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Levi
Water. Levi could hear water running. And why was he so cold? His ankle hurt worse than any pain he’d ever imagined, and yet he could still feel the pain in his head trying to keep up. Where was he?
He cracked his eyes open, and the reality of his situation rushed over him like a suffocating wave.
He had fallen through the floor of a rotten shack. He blinked his eyes the rest of the way open. Why was there so much light? Without picking his head up, he did his best to look around. Daylight was trying to stream in through dirty, cobweb-covered windows. It was bright because it was morning. This fact scared him. He’d been knocked out—that wasn’t all that strange—but he’d slept through all the way till morning? Was that even possible? He was lucky he hadn’t frozen to death.
He tried to sit up but his body was having trouble cooperating. He managed to prop himself up on his elbow. He surveyed his surroundings and listened for evidence of life, but there was only the water. Where were Shane and Kendall? He looked up at the hole he’d fallen through. It was huge. He was surprised Shane—or whoever had been following him—hadn’t fallen through too. He glanced around the basement to make sure, and sure enough, he was alone.
“Shane?” he called out, and a million knives stabbed at his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Kendall?” he whispered.
Nothing.
They must have gone to get help.
They would, right? They would go for help? They wouldn’t just leave him there. Of course they wouldn’t. But what was taking them so long? It was morning now! Had they gotten lost? They’d both been pretty messed up. Maybe they couldn’t find their way back to the car. And maybe if they did, maybe Kendall hadn’t been able to drive. Maybe they were dead in a ditch somewhere, and no one was ever going to find him.
His phone. He started to reach for his pocket but then remembered that he’d forgotten his phone in Kendall’s car. He almost cried out at this realization. What was he going to do? How was he going to get out of here? How badly was he hurt? Could he even move?
A tentative hand crept toward his head. He was afraid of what he’d find there. Relief coursed through him as he felt the egg. No open wound. No blood. Just a giant lump. He closed his eyes, and the pain eased up a little. He probably had a concussion. He opened his eyes again and scanned the basement. Most of it was a mystery, locked in shadows.
The concussion was the least of his problems.
He almost didn’t dare look at his ankle, but he forced himself to. Again relieved to see no blood, he was alarmed to see his foot cocked off at an unnatural angle. His ankle was so swollen that it spilled out over his shoe. He leaned forward to get a closer look, and his head swam. Hurriedly he put his hand down on the floor to steady himself and heard a splash. He looked down to see that his legs had been lying in a large dirty puddle. No wonder he was so cold. Why was there a puddle? His eyes followed the water, and he saw it streaming in through a broken window to his left. As he stared at this hole in the wall, he heard water dripping to his right. He turned to look and saw drops splashing on the floor. He looked up to see water falling through the hole he’d fallen through.
He wasn’t hearing water running. He was hearing rain. He shivered. How cold was it in this basement? Was he in danger from the cold? He didn’t know, but now that he was becoming more awake and more aware, he realized he was very cold. The water had soaked through his pants to his skin. He looked around. He had to get out of the puddle. It wasn’t huge. Shouldn’t be hard. He tried to get up on his one good foot, but dizziness washed over him. He reached out to grab something to steady himself, but there was nothing there. He lost his balance and tipped sideways, and without thinking put his bad foot down to stop his fall—pain exploded up his leg, and he tumbled to the floor where he promptly retched. Nothing came up, and he barely had the wherewithal to appreciate this fact.
He lay his head back down on the floor. This impact hurt more than he’d expected, and tears sprang to his closed eyes. He swallowed hard and silently scolded himself. Men didn’t cry. He rolled over and looked at his progress. At least he was out of the puddle, but the floor was still wet and cold. He lay there for a minute trying to slow his breathing, trying not to lose his mind.
When he’d mostly gathered himself, he tried to sit up again. His head was starting to hurt less, but he was terribly thirsty. How funny to be thirsty when there was so much water around. He thought he’d rather die of dehydration than drink that brown stuff on the floor.
He opened his mouth to call out to his friends again but then stopped.
They weren’t there.
He didn’t know where they’d gone, he didn’t know if they were still alive, but he did know they’d left him.
Of course they were still alive. Just because he’d found himself in such a terrible predicament didn’t mean everyone he knew had suffered similar fates.
This thought made him think of his mother, and a blade shot through his heart. His mother. She would be freaking out right now. She would have come home from work and checked on him in bed, and he wasn’t there. This realization hurt almost as bad as his ankle.
