After Sir stormed off, Savannah closed the door and turned on the light. Both of us squinted against the sudden brightness. She sagged on the couch, her fingers massaging her neck.
Even though our plans hadn’t worked, I felt oddly powerful. I had talked back to Sir. Not only that, I had hit him! When I felt his nose shift under my palm, it had unleashed a feeling of savage glee.
Savannah’s eyes looked wet. “What do we do now?” she asked. “Should we wait until morning and then honk the horn again?”
Starting to shake from adrenaline, I remembered his threats. “But what if he comes back with a gun?” I moved into the hall. “We got so close with the vent. Maybe there’s still a way to get it loose.” I jumped up and grabbed the metal crossbar. Above me, the vent let out a groan.
Was it possible to simply yank the screws loose? Fueled by a surge of excitement, I braced my feet on one wall and pulled down so hard my arms trembled, but the vent didn’t shift or make any more noise.
Savannah joined me, jumping up and grabbing the bar with her one good hand. But even our combined weight did nothing. Finally we both let go, landing on the floor with a hollow thud.
Her eyes got big. “What’s under here?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.
“What do you mean? That’s the floor.”
“I know that, but what’s under the floor? It sounds like there’s some kind of open space underneath.” Her face lit up. “I’ll bet there is! Like where Greyhound buses store the luggage. If we could get down inside it, we might be able to get out.”
Hope flared and just as quickly died. “Even if there is a space, we don’t have a saw or anything to cut through the floor to get to it.”
“But the floor feels spongy. Like it’s rotten.” She kept bouncing.
I followed her example. She was right. That section of the floor felt squishy. I had noticed it before and then each time promptly forgotten, ignoring it the way I ignored the rest of my circumstances. “Every time it rains hard, water leaks through the vent.”
Savannah dropped to her knees. “Let’s check it out.”
Together, we plucked and pulled at the flat brown carpet, trying to get it loose. I broke a nail past the quick in the process, but I didn’t care. We finally managed to yank it back with a ripping sound, releasing the fusty smell of mold.
Savannah was right. Under the vent, the particle-board floor was black and rotting. I grabbed one of the spoons and the spork, and together Savannah and I attacked the rotten wood, side by side on our knees.
It was like digging through a quarter inch of wet, slimy, splintery dirt. The smell of mildew clogged my nose. We started using the handles of our utensils like pry bars, lifting up crumbling chunks of wood. Underneath the layer of rotten particle board was something white. As we uncovered more of it, I realized it was a layer of Styrofoam a couple of feet wide, with metal braces on the edges. After we had exposed about a two-foot length, we gouged at it, wincing at the squeaking sounds the Styrofoam made.
There had to be a faster way. I got to my feet, took a deep breath, and stomped down with my right foot, punching a hole straight through the Styrofoam. I tumbled forward as my foot dropped two feet before finally landing on something solid.
Savannah backed up, took a running leap, and landed with both feet right beside me. With a high-pitched squeal, the entire panel of Styrofoam gave way. We fell in a tangled heap.
And then we were laughing. Laughing and trying to be quiet. I hadn’t laughed about anything in ten months.