Day 31 – The Plunge
It was hours later; most of the platoon was attempting to get some rest. Tracy still operated the radios laboring under the dim hope that if she stayed there long enough, she was bound to get some good news. Anything she could have possibly heard that sounded even remotely positive was crushed under the weight of war as it moved closer to their hideout. Dust rained down upon their heads as explosions shook the building. Anyone who had the good fortune to have fallen asleep was now standing, weapon in hand, looking up at the ceiling as if hoping their gaze would be enough to keep it in place. The lights flickered as the floor shook, the next explosion so close, people were automatically ducking.
“I hope we’re not going to be entombed,” Mike said.
“Why the fuck would you even say that?” BT asked.
“It’s what I’m thinking.”
“Haven’t you learned yet that just because you’re thinking something doesn’t mean you need to lend it voice?”
“You one of those people that think saying something makes it more likely to happen?”
“No, I’m not superstitious. You’re just going to make other people go down the same rabbit hole as you if you keep talking like that.”
“I do,” Mike said.
“I do what?” BT wanted to know what the man was talking about.
“I’m under the belief that talking about something is more likely to make it happen.”
BT’s eyes opened wide, as did his mouth, as he thought of the right words to say. “What the fuck, man? If you believe that why the fuck would you say what you said?” BT was now unwilling to echo the other’s words in case there was any validity to it.
Mike shrugged and ducked down as the building again shook. This time, it was many long seconds before it stopped.
“We’re going to need to get out of here,” Tracy told the group. Mike wanted to tell her that sounded like a bad idea, given what was happening outside, but knew better on a couple of different fronts. He knew for an absolute fact that going against the sergeant’s wishes was never a good idea, and, secondly, this was New York City. Its buildings weren’t rated for earthquakes; they were not used to shaking all the way down to the foundation, and especially not dilapidated ones.
“Hmmm,” Mike said softly. “Stay and get buried under tons of concrete, or, go up and out and get blown up. Decisions, decisions.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” BT told him.
“Probably not,” Mike said before he could even think to stop himself. He fell into the wall with the next explosion. The dust this time followed by a few fist-sized pieces of the ceiling.
“Not so bad.” Mike was doing his best to undo what he’d said previously, and, as if in direct response, there was an enormously loud crash above them. The time for hoping the storm would blow over was past.
“Go!” Tracy ordered.
Mike, being closest, raced for the exit, turned the handle and pushed. When that did nothing, he put his shoulder into it. His teeth were clenched, eyes closed, his legs straining and his back bent, yet nothing happened.
“Move,” BT said as he leaned into it. Same pose, same results. He eased up, breathing heavily from the exertion. He shook his head curtly at Tracy as she watched him. She knew if the beast of a man could not open the door, none of them could. Another considerable problem arose; if they did survive the battle that surrounded them, they were now trapped inside.
“Is there another way out?” Tracy asked.
Mike shook his head. For the briefest of moments he was relieved that one of their options had been removed, because this wasn’t like choosing between two hidden panels on Let’s Make a Deal, one yielding living room furniture, the other a year’s supply of kitty litter. Both choices they faced led to the very real consequence of death, but at least not having to pick one meant you couldn’t pick the wrong one. Strange logic that would not hold up to scrutiny, but that wasn’t Mike’s strong suit anyway. The moment of reprieve was fleeting as he realized that not only could they not go out now, but they might never be able to go out.
“Get under whatever you can,” the sergeant ordered.
Most of the furniture there was plastic. It might stop a baseball-sized chunk, but anything more significant was likely to go straight through. Didn’t stop as many as could from using them for cover, though. Mike and BT refrained as they watched the scramble for perceived safety; looked like a rudely officiated game of musical chairs, as people pushed others out of their way or just plain lifted the table away and onto themselves.
“Enough!” the sergeant yelled before the spectacle could devolve further. “If you can’t fit under, stay close to a wall.”
The soldiers looked a lot like berated kids, but they did as she told them. Mike wondered how long that would last. As soon as panic began to set in it was likely that military decorum would be thrown out. Once there was a semblance of control, Tracy motioned for Mike to come closer.
“How does air get down here?” She’d been looking around, but, as of yet, had not discovered what she was searching for.
Mike, quick on the uptake, gave her the answer she was looking for, but, like most things, he did not perform in the manner desired. “If you think there are air ducts like in Die Hard, there aren’t.”
Tracy appeared as if she wanted to rail at him for his less than diplomatic answer, but the truth remained the same. “We still have the radio; we can call for help.”
Mike was about to ask who she thought would come to their rescue in a city that was falling all around them, when he was rescued from his mouth and his inability to think things out beforehand. They were plunged into darkness, as the power had been severed. Unlike the previous explosions, this one hadn’t been too particularly close, just the straw on the proverbial camel’s back. The wall had been pushed just far enough to crush and bisect the electrical connection. After some initial exclamations and cries of fear, flashlights were turned on. The multiple beams were doing their best to cut through the dusty darkness but did very little in cutting through the gloom and growing despair.
The battle had either been completed or moved on; the damage had been done. Now, all that was left of the plunge was lung-clogging dust and a handful of injuries. Considering what had happened, they were lucky there had only been one serious wound. PFC Brinker had his lower leg broken when a piece of concrete the size of a cinder block had fallen atop his shin. He’d cried out in great amounts of pain until the sergeant had driven a syringe of morphine into his thigh.
“How much of that do you have?” Mike had asked as he shined the light on what she was doing.
“Enough to get his leg set.” Tracy was rummaging through a medical bag.
“Pretty sure that’s not what he meant,” BT said.
“There’s always a cop around when you don’t want one,” Mike grumbled.
“Here…I’ve done my fair share of field medicine; I’ll help you,” BT said as he shouldered Mike out of the way.
“You do realize that most times, it’s okay to say, ‘excuse me,’ instead of just pushing things out of your orbit with your bulk.”
“Get me one of those chairs.” BT pointed.
“Right away, boss.” Mike flipped him off before he went to get it.
“I saw that, Talbot,” BT said without turning around.
“How?”
“Maybe don’t have the flashlight behind your hand. You put an eight-foot finger on the wall in front of me.”
“Son of a bitch.” Mike did it again, this time on purpose, finally changing its direction to create a barking doberman.
A half-hour later, BT and Mike were sitting up against the wall. Brinker’s leg was in as good a shape as it could be, given the circumstances. The rest would be up to him, if he was given a chance.
“I need you not to get mad at me,” Mike said in hushed tones.
“That seems damn near an impossibility, but thanks for the heads up,” BT replied, his head was hanging low from exhaustion and depression.
“I’m pretty sure the doorway out isn’t blocked.”
BT lifted his head, didn’t say anything as he turned to look at the other man.
“Remember, you said you wouldn’t get mad.”
“No such words came out of my mouth.”
“I did it for you.”
“Talbot, what exactly did you do for me?”
“There’s a sweet spot when you turn the handle, and if you don’t hit it just right, the door stays locked. Trust me, I was trying to get out. I think the shifting of the building made the sweet spot smaller.”
“We could have been buried alive!” BT’s voice was rising, as was his anger level and blood pressure.
“But, we weren’t,” Mike responded with the not-so-eloquent but highly effective rebuttal.
“Why would you do that?” BT had quieted down.
“You mean, why didn’t I want to head out into an active war zone where I had no clue what was going on or who might be up there? Is that what you’re asking?”
BT had some of the air taken out of him. “Yeah, that.”
“Besides not wanting to go out like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, I’m Sundance, by the way.”
“Why am I Butch?”
“I don’t know, maybe that’s a question you need to ask yourself.”
“Talbot, I’m too tired to smack you around, but it doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“I think I can get that hatch open. We can wait until everyone is asleep.”
“Sneak away, you mean?”
“I don’t like it, and I know I promised the colonel to keep his niece safe, but seriously, have you ever met anyone that needs less help doing that than her?”
“Justification?” BT arched an eyebrow.
“Do I really need to defend a way for you to get out of this mess we’re in and get to your wife? I don’t know if this is a global apocalyptical event, but it could very well be the end of the United States. Even if it had only been the Yellowstone super-volcano erupting, the US was in for some hard times, and who knows? Maybe it would have even collapsed from the pressure. But right now we are fighting for our survival, not against a crashing economy but against an enemy that seems pretty bent on knuckling us under.”
“You’re okay with this? With leaving her?”
“I’m not a soldier. I got her to a safe place; what she wants to do after that is on her. Going to Missouri and getting deployed to who knows where? I don’t think so. I’m going to help you get to Florida and find your wife, and when that’s done, I’m heading north, like, Antarctica-north.”
“Antarctica is south. The Arctic Circle is north.”
“Did you know what I meant?”
“Of course. Ah, you’re telling me to fuck off without actually telling me to fuck off.”
“Safe bet,” Mike told him.
“I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“You’re debating between your wife and a room full of strangers?”
“I’m a cop, Talbot. I’ve been trained to think of others before myself.”
“When you figure it out, let me know what you want to do.”
“Are you going to leave regardless of my decision? You know, head up to go and play with the penguins and all?”
“Penguins are only in Antarctica.”
“That you know?”