Page 45 of The Storm

I take a hit of medicine and hold my breath, which is about ten times as difficult as it usually is.

Darkness is still stacked on top of me, but his grip on my arm doesn’t loosen, and his warm palm is still against my neck.

“You’re doing good,” he says. “Just be with me.”

And since there’s nothing else to do, I try my damnedest to be good.

I cough and suck in air. It’s easier this time around.

“There you go,” he says softly once my breathing has become less shallow and more even.

I take another pump from the inhaler. I manage to breathe out more slowly now.

I don’t know how long we just lie there, me trying to breathe and him holding on to my arm. A long time or short; it’s difficult to say when everything is just quiet and dark.

“What… what now?” My voice is a rasp, and my throat is painfully dry after all the hyperventilating I’ve done.

It takes a second for him to answer, and I can barely hold myself together while I wait, even though, faintly, I realize it’s not fair to put this on him. To ask him to fix this situation for me. But I don’t care.

Fix it. Get us out of here. Undo this whole day somehow.

“Wait a sec,” he says.

He lets go of my arm, and it takes everything in me not to succumb to another wave of panic. He moves, and his shoulder keeps bumping into mine. His whole side keeps brushing against me. I concentrate on that. The darkness helps in a way. I don’t have to see just how narrow the space is. I can pretend I’m somewhere else.

A light comes on a second later, so bright I have to squint and shield my eyes with my hand.

“Sorry.” Nick turns the phone away from my face. He sweeps the light over the space around us. “Can you hold this?” he asks and gives me the phone. “I’ll see if I can get to the door.”

I maneuver myself out from beneath the shelf and into a sitting position. My hand shakes a bit while I hold the phone, aiming the beam of the flashlight toward the door.

Nick slowly and carefully clears a path through the debris, and I do my best to concentrate on holding the phone. Look at me with my important, big boy job. No time to panic, I have to hold the light.

He nudges boxes out of his way and grabs the handle. He pushes the door, but it doesn’t open. He pushes again. Shoves it. Kicks it. Rams his shoulder into it.

Finally, he lets out a frustrated growl and drags his hands through his hair before he turns around.

“It’s jammed. Something must be blocking it from the outside.” His voice is light, but he doesn’t look at me when he says that.

I look up at the ceiling, which seems ominously dented. I swallow and avert my gaze. If I don’t see it, it’s not there. The walls start closing in again, so I turn off the flashlight.

“Don’t—” Nick starts, then stops.

Everything goes very quiet again.

That’s fine.

I’m outside. The darkness is just because it’s night.

I’m okay.

“Saving the battery?” Nick asks, and somehow he doesn’t sound dry or sarcastic. Instead, he makes it sound like I’m doing it for a good reason.

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod even though he can’t see me.

“That’s good thinking,” he says. “We don’t need it right now.”

My hands shake so hard that it takes every ounce of concentration I can muster not to drop the phone.