“This way,” I said, and this time I didn’t have to reach back for his arm. His hand sought my own and gripped it tightly, twining our fingers together. Treading lightly, we picked our way over the floor and continued into the ruin of the old building.
We slipped through more hallways, more crumbling steps, being extremely careful now as we made our way down to the lower floors. Finally, I saw a sign painted in faded red letters that said Backstage, with an arrow pointing down a flight of stairs. As we made our way down the musty staircase, I started to hear the noise from the auditorium; the ruckus of the crowd still had not died down.
“I hope they’re all right,” Zeke muttered behind me. “I hope no one else ended up like…like Darren.”
His voice caught, and when I glanced back at him, I pretended not to see the glimmer in his eyes.
The stairwell ended in a swath of jet-black water, lapping against the metal steps. That meant we had reached the ground level of the theater. Another Backstage arrow lay half submerged against the wall, pointing downward.
“I think we’re going to have to swim again,” I muttered, releasing Zeke’s hand. He nodded bravely, just as I caught a faint shimmer of light somewhere in the depths. “Wait a second,” I cautioned as he stepped forward. “I think there’s a door down there. I’ll see if I can get it open.”
“All right,” Zeke said. “I’ll wait here for you. Be careful.”
He sank down onto one of the steps, arms around himself, and leaned forward, shivering. For a moment, I wanted to bend down and kiss him, to reassure him that it would be all right. I didn’t. I walked down the stairs, straight into the murky depths, and continued downward as the water closed over my head.
The steps went down another flight and a half, ending at a rusty metal door. A faint orange glow trickled out between the cracks, but pushing on it revealed the door was locked or stuck. It was difficult to find the leverage I needed to force it open, but vampire strength, plus the handy benefit of not having to breathe while underwater, won out in the end. After bashing my shoulder against the surface repeatedly, it finally gave way.
Orange light flooded the stairwell, coming from somewhere beyond the door. I turned and swam back up the steps to Zeke, waiting anxiously at the edge of the water.
“Got it open,” I said, unnecessarily. The stairwell was no longer pitch-black. Though it was still plenty dark, Zeke was no longer blind. He nodded and gazed past me, into the water.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Not yet. But there’s light coming from that room, so I’m guessing we’re backstage, behind the curtain.” I gestured back to the exit, making a small splash. “The door is underwater, but it’s not far. Follow me and you’ll be fine.”
Zeke nodded and, without hesitation, plunged into the icy waters. Pulling ourselves down by the railings, we swam through the flooded stairwell, through the door, and surfaced cautiously. Treading water, I gazed around the small lake, trying to get my bearings.
We were definitely backstage. The floating platform bobbed on the water’s surface about fifty feet away, each corner lit by flickering oil lamps, sputtering on their posts. The massive red curtain hung across the center, moldy and tattered, but still a barrier separating the backstage from the auditorium. A raucous cheer came from the other side; the raider audience was still out there and getting rowdier.
Puzzled, I gazed around the room, wondering where everyone was. Chairs floated or lay half submerged in the murky water, which was also choked with floating black wires and bits of rope. A plastic arm bobbed past my face, and I could see the remains of a couch, bloated and falling apart, beneath me. But, except for the floating stage and the huge red curtain, the room appeared empty.
Then I heard voices above me, and looked up.
A maze of catwalks and platforms stretched above the room, dangling twenty or so feet above the water. They crisscrossed their way through the open air, between coils of ropes and pulleys, surrounding a pair of cages hanging from the rafters. The cages, made of rusty iron and steel, hung a little below the catwalks, each suspended by a single thick rope that swayed gently in the open air. Soft sobbing noises came from inside, as a group of people huddled together behind the bars.
Zeke drew in a sharp breath. He’d seen them, too. We started forward, but the beam of a flashlight suddenly pierced the gloom above the catwalks as a raider stalked out of the darkness, shining the light into the cage.
“Hey, shut up in there!” he ordered, aiming the beam into the face of a terrified Caleb, who cringed back and clung to Ruth. I felt Zeke’s fury, the tight coil of his muscles under his shirt, and put a warning hand on his shoulder.