The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(7)

Which meant I needed, somehow, to fight them. And not only to fight them, but to beat them. My mind whirled, leaping to and discarding a dozen ways to avoid a fight, and then a dozen more ways of bringing the fight to my opponents. There wasn’t enough data, I realized. I had no idea what I was working with.

So, I scavenged. I started with Owen’s bag, then dug up my own from a pile of rubble that had barely missed me, scraping my hands and feeling the dust build up beneath my fingernails. I found a counter against the wall much farther back that was untouched by the cave-in, and placed the bags atop it. I pulled out every item we’d packed one by one, giving myself a quick inventory, and then began searching the room. When I found my flashlight, I almost grinned again, immediately shutting the lighter off to conserve its fuel.

My search wasn’t nearly as detailed as I would have liked, but it would have to do. From what I remembered, it had been almost six when Desmond had shown up. I was surprised to find, based on the watch on my wrist that was miraculously still working, that it had been under an hour since then—it already felt like I’d been here in this basement for hours.

It took the better part of twenty minutes to search the room and give first aid to Tim and Owen with the half-used, mouse-gnawed first-aid kit that I’d uncovered in a drawer underneath the counters. It was nearly seven thirty by the time I finished my hurried exploration. My search had yielded more than I'd thought it would, but then again, my group had left Ashabee’s in a hurry, and they’d all said multiple times that there hadn’t been enough room in all the vehicles for everything.

Which was very lucky for me. My eyes took in my overall haul in the glow of the flashlight. I had found a small bottle of kerosene, six grenades, some string, and, best of all, a rifle that had slipped behind one of the shelves and was lying on its side on the floor, as well as a bulletproof vest that I’d dragged out of an unmarked box on one of the back shelves. I also had a roll of duct tape from Owen’s bag, his pistol, mine, and four clips of ammunition. I only had one magazine for the rifle, but reloading would have been too awkward for me to handle anyway. Still, I did have an idea for its application.

I just had to get up to the next floor somehow. Now that I had the beginnings of a plan gestating in my mind, the darkness around me didn’t bother me as much—it was just another obstacle to be tackled like all the rest. I turned to the next problem. I couldn’t use the once hidden door—it was buried now, behind the rubble Tim had been stuck under, but maybe I could find a ventilation duct. I wasn’t keen on the idea, not after having been stuck navigating one in the facility in The Green, but it was the only idea I had.

It took me another fifteen minutes to realize that none of the vents I could find in the room were big enough to fit me, let alone me and all my gear. Clenching my teeth in annoyance, I swung back around, trying to see if I had missed any. I paused in the wide-open area where the cars had been kept, my light cutting over something on the wall almost quickly enough for my brain to dismiss it. Almost.

I swung the flashlight back around and frowned when I noticed that one small sliver of paint seemed brighter than the rest. I studied it closely. There was a nearly imperceptible difference between the paint here and the rest of the wall. It sat a millimeter or two back, just a small gap, barely noticeable.

Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I touched the area, and felt it give slightly under my left hand. Biting my lip, I placed my hand flat and dragged it to the left. The flat panel slid open, revealing a hollow, square chute just behind it, carved out of the bedrock. Hanging inside was a metal cage, just big enough to sit in, with a series of pulleys and ropes that seemed to attach to the top. These went up into the darkness beyond the roof of the cage.

It was an elevator. A ridiculously small one, but I didn’t care what size it was if it led to one of the other levels of the house. This was my ticket up. I moved back to the counter and threw all my gear into my backpack—everything I could reliably carry, keeping the rifle in my hands. I was just going to have to set it down to fit into this strangely tiny box.

I moved back to the miniature elevator, opening the cage door and thrusting the rifle into the back, pressed against the mesh. Then I turned around and sat backward into the metal cage, ducking my head under the bit of wall overhanging the entry. I scooted back until I felt my shoulders touch the mesh, and then pulled my legs in, adjusting myself to the small space. It wasn’t completely uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t want to be stuck in it for any length of time.

Swinging my flashlight around the chamber, I looked for a switch that would make the thing go. I hoped it was simple and easy to figure out… and that the electricity here was still working, for that matter. For a moment, I was afraid that after all this I’d be stymied by complicated machinery, and then I saw a little panel awkwardly wired into the heavy mesh next to the cage door. There were only two buttons. I pushed the top one.

The small elevator made no noise, not a chime of the kind I’d expected based on the few elevators I’d seen in my life. But a little light above the button pulsed a soft green, and then, more silently than I could have hoped, it began to ascend. The cage shifted and swayed gently, and I swallowed, trying to still my nerves, hoping this plan would not get me killed. My brother—and Owen, too, though he might not deserve my help—were counting on me. I had too much at stake here to die.