Chapter 17

Holy fuck, it was dark.

Not “making my way to the fridge at midnight for that last piece of pizza” dark, either.

No, it was completely and utterly black.

And somehow, the darkness made everything louder. I heard Jacob’s molars squeaking together. I heard Alisha sigh through her nose. And I heard the click in Jibben’s throat and a subtle squeak of his chair as he finally got a chance to let his raging tics fly loose.

I became aware of my own heartbeat, a thrum in my ears that was slowly but surely picking up speed. I may not be susceptible to panic attacks, but the prickle of sweat in the small of my back had Camp Hell PTSD written all over it.

“We should work on keeping our breathing even,” Jibben said.

It took me a second to realize the suggestion was aimed at me.

But then Jacob’s hand groped its way across my thigh, and I gratefully grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t need a light to recognize his hand. I knew it by the way it felt—broad, square, capable—and the feel of it sliding home was as familiar as my side of the mattress or my favorite pair of jeans.

But what if I only felt what I wanted to feel? And what if the hand I was holding had been on ice up until a few hours ago, but was rapidly thawed in the stuffy atmosphere of the airless basement lab…?

I flicked on my pocket flashlight.

Jacob blinked. But he didn’t let go of my hand.

And the room was just as tight and orderly as we’d left it.

Jibben said, “We all agreed to conserve—”

“I know, I know,” I said, irritated with myself for getting wound up over nothing, and flicked it back off before it had a chance to flicker.

The room went dark again. I was struck not just by how dark and silent it was, but how uncomfortably stale. When the whole fiasco had begun, the room had held the vague basement smell of disinfectant and concrete. But now there was the sweaty, salty funk of four people breathing up all the air.

The urge was strong to breathe fast and suck down all the oxygen I could. But since I’d be competing with Jacob, I reined myself in.

Jibben said, “We’re all under a lot of stress right now. That means increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure, and rapid breathing. The body diverts blood flow away from non-essential functions toward the muscles and vital organs, so we’re primed for quick physical action. In an uncertain situation like this, the effects of stress are magnified. How long we’ll be down here, what’s safe to touch, whether or not help is on the way. The constant anticipation of danger heightens our anxiety levels and creates a state of hypervigilance. And it’s all rough on the body—not to mention what it’s doing to the mind.”

More oxygen left the room as the rest of us indulged in a sigh.

“How about some brain teasers to take our minds off the stressor?” he suggested. “The more I take, the more I leave behind. What am I?”

“A shoplifter,” Alisha said immediately.

“Well, no…that’s not—”

“Show me a shoplifter who can stuff more down their pants than they leave on the rack.”

Jibben huffed. “You’re neglecting to take into account the logical structure of the puzzle. It’s not I must take less than I leave. It’s the more I take—”

“Footsteps,” Jacob said.

With an eye-roll in her voice, Alisha said, “Oh. It’s one of those.”

“Very good, Agent Marks,” Jibben said. “How about this? What five-letter word becomes shorter when you add two letters to it?”

Un…tall? No, that was only four letters. Untall-y? Ish?

“Guesses?” Jibben said. “Anyone?” When no one volunteered an answer, he said, “Short. Add an -er….”

Alisha flicked on her phone and the light cast by her lockscreen lit her face. “Yeah, we get it. We’re not stupid, y’know.”

“I never said you were.”

The lockscreen put out a fair amount of light. I congratulated myself for tidying up the room before we went dark. At least I wouldn’t be worrying about the clutter.

“Now, please,” Jibben said, “conserve your battery.” The phone went dark. A few moments of sullen silence, then he added, “I was just hoping to provide some distraction.”

Alisha said, “That wasn’t a riddle, anyways. It was more like a trick.”

“You’ll note I introduced it as a brain teaser—”

“Enough,” Jacob said. “The situation is already stressful without us squabbling over a word choice. Look, no one planned to spend the day like this. We’re all on edge. We all want to get out of here. So, let’s focus on ramping down our anxiety. Calm, even breathing. Help is on the way. Let your mind drift. Relax.”

It wasn’t so different from the yoga I endured a few times a week to keep my crown chakra limber—except now I got to be sitting down and not wobbling around in a warrior pose, so that was a plus. My office chair creaked as I settled back, throwing my weight into it, and tried my very best to follow Jacob’s advice and relax.

Just fucking relax.

But the mental image of all the corpses in the vicinity just wouldn’t give up the prime-time spot in my mind. Was Darnell really just a repeater? And was Jennifer Chance nearly thawed? And what about the rest of the vaults in cold storage? I had no idea who else was stashed in those long metal compartments….

“I can’t do this,” I said.

“I’m here for you,” Jacob said quietly—and with such sincerity it plucked at my heartstrings.

I might’ve considered trying to stick it out and work through my panic, but then Alisha piped in. “I’m with the tall guy. I can’t just sit here in the dark.”

I said, “There’s gotta be more light down here we haven’t tapped yet—look at all the equipment at our disposal. We could light a bunsen burner—”

Jibben put the kibosh on that idea. “Using an open flame would deplete oxygen and potentially compromise our safety.” So much for that. If I had to pick between light and air, I’d have to go with air. “No doubt we have the chemicals to create a luminescent compound…”

“Like a glow stick?” Alisha asked.

“Exactly. Though I don’t know the formula off the top of my head. It would be on the server.”

“But you could try,” Alisha said testily. “I’m sure you’ve got some idea—you’re supposed to be a scientist.”

Jibben huffed. “Slapping together a bunch of random chemicals with no formula and no ventilation is an even worse idea than an open flame. It’s uncomfortable to sit in the dark—I’ll concede that much—but it’s no excuse to asphyxiate us all.”

Voice edgy, Jacob said, “No one wants to suffocate. But Vic is right—there’s bound to be something else we can use as a light source, something that hasn’t occurred to us because it’s not a traditional light. Clocks, sensors—plenty of things that will cast enough glow that we don’t have to sit here in total darkness.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of things that might cast a bit of light,” Jibben said. “But how many resources will we squander searching for them? You’d likely burn through a flashlight battery looking for something that only casts a minimal amount of lumens.”

Thinking back to the brief stint where Jacob wore a fitness tracker to bed—and a blinding light from his wrist woke me up every time he rolled over—I thought some small, constant light would be better than none at all. “What about a tablet?” I suggested. “We could all see just fine by Alisha’s lockscreen now that our eyes are adjusted to the dark. This place must be stupid with tablets.”

“The tablets are classified,” Jibben said with dismay, as though I’d just suggested sacrificing a puppy—a pathetic rescue-puppy.

“Fine,” I said. “Then you hold onto it and the rest of us promise not to read over your shoulder.”

As far as I was concerned, that settled the matter—so I stood up and flicked on my flashlight….

Only to discover that the papers I’d just piled so neatly had been scattered from one side of the work table to the other.