She shrugs. “Why would I? Are you ready?”
It’s the same old Alex staring at me—hands in hoodie, expression bored—but her words shiver on a shudder. She’s afraid.
That makes two of us.
I hoist my bag onto one shoulder. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say and brush past her like my blood isn’t thumping in my ears.
Alex follows close behind, head swiveling from side to side. We’re both listening for something and there’s nothing. Surely we couldn’t be that lucky?
Please let us be that lucky. I swipe my badge into the elevator panel and the metal doors part. We get in and Alex goes to the keypad on the right-hand side, drops to one knee.
“Close the doors,” she says, unlocking the service panel to reveal the override. I mash one finger into the close button and hold my breath.
“Hit ‘ground.’”
I do and the elevator moves. We shift downward and I lean one hand against the wall, watching as the floor buttons light up. Down . . . down . . . down.
“No alarms!” There’s a giddy grin in Alex’s voice, but I feel like my chest’s full of sand. I can barely breathe around it. “They have no idea what we’re doing! We’re going to get out!”
I almost can’t believe either. I definitely can’t take my eyes from the floor lights. Every new flash twists my stomach sideways.
I wet my lips, force myself to think. “When we reach the parking lot, we have to run. They will see us. We need to hit the gate fast, climb it, and head for the train stop. We’ll split, go separate ways, blend in, okay?”
No answer. I look at Alex and she nods, still grinning.
Actually, we’re both grinning now. This is really happening and the thrill makes my heart hammer harder. The elevator’s lowering and lowering. We’re past the twentieth floor now, past the tenth. We’re one floor above the parking garage. We’re—the elevator wrenches to a stop.
Alex staggers into me, digs her fingers into my arm. “Wick?”
“I—” The elevator jerks again, dropping a few feet and tossing my stomach into my mouth. “Alex,” I say, and the lights go out.
27
I shove Alex toward the doors, claw my fingers into the seam between them. “Pull them open!”
The emergency lights cut on and the elevator shifts hard. Both of us stagger.
“Pull!” I scream.
“I am!”
“Then pull harder!”
The doors grind open an inch, then another. We work our hands around the edges and yank and yank until I can wedge my shoulder into the gap. I brace my foot against the other door, pushing with my whole body. It scrapes open another few inches.
Enough to see we have another problem.
We’re between floors. There’s maybe an eighteen-inch space between the bottom of the elevator and the ceiling of the parking deck.
“You can fit,” I say to Alex. “Here, hurry. I’ll push you through.”
“No, you’re smaller. You should go.”
“I can push you easier than pull you. Come on.”
Alex looks at me, looks at the gap. “No . . . no way . . . what if it goes up?”
If it goes up, she’ll get crushed. If she stays . . . tears prick my eyes. “If they catch you, you’ll never get out. No one will come looking.”
The elevator shudders and drops. We have another six inches.
“You know I’m right,” I whisper to her.
“Shit,” Alex breathes and kneels, eases both legs through the space until she’s shimmying on her belly. I hold on to her shoulders, then her upper arms, and she drops and drops . . .
And the elevator starts to rise.
“Wick!”
“Jump! You have to jump!”
“I can’t!”
She’s wedged, shoulders pinched between the floor of the elevator and the roof of the parking garage. If the elevator keeps going— “Kick! Wiggle!” I shove both her shoulders with all my weight, my sneakers skidding on the elevator’s polished floor. Above us, there’s a heavy click. The elevator shudders once more and the regular lights flicker, flicker, return.
We drop two inches and Alex screams, falls. I’m holding only her wrists now and she’s scrambling.
“Come on!” She yanks at me. “Come with me!”
Another shudder from the elevator. Our eyes meet. I won’t make it and we both know it.
“Run,” I whisper and release her wrists. Alex drops, disappearing into the dark.
The elevator takes forever returning me to Looking Glass. I lie on the floor and stare at the shiny metal ceiling, feel my stomach pull against my spine as we go up, up, up.
Closer and closer to them.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I need a plan. I need some leverage. I need something.
I can’t think of anything.
The elevator bumps to a stop and the doors open.
“Well, that was cute.” Kent fills the opening, watching me with a shit-eating grin. “Caught you.”