“Let’s tie the rope around her waist. Can Chase and Drew pull her?” Amy alternates between being able to move on her own and going limp.
“I can’t do this,” she says, weeping. “You both get out of here before the butcher comes back. Get out while you can. You can crawl and—”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say. My voice goes to a timbre I didn’t know I have. It’s the sound of determination. “You are going to live. So am I.”
Amy holds up her one, working pinkie. “Pinkie promise?”
I close my finger around hers and hold it steady. “Pinkie promise. I swear.”
She gives me a sick smile.
“Get in.” I lift her up, shoving my shoulder against her ass. Amy only has one arm but she uses it to climb up.
“Wait,” she says, turning and looking at Allie. “What do I do?”
Allie finishes tying the rope around her ribs. “Chase and Drew will pull. You use your arms—er, arm—and your knees and feet as much as you can.”
“Can’t we all just crawl out?” I ask.
“No. Not enough oxygen in there if all three of us go at once. I suggested that and Drew shot me down. Said we could get halfway up and pass out.”
“Oh.” My stomach roils and I start retching.
We lift Amy in and Allie texts Chase. The phone buzzes, then I feel the rope go tight.
Amy starts to move in and makes a horrible gurgle of pain.
We gently nudge her. Her feet disappear into the darkness of the pipe, and then a muffled howl of anguish.
Allie’s phone buzzes.
“Shit,” she groans. “The rope slipped off her and went slack. Chase says we need to pull her out, then put it back on.”
I fall to the ground. I just fold, like a piece of paper you put in an envelope. I fold into myself, like Carrie origami. My mind folds, too. Like it’s done being exposed to everything and needs to make itself as small as possible.
“No,” I say. “Just…no.”
“Get up,” Allie says in a very hard voice. It’s so unlike her that I look up in surprise. “Get up now, Carrie. Get your mind in focus and let’s get Amy out.”
“I can’t,” I whine. She doesn’t understand how tired I am. I’m exhausted. It’s like someone drained all the blood out of me.
“You will. Fall apart tomorrow. Not now.”
“It’s not like I’m choosing to fall apart!” I whimper. She’s pissing me off.
“Yes, You are.”
“Fuck you.”
“Good. Anger is better than despair. You’re angry because it’s true. You’re still breathing. You can still move freely. You have a choice, damn it, and you have a man who is out there relying on me to bring you back home safe. I refuse to go out into the world and tell Mark you gave up. You will not do that. I won’t let you.”
“It’s hopeless.”
She twists her forearm so the nasty scar is showing. She pulls back the wall of hair in front of her face and shows an array of stretched skin along her hair line.
“This,” she says through clenched teeth, “is what I got in return for deciding to choose to fight. You know what happens when you don’t fight?”
“What?”
“You don’t get scars like this. And you don’t get scars like this because you’re dead. I’m not letting you die, Carrie, so as Chase would say—get your ass over here. Now.”
“Why are you being so mean?” I ask in a voice that sounds like a petulant five year old.
Allie just laughs through her nose. It’s not a funny sound.
I stand as she reaches into the hole and slides Amy back. We secure the rope around Amy, looping it through the belt loops of her pants.
Allie looks at her phone. “Chase says someone needs to crawl behind her. Push her.”
“I thought there wasn’t enough oxygen for two people in there at the same time.”
“There might not be, but the alternative isn’t good, either.” She closes her eyes and moves her lips. Is she praying? Praying?
This is worse than I thought.
“I’ll push her.”
“You’re exhausted, Carrie. I’m worried you won’t have the energy. Plus, I’m smaller.”
Some part of my tiny shred of pride looks her over. “We’re the same size!”
“You have wider shoulders and hips. This isn’t about weight, Carrie,” she says flatly. “It’s about being practical. I can get her up the pipe faster and back to you with the rope.”
“The rope?”
“We have to get her up with the rope, then drag the rope back for you.”
“I can crawl,” I say weakly. But she has a point.
“Mmmmmm,” she says doubtfully. “You’ve been in here for most of a day.”
“I have?”
“Honey, it’s Sunday.”
Sunday.
“WHAT?”
“Sunday, about 6 a.m. The coffee shop is about to open. We need to figure this out before the place is full of people. Drew’s worried about innocents becoming collateral damage,” she explains.
“Innocents?”
“He’s worried that Frenchie and his crew will turn the coffee shop into a bloodbath.”
“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “Is Frenchie capable of that?”
She shrugs and tugs, hard, on the rope as Amy ducks down and groans. The sound of her moan is muffled by the pipe. “Frenchie and El Brujo are capable of anything. Whatever the worst you can imagine is, double it.”
And with that, she tucks Amy’s legs up and I watch Amy disappear. Allie crawls in right behind her, then hands me her phone.
“Use this to text with Chase. I’ll be back,” she says, her voice fading fast. “I promise.” She bends the arch of her feet so her toes dig into the muck-covered pipe and then she’s gone.
They’re gone.
I am alone.