curling upward. “I’m not in any condition to be making a daring escape.”
I blush, embarrassed that he even had to point that out.
“Ah, right,” I cough.
“Are you hungry?” Walter asks.
“Starved,” I reply.
“I’ll get some food for you.”
“We can’t take your food,” Chris says, being uncharacteristically kind to our host.
“Boy, I’m dying either way,” he laughs. “No use worrying about me.”
I sigh. Cheery.
Chapter Eight
So if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the United States of America has generally been a pretty cool place to live. I mean, sure, it’s not perfect by any stretch, but at least I have the freedom to snag a caramel macchiato every once in a while. Or watch a soap opera instead of doing homework.
Yeah, my idea of the land of the free and home of the brave is pretty basic. Until now.Because my caramel macchiato and soap operas seem to be in permanent jeopardy.
Chris and I take turns sleeping on the sofa in Walter’s apartment, neither of us really feeling comfortable enough to be asleep at the same time. Before we know it, the rest of the day has passed, and Walter is walking up and down the length of the living room, excited.
“What’s eating you, old man?” Chris asks, stretching his tall, lean frame over the couch. “You’re not the one who’s going to escape.”
“But you’re more than welcome to come with us,” I add, shooting Chris a look .
Walter shakes his head.
“No, no,” he says. “There’s nothing in it for me. This better work, though.”
He pulls out a thin sheet of white, almost transparent paper. He shoves all the magazines off the coffee table and brings some of the candles closer. “What is it?” I ask, spreading the paper out.
“The tunnels,” he says. “These belonged to my wife. The whole construction meant to be a sort of a drainage system that would dump into a basin outside the city. Never did work right.” His eyes mist over. “So as far as I know, they’re completely empty.”
“Are you sure ?” I press.
“I said as far as I know.” He traces his finger along the route that we should take. Chris listens intently, studying the map from every angle. Me? The whole thing just looks like a bunch of squares and circles, and I hardly understand a word they’re saying. How are we supposed to know what direction we’re headed when we’re traveling underground, anyway? What good does a map do when we’ll have no light to read it with?
“What about light?” I ask. “Do you have any flashlights?”
“Sorry, no,” Walter says. “Mine were electric. Dead.”
I sigh.
“So we’re going to go underground in the dark,” I state. “We’re going to die.”
“We’ll be fine,” Chris replies. “You’re not claustrophobic, though, are you?”
I run my fingers through my hair.
“Who isn’t?” I mutter.
Chris pats me on the back, capturing one of my frizzy locks of hair around his finger. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to keep you company.” He smiles devilishly, sending blood straight into my cheeks.
“Stop teasing,” I say, slapping his hand away. “This is serious.”
“I know.” Chris looks at the map one more time. “It looks easy enough. We just follow the tunnel until it drops off at the basin.”
“That’s all there is to it,” Walter nods. “It’s a piece of
I blush, embarrassed that he even had to point that out.
“Ah, right,” I cough.
“Are you hungry?” Walter asks.
“Starved,” I reply.
“I’ll get some food for you.”
“We can’t take your food,” Chris says, being uncharacteristically kind to our host.
“Boy, I’m dying either way,” he laughs. “No use worrying about me.”
I sigh. Cheery.
Chapter Eight
So if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the United States of America has generally been a pretty cool place to live. I mean, sure, it’s not perfect by any stretch, but at least I have the freedom to snag a caramel macchiato every once in a while. Or watch a soap opera instead of doing homework.
Yeah, my idea of the land of the free and home of the brave is pretty basic. Until now.Because my caramel macchiato and soap operas seem to be in permanent jeopardy.
Chris and I take turns sleeping on the sofa in Walter’s apartment, neither of us really feeling comfortable enough to be asleep at the same time. Before we know it, the rest of the day has passed, and Walter is walking up and down the length of the living room, excited.
“What’s eating you, old man?” Chris asks, stretching his tall, lean frame over the couch. “You’re not the one who’s going to escape.”
“But you’re more than welcome to come with us,” I add, shooting Chris a look .
Walter shakes his head.
“No, no,” he says. “There’s nothing in it for me. This better work, though.”
He pulls out a thin sheet of white, almost transparent paper. He shoves all the magazines off the coffee table and brings some of the candles closer. “What is it?” I ask, spreading the paper out.
“The tunnels,” he says. “These belonged to my wife. The whole construction meant to be a sort of a drainage system that would dump into a basin outside the city. Never did work right.” His eyes mist over. “So as far as I know, they’re completely empty.”
“Are you sure ?” I press.
“I said as far as I know.” He traces his finger along the route that we should take. Chris listens intently, studying the map from every angle. Me? The whole thing just looks like a bunch of squares and circles, and I hardly understand a word they’re saying. How are we supposed to know what direction we’re headed when we’re traveling underground, anyway? What good does a map do when we’ll have no light to read it with?
“What about light?” I ask. “Do you have any flashlights?”
“Sorry, no,” Walter says. “Mine were electric. Dead.”
I sigh.
“So we’re going to go underground in the dark,” I state. “We’re going to die.”
“We’ll be fine,” Chris replies. “You’re not claustrophobic, though, are you?”
I run my fingers through my hair.
“Who isn’t?” I mutter.
Chris pats me on the back, capturing one of my frizzy locks of hair around his finger. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to keep you company.” He smiles devilishly, sending blood straight into my cheeks.
“Stop teasing,” I say, slapping his hand away. “This is serious.”
“I know.” Chris looks at the map one more time. “It looks easy enough. We just follow the tunnel until it drops off at the basin.”
“That’s all there is to it,” Walter nods. “It’s a piece of
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