him.

“Okay!”
I yell, grabbing the rope with both hands and taking a few steps backward. The
beams groan under his weight, and the rope slips under my shirt to rub a band
of fire across my back, but I keep moving. One step at a time.

“It’s
working!” he calls. “Just a few more feet!” I’m breathing too hard to answer
when one of the beams supporting the rope snaps in half, nearly jerking me off
my feet. It feels like someone is pressing a wire cheese slicer across my back
and under my arms. “Airen!”

“Hang
on!” Two more steps back, I turn from the hall into an apartment, letting the
rope brace against the doorway, taking a little of Eric’s weight.

“Almost!
I can touch the edge!” he calls. Every muscle in my body screams in pain, my
head thumping in sync with my racing heart. Despite the freezing temperature,
sweat rolls into my eyes. I hear the scrabble of fingers on wood a few seconds
before the weight lifts from my body, and Eric yells, “I’m out! Where the fuck
are you?”

If
he doesn’t shut his hole, I’m going to shove him back in the water. “Having a
drink on the beach,” I shout. Any further attempt at humor dies on my lips at
the sight of him standing in the hall, trembling and white as a republican.
Adrenaline has gotten him this far, but if we don’t warm him up, hypothermia is
going to set in. “Get those wet clothes off. I’ll find you something to wear.”
He follows me into an apartment, stripping off his shirt and jeans as he goes,
putting the wet life jacket back on his pale chest. “Leave it off. You have to
get dry.”

“N-no,
I’m not risking another rotted floorboard. Blue lips pressed together, he sits
on the floor, his knees drawn up tight. “I feel dizzy, my heart’s trying to
beat through my chest.” His breaths come faster until he’s almost panting.

Fuck.
“Take it off. I’ll give you my dry one.” He fumbles the straps with clumsy
fingers until I kneel beside him to unfasten it. I pull a dusty blanket off the
single sized bed in the corner, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Stay put.
There’s bound to be clothing here somewhere.” After raiding three apartments,
I’ve collected a pair of sweatpants, socks, and a knitted winter hat. The only
sweater I can find will never fit across his wide chest, but I can wear it, and
give him my oversized sweatshirt.

When
I return, he’s wrapped tightly in the blanket, his eyes drooping as he tries to
nod off. “Wake the fuck up. I found you some clothes.”

“Can’t
move,” he murmurs.

Jerking
my sweatshirt off, I quickly pull it over his head, topping it off with my
lifejacket. “You have to stand up. I’ll help you.” Even with my arms supporting
him, standing is difficult. “Lose the boxers. They’re soaked. I’ve got some
sweat pants.” Fully dressed and wrapped again in a blanket, he sinks back to
the floor. I’m never going to get him out of here at this rate. Taking him back
across the flooded area in the snow and wind is out of the question until I get
him warm.

Another
ransack of the pitiful apartments produces two more blankets, some pots and
pans, and a half empty can of instant coffee. A rickety dining set is demoted
to firewood. It breaks apart easily and I stuff the wood along with some dusty
newspaper into two long metal roasting pans. Within minutes, two fires brighten
the room, throwing patterns on the peeling walls.

“How
are you?” I ask, moving one pan on either side of him, surrounding him with
warmth.

“Okay,”
he mutters. He’s barely speaking, and it’s freaking me out.

“You’ll
feel better soon.” All the running around has at least kept me from feeling the
cold. “I’d better not hear any more shit about my survival bags after this.
We’d be screwed without them,” I grumble, digging out two bottles of water, a
large jar of peanut butter, and a baggie of deer jerky. The water goes into a
small saucepan over the fire until it boils. Adding the instant coffee
granules, I stir it up, and carefully pour the hot coffee into the water
bottles. “Voila,” I announce. “Shitty coffee. Drink. It’ll warm you up.”