Fumes, she thought. She wondered if perhaps the car had been washed down to this end of the tunnel, and whether or not it had gone out the drain. If the tunnel was empty, maybe she could get to the trunk and retrieve a flashlight. It meant climbing back down the ladder, and then letting go of the ladder as she groped around the bottom of the tunnel for the car. What if she got lost? Or couldn’t find the ladder again? She shivered at that thought, because she knew that the falling water was probably going to refill this thing.
So go now. Do it. You must have light to find your way out of this nightmare.
With a reluctant sigh, she groped around for the ladder arch and got back on it. She climbed down slowly, the rusty rungs hurting her bare feet. Finally, she reached the bottom, discovered water already standing on the floor of the tunnel. She put her back to the ladder and tried to think of a way to lay down a trail of some kind. The smell of gasoline was even stronger, which meant that the carcass of the car was close. She bent down to feel the bottom, and she discovered a crack or seam in the concrete that led directly away from the bottom rung of the ladder. It felt like old asphalt, hard yet soft when she pushed a finger into it. If she kept her hand on that and never let go, she could follow it back to the ladder.
She tried it, going out six feet or so, then following it back to the ladder.
It was all she had. She realized her eyes were closed, so she opened them. Better closed, she thought, because at least that way she could construct an image of what this place looked like. She stepped away from the ladder again, crouching down to keep her left hand firmly on the seam.
She went all the way across the tunnel floor, through water that was getting deeper again, until she hit the opposite wall. No car. She went back, just to make damn sure she returned to the ladder again, and she did. She came back out to what she sensed was the middle of the tunnel, then said, “Hey!” She listened to the echo other own voice, and did it again. This time, she thought she detected an object to her left. She called out again, listening like a bat to the reflected sound. She turned ninety degrees to the left, felt behind her for the seam, and then, taking a deep breath and a major leap of faith, stepped out and away from the seam. She had gone ten steps when she realized that in this direction lay the main drain. Was she walking straight toward it?
She called out again and sensed that there was something right in front of her. Was it the end of the tunnel, with some huge hole right in front of her? She began to take baby steps, her hands outstretched, trying not to think of how she would find the seam again, and then her hand ran into the smooth side of the car. She almost wept at the feel of it. She felt around until she could determine that the car was upright, with its nose to her right. She felt back along its side to her left until she came to the trunk. Which she was going to open how? She swore. The trunk latch release was a large button under the driver’s side armrest. Would it still work? She worked her way back to the front door and tried to open it, but it was jammed shut. She felt the jagged edges of the glass in the window frame. She put her hand through and then her head and chest, until she could retrieve the
passenger-side floor mat. She put that over the window coaming and climbed through, trying not to cut her bare legs. The Sig hung up on something, but then she was through and was able to feel her way across the front seat. She was within six inches of the button when she felt the car begin to move, a slow leaning motion toward its left side.
She screamed and scrambled back out. She felt the car settle back down.
She crouched by the window, gasping, and tried to collect her thoughts. Damn thing must be balanced over what—the main drain? Was the drain big enough to suck down the whole car? Apparently not, or it would have already done so, right? Then why had it moved? God, she needed a light, any kind of light. She dared not climb over the hood; if it tilted, she might be thrown down into the drain. She realized the water was up to her mid calves And rising, she thought.
Think, Janet, think. You need to reach that button. You have to go back in and try it again. She took a deep breath and climbed back into the front seat, being very careful about how quickly she moved. Then she drew the Sig out of its holster, hoping to use it to extend her reach. She knew right where that button was, even in the total darkness. She crept across the front seat, trying to keep her center of gravity over on the passenger side while stretching her arm out as far as it would go. The car didn’t move.
She stretched another few inches, tapping the Sig under the steering column, then extracting it when it got tangled in limp folds of the deflated air bag. She felt the car just barely sway, at which point she moved two feet back toward the passenger-side window. The car settled. She moved toward the driver’s side, carefully, very carefully now, lunged with the Sig, and banged down on where the button ought to be, then scrambled back as the car began to tip again. To her relief, it settled back. She crawled out the window and went to the back of the car. The trunk was still closed.
Was the switch inoperative, or had she just missed it? She crept around the back of the car, keeping her hand on the trunk, until she got to the left-rear corner. She felt with her toes that the concrete dropped off, with the edge just inside the car’s flattened rear tire. She erased the image that formed—of some dreadful drop-off into oblivion waiting to swallow up the car and her with it. Have to try again, she thought, and went back to the passenger-side window.
It took her four more tries before she heard the familiar chunking sound of the trunk hatch opening. She climbed out eagerly, reholstered her weapon, and went hand over hand back to the trunk, where she promptly hit her head on the raised hatch. Inside, everything was a total jumble, but at last her fingers found a rubberized flashlight.
Crossing mental fingers, she switched it on. The bright white light hurt her eyes, but she didn’t mind one bit. She could see} She swept the light around her and saw that she was in a large concrete chamber, with the tunnel she had explored over to her left. It appeared to be about twenty feet square. A pool of black water covered the bottom 10 percent of the tunnel. She swept the light over to the walls of the chamber and found the ladder, and saw the ledge above. She could see nothing above that. She turned the light downward, toward the far side of the car, and stopped breathing.
The car was perched on the edge of a monstrous hole, which was already filled to the brim with shimmering black water as the tunnel system refilled. There was nothing holding the car back from ripping over into it;
only the turbulence around the siphon drain had probably kept it from going over in the first place.
She exhaled nervously and went back into the trunk, where she retrieved a soaking-wet blanket, a second flashlight, the first-aid kit, and a plastic bag of green ChemLights. She gathered up her treasures in the blanket and followed the bright white beam of the light back to the ladder.
She would climb up to the ledge, which would keep her out of the rising water. If that ledge ran all the way back to the intersection with the main tunnel, she could then follow that back to the point where her car had crashed through the street. Assuming the ledge was high enough for her to get back into the main tunnel.