Read Online Embers & Ash by T.M. Goeglein - Free Book Online

steel beam.” He yanked the rope but nothing happened. Looking up, whipping his arm, he said, “It’s all in the wrist,” and then, “Look out!” We leaped backward as a pointed claw hit the spot where we’d been standing.
    I stared at the claw, which was attached to the end of the rope. “A grappling hook?”
    â€œTold you. Trader Jack’s has everything.”
    â€œWay to be prepared,” I said. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
    â€œNo,” he said, stuffing the rope into the backpack, “but I liked the uniforms.”
    I surveyed our surroundings, seeing a hand pointing into a tunnel in a nearby wall. “Ready?” I said.
    â€œLead on,” he said, as we entered the tunnel. After a few steps, he paused, saying, “Hey, how far did you drop? Ten feet?”
    â€œFelt like it,” I said.
    â€œHm. I guess that’s deep enough.”
    â€œFor what?”
    He laid his hand on the cool, dirty tunnel ceiling above us. “Feel that.”
    I did, sensing a not-so-distant vibration. “What is it?”
    â€œThink about where we just came from. What was whizzing past behind that rusty door?” he said. “We’re right under the subway.”
    â€œUm . . . that doesn’t seem safe,” I said.
    â€œYou’re the one who said it might be dangerous, remember?” he said. “I sure hope Joe Little knew what he was doing when he dug these tunnels.”
    â€œDon’t hope,” I said, moving ahead, “pray.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Darkness sucked up light like a black sponge, making the flashlights nearly useless. Traveling in single file, me in the lead, time began to evaporate, too, and I said, “How long have we been walking?”
    â€œEither half an hour or sixteen years,” Doug said. “Can’t really tell. It’s like being on a treadmill with my eyes closed.”
    â€œIt’s pretty tight in here, huh?”
    â€œYes, it’s
still
pretty tight in here. Just like the other three times you said that.”
    â€œSorry. I don’t like enclosed spaces,” I said. “Makes me tense. Feels like a tomb.” It occurred to me then that if something fatal happened, if a train fell on top of us, for example, it really would be my final resting place. With my family gone and Max in L.A., no one in the daylight world would notice I was missing. It sparked a thought, and I said, “Doug, can I ask you a question?”
    â€œWhy am I so cool?” he said. “Born that way.”
    â€œHow is it that you’re able to stay at the Bird Cage Club?”
    â€œWith its lack of amenities? Without my own Jacuzzi and walk-in closet?”
    â€œSeriously,” I said. “I know the relationship with your mom and stepdad sucks, and that your real dad is a problem—”
    â€œHe’s not a problem. He’s a pothead who lives in a station wagon.”
    â€œOkay, but your mom . . . Doesn’t she care that you’re never home?”
    â€œI am, rarely. I stop by to get clothes and the weekly envelope of cash she leaves for me,” he said. “But the short answer is no. Shopping and vodka are very important to her. Dougie, not so much. The only thing she ever taught me was when I was thirteen, tall enough to see over the dashboard of a car. She had this old five-speed Mercedes and she instructed me in the art of clutch, gas, and brake so I could drive her around when she was blitzed.”
    â€œBut what if something happened to you, like—”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “I was never a priority. It was always, ‘Stick Doug in front of the movie channel with a bag of something salty while the adults party,’ or, ‘Send Doug to the multiplex with enough money to see everything twice.’ And I did, and I’m lucky I did, because movies gave me more than my mom ever could.” We