Chapter 27
Matt was worried about Kara. She never complained about being in pain, but he’d seen the cut when he tied his shirt around
it. It was deep. The dark, filthy water wouldn’t help it heal, and could be dangerous. She needed a hospital, a hefty dose
of antibiotics, and someone to clean and stitch the wound.
His ankle was messed up, but it wasn’t broken, he didn’t even think it was seriously sprained. The cut burned, but it wasn’t
as serious an injury as Kara’s gash. His chest hurt. He’d thought he might have had a cracked rib earlier, but now he was
certain. It only hurt if he moved abruptly, so he tried to be cautious. Still, cracked ribs were rarely even taped up anymore.
He pushed through the discomfort to find a way out.
He’d inspected the two doors without touching them.
They were heavy metal doors that had, at one point, been automatic—a large button to the side suggested that when pressed, the doors would swing out, wide enough for large carts to be pushed through.
The other side of the doors was most likely storage, or offices, or the way to the loading dock—he couldn’t see enough to be certain.
He didn’t test the button or doors now, but if they were electronic, the water had likely short-circuited them.
There was a narrow window in each door, but they were blackened on the other side.
While the doors went from the factory to another room or a lobby or suite of offices, they would also lead to the main entrance.
They had to find a way to get them open without risking themselves.
The first time they’d crafted something to push open the doors, they had barely budged. Even though they were heavy, they
had enough momentum that they should have opened, unless something had blocked them. He feared they were bolted from the other
side and they would be stuck here, sitting ducks in the middle of the flooded factory until Reid’s partner returned . . .
or they died of dehydration.
But they had budged, just a bit, so Matt thought rather than a lock, something heavy blocked them.
He had Kara sit on the conveyor belt, out of the water, while he carefully walked around the entire factory floor looking
for another way out since the swinging doors felt too much like a trap.
Matt had inspected the pile of junk in front of the exit on the far side. He was glad that he was cautious—he poked it with
a metal rod and it creaked and shifted. Several rusting rebars were seemingly randomly placed in the pile, but when he stood
back and looked, he realized they were all at dangerous heights—his head, his gut, his groin.
He remembered one of the male victims had been impaled with something round and imperfect. The ocean salt water had messed
with forensics, but Matt now wondered if it could have been rebar. If his memory served him, the size of the hole would be
about right. If they got out of this—when they got out of this, he told himself—he would ask Jim about it. Hell, they’d bring in an entire forensics team to go over
this factory. Chances were they’d find evidence that all six victims had been here.
He returned to Kara. She was lying down with her eyes closed, pale and unmoving.
He touched her. She opened her eyes. “Hey,” she said.
“You okay?”
“Conserving energy. Find anything?”
“Not a way out. But I have an idea. Stay put.”
Matt had determined that any narrow rod, no matter how strong or tough, wouldn’t provide enough force to push open the door,
especially against the water pressure. He needed something heavy with a large surface area.
A stainless steel basin that had been part of an eyewash station was moveable. He winced as he tried to push it. Kara saw
what he was doing and got up.
“I got this,” he said. “I’m going to turn it lengthwise and then push it through the door. If there is anything dangerous
on the other side, hopefully the distance gives me time to get out of the way.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I’m out of ideas.”
“So am I,” she said.
“Let me try, okay?”
He grunted and shifted the six-foot-long basin. He hoped that was long enough to protect him if there was something on the
other side that was set to collapse, like the ceiling upstairs.
He pushed. The doors didn’t give. Again, he feared they were completely blocked.
He pushed again, and they moved, just a bit.
Kara came over to him.
“You don’t—”
“Yes. I do. We’re in this together, Matt. And I’m not completely helpless.”
“You’ve never been helpless,” he said. “On three, we push as hard as we can, then we jump back, okay?”
She nodded. He counted. “One. Two. Three.”
Together, they used all their strength to push the basin through the doors.
A loud, thunderous crash had them turning away from the doors, shielding their heads. Metal grated on metal, creaking, then
splashing, as heavy objects fell into the water on the other side of the door that was now partly wedged open by the basin.
Matt’s arms covered Kara, expecting something to fall on them, even though they were still on the factory floor. The water
moved in waves as objects continued to fall.
A minute later, silence, though the clamoring still rang in Matt’s ears. Simultaneously, they turned and looked.
Through the door they saw what looked like a junk yard. A mountain of twisted objects—a desk, chairs, rebar, cans, jagged
metal trays. The debris now blocked the doorway.
Had they walked through the opening, the heavy pile of junk would have fallen on them. They’d probably have died instantly,
or been trapped under the shallow water and drowned.
Cautiously, Matt pushed at the sink, hoping that if there was anything else ready to fall he’d jar it loose. The pile shifted,
but nothing more fell from above.
The door was partly blocked, but it was open.
“We’ll have to climb over it,” Matt said. “But there’s a lot of sharp metal, I’ll go first and see if I can clear a path.”
She took his hand, squeezed it. “Don’t die on me,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
Matt climbed onto the sink, then he wiggled it with the weight of his body. It didn’t budge, and nothing fell. Carefully,
he pushed aside some of the debris. He looked over the pile into a large room.
Another set of doors was on the opposite side, along with windows. They were so filthy he couldn’t see through them, but they
brought in enough light that it gave him hope.
The exit. Freedom.
“Almost there, Kara,” he called back to her. “Follow in my footsteps to get over the debris.”
Matt determined the best way through was to crawl over the basin that he’d used as a wedge, then pivot left, where there appeared
to be a narrow path without dangerously sharp and rusting metal protruding in every direction. He shuffled through the water,
not wanting to step on something sharp enough to puncture the soles of his shoes.
As soon as he was through, he called back to Kara. “Okay, your turn.”
She followed his steps exactly and met him on the other side of the debris without incident. They both breathed easier, but
Matt still proceeded cautiously.
The dirty windows provided enough outside light to cast shadows all around and give them decent visibility. The water softly
rippled.
Matt and Kara traversed the room, walking cautiously toward the windows. As they neared, Matt saw a door. A simple double-door
over which was an unlit exit sign. He stopped.
“You saw something,” Kara said. “What?”
“Stay here.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned him.
“Give me one minute to check things out.” He slowly approached the door, his eyes focused on something that only momentarily
reflected from the sun outside. He squatted two feet from the exit.
“Well, shit,” he muttered.
“What is that?” Kara asked, still behind him.
“I don’t know, but if we open the door, it’ll trip a wire.” He looked up. “Holy shit, I feel like the Road Runner.”
Kara followed his gaze and saw a net sagging with more than a dozen bowling balls.
“These people are crazy,” she said.
“Stay away from the wire,” he warned. He went back to the pile of trash and found a heavy metal gear that he could easily grip. He returned to the window next to the door. “Turn around, shield your eyes,” he said.
He put his arm up to shield his own eyes, then with all his strength threw the gear into the window.
Glass shattered. The window was paned, but the metal was weak. He worked on bending it enough for them to get through. “Okay,”
he said.
Kara turned around. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Step over the wire, careful . . . okay. You go first.”
Kara did; Matt followed.
They were out. Free. He greedily breathed in the fresh, humid Georgia air.
The sun felt amazing on his bare back, but he didn’t take the time to enjoy their escape. Watching where they were going,
he navigated away from the building, then turned back and looked at the structure.
Four stories tall. Painted on the front in large, faded black letters: Sweetwater Cannery, Clinch County, GA.
“Where the hell is Clinch County?” Kara said.
“Southern Georgia, borders Florida. There’s not much here. A lot of creeks, swampland, farmland, a couple small towns. I’d
be surprised if there were more than six thousand people.”
“How do you know that?”
He smiled. “Just smart that way,” he said. “So, good news, bad news.”
“We’re out of there. That’s all good news.”
“Based on the state of the factory, how long I think it’s been abandoned, I suspect this was taken out of commission during
Hurricane Helene, about a year ago. Remember that?”
“Vaguely. I think we were in Los Angeles at the time.”
“Being born and raised in Florida, anytime I hear about a hurricane, I need to know where it is and who is affected. It hit southern Georgia pretty hard, and based on the damage and the fact that the building is still pretty sound, it fits. It’s not cost effective to get it up and running again—these places operate on a thin margin.
And this has been here for over a hundred years. ”
“How can you tell?”