Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [88]
“What about oxygen?” she stutters.
I turn to the detector, which is lying beside her. As my light shines across the digital screen, it goes from 19.6% . . . to 19.4%
“Holding steady,” I tell her.
“You lying to me? Please don’t lie . . .”
This is no time to send her spiraling. “We’re gonna be fine, Viv . . . Just keep taking deep breaths.”
Following my own instructions, I suck in a chest-full of steamy, hot air. It burns my lungs like a deep breath in a sauna. The sweat is pouring from my face, dripping off the tip of my nose.
Kneeling behind Viv, who’s still on the ground, I take off her orange vest and jacket and push her forward so her head’s between her knees. The back of her neck is drenched, and a long, wet sweat stain runs down her spine, soaking through her shirt. “Deep breaths . . . deep breaths . . .” I tell her.
She whispers something back, but as the cage hurtles downward, the rumbling of the walls is too loud for me to hear. One . . . two . . . three entrances to the tunnels whiz by within thirty seconds. We have to be close to seven thousand feet.
“Almost there . . .” I add, putting both hands on her shoulders and holding her tight. She needs to know I won’t let go.
As another tunnel whizzes by, my ears pop once more, and I swear my head’s about to explode. But just as I clench my teeth and shut my eyes, my stomach lurches back into place. There’s an audible screech and a sudden tug in forward momentum that reminds me of an airplane coming to a sharp stop. We’re finally slowing down. And as the cage settles into a slow rumble, Viv’s breathing does the same. From frenetic . . . to rushed . . . to the steady in-and-out of calm . . . The slower we go, the more she levels off.
“There you go . . . just like that . . .” I say, again holding the back of her neck. Her huffing and puffing is smooth and steady as the cage jerks to its final stop. For a full minute, we dangle there, not moving. Viv is slumped in the bottom of the cage; the cage is slumped at the bottom of the shaft.
Her breathing settles like a pond after a thrown rock ripples through it. “Hhhh . . . hhhh . . . hh . . .”
I pull away, climbing to my feet. It takes Viv a moment, but she eventually turns around and offers an appreciative grin. She’s trying to be strong, but from the manic way she’s looking around, I can see she’s still freaked.
“Stop cage?” the hoist operator asks through the intercom.
Ignoring the question, I turn to Viv. “How you doing?”
“Yeah,” she replies, sitting up straight, trying to convince me she’s fine.
“It wasn’t a yes-or-no question,” I say. “Now, you wanna try again? How you doing?”
“O-Okay,” she admits, biting her bottom lip.
That’s all I need to hear. I head for the intercom. “Hoist, you there?”
“What’s the word?” the operator begins. “Everybody happy?”
“Actually, can you bring me back to the—”
“Don’t!” Viv calls out.
I let go of the intercom and stare her down.
“We’re here,” Viv pleads. “All you gotta do is lift the stupid door . . .”
“. . . after we get you back to the top.”
“Please, Harris—not after we got this far. Besides, you really think it’s safer up there than down here? Up top, I’m alone. You said it yourself: We shouldn’t separate. Those were your words, weren’t they? Stay together?”
I don’t bother to answer.
“Now, c’mon,” she continues. “We came all this way—to South Dakota . . . down eight thousand feet—you’re gonna turn back now?”
I stand there in silence. She knows what’s riding on this.
“You okay down there?” the operator asks through the intercom.
My eyes stay locked on Viv.
“I’m fine,” she promises. “Now tell her you’re alright before she starts to worry.”
“Sorry, Hoist,” I say into the intercom. “Just wanted to readjust some gear. All’s well. Stop cage.”
“Stop cage,” the operator repeats.
I raise the safety gate and give the outer door a shove. Like before, a hot wind seeps through the opening—but this time, the heat’s almost unbearable. My eyes burn as I squeeze them shut.
“W-What’s going on?” Viv asks behind me. From the sound of her