CHAPTER 15
Ethan stared into the air duct.
The fit was going to be tight, maybe impossible with the hoodie.
He pulled out of the sleeves and tugged it off and tossed it over the ledge, gooseflesh rising on his bare arms. Figured his feet would be responsible for most of the propulsion and decided to come out of his socks as well so he wouldn’t slide.
He got his head through the opening.
At first, his shoulders wouldn’t fit, but after a minute of wriggling, he finally maneuvered himself halfway inside, arms splayed out ahead, feet struggling to push him the rest of the way, the thin metal freezing against his toes.
When he was completely inside the air duct, a wave of panic swept over him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, his shoulders squeezed between the two walls, and the realization dawning on him that moving backward was now impossible. At least not without popping both shoulders out of socket.
His only method of movement was the paltry momentum his toes could stir up, and they had no reverse gears.
He inched forward, literally, sliding along the surface of the duct.
Still bleeding.
Muscles in revolt in the wake of the climb and his nerves frayed.
In the distance—nothing but absolute darkness, the tunnel reverberating with the echo of his shuffling.
Except for when he stopped.
Then a perfect silence set in, interrupted only by random bangs that gave his heart a start—the expanding and contracting of the metal in response to temperature fluctuations.
Five minutes in, Ethan tried to glance back toward the opening, something in him craving just one last glimpse of light—that smallest consolation—but he couldn’t crane his neck far enough back to see.
* * *
He crawled and crawled and crawled.
Closed in on all sides in complete darkness.
At some point, maybe thirty minutes in, maybe five hours, maybe a day...he had to stop.
His toes cramped from the strain.
He slumped across the metal.
Shivering.
Insanely thirsty.
Maddeningly hungry and unable to reach the food in his pocket.
He could hear his heart heaving in his chest against the metal and nothing else.
* * *
He slept.
Or lost consciousness.
Or died for a minute.
When he woke again, he thrashed violently against the sides of the duct, no idea where he was or even when he was, his eyes open to sheer darkness.
For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d been buried alive, the sound of his own hyperventilation like someone screaming in his ear.