Chapter Thirty-Six
The last thing Jackson wanted to do was go into the underbelly of the plant.
He’d served his time. Is this what he had to look forward to until the plant closed?
No one cared about their jobs. Short-timers didn’t go the extra mile.
He pushed the elevator button repeatedly.
Of course the damn thing didn’t work. There was no power.
Jackson let out a tired, little chuckle and walked toward the door at the end of the hall.
The flashlight beam illuminated the narrow stairwell. Jackson pushed through the cobwebs, cursing under his breath. As he neared the last step, he crinkled his nose at a foul odor that wafted up from below.
Jackson walked through the cold basement, the only floor that wasn’t open to those above.
The ceiling, although not particularly low, had ductwork that dropped down and pipes that ran across, giving the rooms a crowded feeling.
Jackson grabbed the handle of the maintenance room door and turned the knob.
He pushed the heavy door open and jumped back.
“What the—” An acrid smell filled the small room.
Jackson coughed, covering his nose with the crook of his elbow.
He reached for the light switch out of habit, then whipped the flashlight beam around the room.
He leaned in, peering behind the barrels.
The beam of light flashed across Paul’s decomposing body.
Jackson jumped back. “Holy shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.” Jackson reached behind him and pulled the door open, scrambling into the hallway, gasping for breath. He ran for the stairs. An echo rang out behind him. A woman’s scream. It faded as quickly as it had come.
“Shit.” Jackson looked at the stairs, his heart pounding against his ribs. He looked back down the hall, into the darkness. “Mimi?” he yelled. His voice was hoarse, foreign, shaking with fear.
His echo reverberated off the concrete walls.
He grabbed the rail of the stairs and propelled himself forward, up three steps in one quick push.
Another scream rang out behind him. He turned his trembling body, one foot on the step, the other hanging in midair.
“Mimi?” he whispered. He fumbled for his cell phone and dialed 911, pressing it to his ear.
An annoying high pitched, sing song tone signaled his lack of service.
He leaned forward, as if he were going to continue up the steps.
“Damn it,” he mumbled. He turned to face the darkness below, then, with his lips tightly pursed together, he retreated back downstairs, toward the screams.
Jackson moved slowly down the hall, wondering what the hell he thought he was going to do if he found someone.
Who, he had no idea, but after seeing Paul, he knew what was at risk.
I’m sorry, Nancy, he thought, then swallowed hard.
He couldn’t turn his back on someone in need, and he was certain it was Mimi.
He came to a glass cabinet attached to the wall with a fire extinguisher inside.
He fumbled with his keys, trying desperately not to make noise, looking up and down the darkened passageway.
He opened the glass slowly and removed the large extinguisher.
Tucking the flashlight under his arm, the light beaming straight ahead, he carried the extinguisher like a bat, gripped between his two sweating palms.
Jackson wondered how he’d gotten to where he now walked, in the dingy sub-basement, fearing for his life. All he’d wanted was to finish the last few months of his commitment to Kearns, then retire and spend his days with Nancy, doing nothing more than reading and playing Bridge.
He inched down the hall, passing the elevator and moving into the hallway beyond, wondering why he hadn’t retired early, as Nancy had wanted.
He shot a glance at the fault line, cursing the generators.
Jackson considered turning back, then pushed past his fears.
He could never look Ted in the eye if he chickened out and something happened to Mimi.
Thunder roared outside the walls of the plant.
Jackson started, his eyes darting, his hearing attune to foreign sounds.
Water trickled somewhere down the hall. The sub-basement, he thought.
He came to the edge of the wall and peered around the corner.
The sound of rain grew louder. Across the empty room was a half-boarded up window to the outside.
Jackson walked to the center of the room. What the—
“No!” Mimi’s panicked voice filtered through the cold basement.
Jackson spun around, his light sailing over the puddle of blood on the floor.
“Holy shit,” he said. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
He looked back toward the hole in the wall, then back at the hallway.
He set the extinguisher down and headed toward the window, withdrawing his cell phone from its holster.
He hoisted himself up and held his hand outside, his finger poised above the red emergency call button.
Rain pelted the phone. His fingers slipped across the screen.
“Come on, come on,” he said. The phone slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground.
“Damn it!” he whispered. He felt for it, his fingers diving into the mud and coming up empty.
He pulled himself further up the wall, until he could see outside.
The rain came down in sheets, splashing into his eyes and face.
A woman’s scream rang out, echoing through the basement.
Jackson clenched his eyes shut. Safe and sane.
“The hell with that,” he exclaimed. He took a deep breath, then jumped down from the wall.
Jackson hoisted the extinguisher as if it were a sledgehammer, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He strode toward the voice, determined not to back down, his flashlight forgotten.
Kara pushed at her mother’s arms. “Get off of me.” She and Mimi were alone. Shortly after the plant shut down and the generator kicked on, Roland had left the room, threatening that if they tried to escape he would blow up the entire plant. He’d killed Paul. He was crazy. There was no escape.
“Kara, I’m sorry,” Mimi pleaded.
“My whole life was a lie! Even my name is a lie. How could you do that to me?” She looked away, rubbing a pain in her lower back. “I don’t even know who I am.”
Tears slid down Mimi’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was protecting you.” She wiped her eyes. “We had to change your name so he wouldn’t find you.”
“So you gave me your maiden name?” Kara looked away. “He was just a kid.”
“When your dad and I split, it just made sense. I had to protect you.”
“From what? My father left me, my stepfather hates me, and my brother—I have a brother, for God’s sake! Granted, an eff’d up one, but still…”
Mimi covered her face with her hands. “I know how crazy it sounds, believe me, I know. But the look in his eyes, the way he acted.” Mimi rubbed at a pain in her forehead. “Kara, we have to focus. We have to get you out of here.”
Kara coughed, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Are you okay?”
Kara held up her hand, pushing her mother away.
She was so conflicted. This was not the time for hurt feelings, and she knew that.
Whatever her mother had done, she’d obviously done to protect her, so why was she acting like a spoiled child?
Kara knew why. It was easier to focus on the past—on anything—other than the terror that held them captive.
“Damn it, Kara. I won’t let you die.” Mimi looked around.
She ran into the back room. There, against the wall, was a burlap bag.
Mimi rifled through it, pulling out a stack of loose-leaf papers.
She ran to the entrance of the room, where a string of light filtered in, and read through the hand-scrawled notes. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Kara. Kara!”
Kara didn’t answer, trapped between the pain in her stomach and the fear that swallowed her.
Mimi rushed in, dropping the papers on the floor.
“Kara, where’s his alcohol? That’s the antidote.
” She scoured the room, looking for the bottles.
“Can you see okay? He wrote it all down—dizziness, vomiting, diarrhea, then…then…shit.” She ran into the back room, picking through his supplies until she found a bottle of whiskey.
Mimi pulled it to her chest. “Oh, thank God.” She carried it out to Kara. “Drink this.”
“No,” Kara protested. “I can’t.”
“Kara, drink it. If his notes are right, you’ll die without it.”
Kara sobbed. “My vision’s already blurry.” She rubbed the pain in her kidney. “Am I going to die? Oh, God.” She grabbed her mother’s arm, pulling her close.
“Drink it.” Mimi unscrewed the top and held the bottle up to Kara’s lips.
Kara pushed it away, gagging and coughing.
Mimi set her eyes on her daughter and said in the most motherly tone she could muster, “Kara Jane, you need to drink this. Now.” She held it up again, pouring it down Kara’s throat in tiny amounts.
Kara coughed and spat. She gagged and retched, biting back the alcohol. “Should…should I throw it all up?”
“I don’t know,” Mimi said and grabbed the handwritten notes again, scanning them.
She read aloud, “Alcohol tricks the liver, keeps it busy so glycol can pass right through whole, without a need to break it down.” She looked at Kara.
“Drink it, baby. Just drink it, as much as you can.” She turned back to the paper.
“Listen to this. If you bombard the receptors with alcohol, the glycol can’t bind and is excreted.
” Mimi breathed in fast, hard breaths. “Kara,” she said.
Kara’s body trembled. Her lips were tinged blue. “I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t drink anymore. I’m sorry, Mom.”
Mimi rushed to her side and held her. “Baby. Oh, baby.” She brought Kara’s head to her chest. “I’m so sorry. He, Roland…he’s always been obsessed with you.” She picked up the alcohol. “Every bit helps. Let’s try a little more.” She put a few drops of alcohol on Kara’s tongue.