13. Indy
THIRTEEN
INDY
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” I ask.
I hold the apple he handed me a minute ago in my palm, rolling it to the tips of my fingers and then back to the center of my palm over and over again.
I’m supposed to eat it, but I’m not hungry.
He bites into his own apple and frowns, eyebrows knitting together contemplatively for a moment before his expression smooths out again.
He snorts out a laugh. “A spy. Clearly that hasn’t panned out.”
“So far. Plus, that’s exactly what a spy would say.”
“What did you want to be?” He turns out the light, plunging us into darkness yet again. We’re using my phone now. His died a while ago.
“An explosion guy.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says.
“One of those guys who pushes the plunger and then the building behind them explodes.” I point my thumb behind me like he can see it.
“A demolition expert?” he says.
“Sure. A demolition expert makes it sound so dry, though. Explosion guy, on the other hand…”
“Explosion guy,” he says, like he’s testing the words out.
“They should use that as the official title.”
“Yeah. Really sells the professionalism.”
“I know. You hear demolitions expert and you think paperwork. You hear explosion guy, you think—” I mimic an explosion with my hands. “—kaboom.”
“Ah, yes, the technical term.” He huffs out a quiet laugh.
“And then after, I’d walk away in slow motion without looking back while smoke and dust bloomed in the background.”
“With AC/DC as your soundtrack?” he asks.
“I think the right music would add a lot to the experience.”
He laughs again.
He’s laughed more since we’ve been in here than in the whole time I’ve known him. He’s talked more, too. I’ve learned more about him.
It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything I want to know.
“And now?” he asks. “Still planning to blow things up?”
I shake my head. “I…” I look around in the darkness and try to think of the future, but my whole world seems to have narrowed to this limited space and nothing else, and the more I let that feeling sink in, the harder it gets to breathe again.
“Do you think there’s an afterlife?” I blurt.
He’s silent for a bit.
“Why?” he asks.
“Just…” I wave my hand in front of myself. “Out of curiosity. Small talk.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“No, I know. That’s not why I asked.”
“Then why not ask something less morbid?”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “How many marshmallows can you fit in your mouth?”
“I don’t like marshmallows.”
“I can do nine.”
“Is that impressive?” he asks.
“I count it as one of my greatest achievements in life. I’m hoping to get to ten one of these days.”
“Cool,” he deadpans.
“No need to be jealous. We all have our talents. I’m sure there’s something you’re good at too, if you dig deep and do some introspection.” I smile as he huffs.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says in an annoyed voice.
“I’m sure you are,” I say flippantly.
“It almost sounds like you don’t believe me.”
“Okay, then. Convince me. I’m all ears. What are you as good at as I am at stuffing my mouth with marshmallows?”
“There are much better things to stuff in your mouth than marshmallows.”
My whole body goes hot. Scorching hot. Head to toe. There’s a fire burning inside me, licking at my chest.
I tap the tips of my fingers with the tips of my thumbs.
I don’t even have to say anything. I don’t think he has to see me.
My need is in the air all around us, plain as day.
Nothing about what I want from him is hidden from him.
I’m an open book, and not poetry or something challenging that needs to be deciphered.
I’m a picture book at best, everything spelled out.
He leans closer.
“Blue,” he says. Leans even farther. Until our foreheads touch. He breathes out, and I breathe him in. “I’m…” he says. And then nothing else. He tries again. “I…” Stalls. “Blue, I—”
Whatever he’s planning to say next is stopped by a sound. A faint rumble in the distance.
We both go still. It’s really quiet at first. So quiet you wouldn’t be at fault for dismissing it as nothing.
You’re imagining it. Don’t get your hopes up.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
The rumble of the engine is now accompanied by faint beeping.
Something patters down on the sides of the fridge. Almost like rain.
I flinch, look up, and tense.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay.” My heart slams in my chest.
The sound comes again, this time even louder. There’s a low groan of something heavy being dragged away and then tossed aside. A loud scraping sound follows.
“Is it getting closer?” I ask.
“Fuck.” He scrambles up and turns the light on.
“Holy shit.” He’s pounding his fist against the fridge then, the sound loud like a gunshot.
“Hey!” he shouts. “We’re here. Hey! Hello!
” He follows that with another few pounds of his fist. Something slams against the top of the fridge, and I instinctively cover my head with my arms for a moment.
Nick keeps hammering his fist against the side of the fridge until finally something happens. Somebody knocks back.
Nick whirls around.
He whoops, and I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly we’re hugging.
Somewhere there are muffled voices and more rumbling of engines. There’s a dull, repeated thud. Metal against metal.
I freeze.
“Nick,” I say.
“I hear it.” He grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin.
Then a voice, muffled and faint, but there.
“...here I think.”
“Hey!” I shout. “We’re here.”
“Down here! We’re trapped!” Nick shouts.
The fridge creaks and dust shakes loose above us.
“Careful,” Nick says immediately, pulling me closer to him.
“Hold on,” somebody calls out from somewhere on our left.
Something inside my chest lurches.
Nick lets out a shaky laugh that he doesn’t quite finish. It’s pure relief.
The sounds all around us pick up. There are multiple voices now, mixing and overlapping. There’s a scrape of metal against metal above us.
Another crack.
Then, a thin line of light.
The door isn’t pulled open. It’s more like the top half of it is peeled open as you do with a can of tuna.
Cold air rushes in, along with a cloud of dust. Cold air. Real air.
It hits my face. I breathe in too fast and too much at once. It makes me cough.
Hands appear in the gap, dark shapes against the light.
“Can you move?” a voice asks.
“Yeah,” Nick says. “Yes, we can move.”
Light floods in fully now. I squint against it, eyes watering.
“Hold on,” a voice says. “We’re going to get you out.”
Nick’s fingers tighten around my arm again for a second, almost as if he’s holding me still.
“Go on,” he says quietly.
I look at him for what feels like the first time. His dust-streaked face and tired eyes, hair a mess, scratches on his arm.
He looks more alive than I’ve ever seen anybody look. My heart gives a few quick thuds in succession, and I swallow. He looks so real.
“Blue?” he says.
I nod.
And move.
Hands reach in, grabbing my arms, helping pull me up and out.
There’s so much open space and so much rubble everywhere.
It’s almost dark beyond where all the lights are aimed at the fridge, the sun having set already.
I try to figure out what day it might be and how long we were in there, but my brain doesn’t want to cooperate right this second.
“Easy,” a man says as he starts to guide me over the debris of what used to be the restaurant building.
“Wait!” I whirl around. “Nick.”
My heart is beating so wildly it feels like I’m going to be sick.
“I’ve got him,” another voice says.
I watch as they help him out. Why is it taking them so long? Where is he?
Then he’s there too, stumbling forward, chest heaving as he takes a deep breath, his eyes searching, searching… They land on me. He exhales, shoulders relaxing.
We just stare at each other, and neither of us says anything.
We made it.
We’re actually out.