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CHAPTER 18
Evan
Red had followedme onto the roof and into the bird without protest, but as we struggled into heavy-duty work pants and jackets, no easy feat while strapped into a moving helicopter, that changed.
“I should go alone,” she said. “One person can move faster than two—”
“I love it when you’re bossy, Red, but we don’t have time right now. You ever been in an 18-inch diameter pipe underground?”
She stopped in the middle of pulling on her boots and stared at me.
“Yeah, it’s as shitty as it sounds.” I grinned, hoping to ease any panic the thought was causing her. “Lucky for you, I have extensive training and experience in confined spaces. I’ll get you through it.”
By the time the bird landed on the roof of a building several blocks from the funeral home, I’d given her the basics, which all boiled down to: I’ll lead, you’ll follow, we’ll keep talking, you’ll grab my ankle if you go into a panic. We hustled down the metal staircase that wrapped around the abandoned warehouse where we’d landed. Penn met us in the dirt lot behind the building.
“Opening’s here,” Penn said. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I pulled down my helmet’s face mask, then grabbed the medical bag and cooler off Red’s shoulder and placed them at the mouth—the very small mouth—of the tunnel, in a pile with my own backpack.
“But—” she reached for her bag.
“Tunnel’s too narrow to keep those on your backs,” Penn said. “Prescott will push them in front of him.”
While he helped her with her helmet, I switched on the lamp in mine. I dropped to my knees, then crawled onto my belly, and wriggled forward into the muck and slime-filled tunnel, an old drainage pipe that I hoped didn’t have a foot of stagnant water puddling somewhere in it. But as Bennet used to say when we were in the sandbox, deployed in Afghanistan, the only way through it was through it. I crawled far enough into the tunnel to allow Red to get in behind me. Seconds later, she grabbed my ankle.
“Ready,” she said.
I started moving, my headlamp cutting into the darkness to reveal several feet of tunnel in front of us, then more darkness. This was even less fun than I remembered. Talking wouldn’t just help keep Red calm, it would help me, too, so I started doing it. “Like I said, Penn’s team tested the air and water before we landed. Nothing toxic in here and plenty of oxygen, so if you have any trouble breathing—”
“It will mean I’m panicking. I grab your ankle.”
“Exactly. If I’m moving too quickly—”
“Faster.”
I grinned. “I’ll say it again, I like you bossy. But I’m moving as fast as our payload will allow.”
“Shit, forgot. Sorry.” Her voice was a little fainter.
That might mean it was time to talk about something—anything—other than being in that narrow space. I asked her about college, friends, family, drawing short but coherent responses. “No siblings,” I said when we hit what I estimated was the halfway point, “but what about cousins? Any you’re close to?”
“Three. All girls. Like sisters as kids. Still keep in close touch.”
“All redheads, by any chance?”
“You wish.”
Her sense of humor was intact. Another good sign.
“How much farther?” she asked.
“Not as far as when we started,” I answered. Giving her details would only make her shoulders and elbows, which were bearing the brunt of our tunnel crawl, hurt worse. “Your parents, you’re close?”
“Very. Only child syndrome. Good people.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said. “They raised you.”
“Tell me a story.”
