“Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you. Just the situation in general. I mean, look at us. Can’t really get any worse than this.”
Claire winced. “Please don’t say that.”
“Seriously,” Reyva said to Mariana. “I’m not superstitious, but even I think you should spit three times or whatever.”
They all fell silent. Claire listened to the rain splash into the bucket at the base of the ladder. Across the bunker, Mariana began to shed her clothes, kicking off her shoes and stripping off her shirt. She pulled on new, dry clothes and transferred her phone, the battery, and the pack of gum into her new pockets.
Now wearing a hot-pink shirt, Mariana tied another flannel shirt around her waist, over her cuffed jean shorts. This one was green plaid. When she saw Claire looking, she said, “I packed for Maine. I heard flannel is, like, the required uniform. Plus, classic bi look. Couldn’t resist the chance to embrace such a fashion cliché.” She waved her hand at their packs. “Come on, change. You’ll feel better in dry clothes.”
“Did your clothes stay dry?” Reyva asked.
“You’ll feel better indrierclothes,” Mariana corrected herself.
Sitting on the floor, Claire took off her wet sneakers and socks. She wiggled her toes. They looked as pruny as if she’d soaked in the bath. She twisted and squeezed one of her socks, and water poured out of it.
That gave her an idea. She held her other sock over her open mouth and squeezed. Rainwater dribbled onto her tongue, and she drank it greedily.
“Ew,” Mariana said.
“No brain-eating lake bacteria in socks.”
“Fair point. But not thirsty enough for sock water. Shirt water, sure.” She squeezed a few drops from her soaked shirt. “I’m not giving up. No matter what.”
Rolling her eyes at both of them, Reyva scooped a handful of water from the bucket at the bottom of the ladder, as if to say shewasn’t giving up either. None of it wasenoughwater, of course—they needed those jars by the shore—but at least, Claire thought, her tongue no longer felt like cardboard.
“You know, my parents’ insult of choice is ‘quitter,’” Reyva said. “‘You don’t want to be a quitter.’ ‘We didn’t raise a quitter.’ As if that’s the worst thing you could be.”
“Our parents would make excellent friends,” Mariana said. “Mine think the worst is to be seen as a failure. Above all, everyone has to understand that you’re successful. Sending their daughter to an enrichment camp—they thought that was quite the power move, as if it would make up for...” Once again, she cut herself off. She finished: “... whatever else.”
“Mine want me to be happy,” Claire said, “but only they get to define what that looks like.” She shut her mouth. She didn’t want to go down that road any more than Mariana wanted to finish her sentence.
Looking away from the others, Claire changed into drier clothes. So did Reyva. They spread out their squeezed-but-still-wet clothes in one corner. Claire didn’t have much faith that they’d dry, but it was better than balling them up sopping wet. She supposed they could leave them behind if they weren’t dry by morning. The less they carried, the better.
In fact, it would be best if they carried as little as possible. She dumped out all but her toothbrush and toothpaste, a change of clothes in case of more rain, extra socks, the Swiss Army knife and broken blade, and her first-aid kit. Seeing her, Reyva also began to weed through her clothes, all black, leaving a small pile next to her. Mariana tossed out a hair dryer, followed bymultiple outfits. Her pile was more like a large mound.
“Can’t say I love the smell of this place,” Mariana said as she repacked. “It’s got a unique mildewed-locker-room-mixed-with-unclean-zoo odor. It would make the world’s worst scented candle. But you were right, Claire—it’s dry.” Sealing up her pack, she cast a wistful glance at the abandoned clothes. “We’ll wait out the storm and then—”
Thud.
Everything darkened. Only Reyva’s phone lit the bunker.
Claire sprang to her feet. So did Reyva. “What was that?” Reyva asked.
“The trapdoor,” Mariana said. “It’s shut.”
Both Reyva and Mariana went over to look up the shaft. Claire felt her heart beat harder and faster against her rib cage.
“There’s a storm. Lots of wind. It blew shut,” Reyva said.
Shivering hard, Claire could only shake her head. Her throat felt clogged, and her heart was racing. It felt difficult to suck in enough oxygen. She knew she’d pushed the lid open flat on the ground. There was absolutely no way that any wind, no matter how hard, could have blown it shut.
Someone had closed it.
Eight
Crossing to the ladder, Mariana craned her neck to look up at the hatch. “So, here’s a delightful fear: being buried alive. Never used to be my greatest fear, but could be now.” She shuddered and hugged her arms. “Six feet under, dirt pressing down, air running out.”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” Reyva said. “This isn’t like that. It just blew shut in the storm. I’ll open it.” She began to climb the ladder.
