Grabbing Jeremy by the hand, I dragged him away from the burgeoning crowd. “I need help.”
He nodded unconditionally. With Jeremy, there were no levels that needed to be met and no undergarments to be slipped on. Unlike my own flesh and blood, Jeremy was eager to be of assistance to the dusty girl he barely knew.
“Where’s your car?”
“I parked around the corner. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
“No. I need you to take me to the supercenter down the street.”
“The supercenter? You want to go shopping?” he asked, his voice tipped in surprise. “Now?”
“I need supplies.”
“For what?”
I swept my arm behind me to encompass the crumbling mess that had once been my life. His eyes widened, realizing the stupidity of his question. But what he didn’t realize was my desire to go to the store was not to buy toilet paper and tampons. No. What I was really going for was to gather the supplies necessary to keep another man alive.
Had Jeremy known that, I doubt he’d have been so eager to help.
9
RJ: AAA
I waited for Dani to disappear from sight before dropping the act. It had taken everything in me to pretend I was okay—to give Dani hope that she might be able to save me. Hell, with that steely determination of hers, she’d given me hope. I’d actually thought with my own personal Wonder Woman by my side that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. But the truth was my body was no match for the destruction that had rained down upon it. Dani had relieved most of the strain, yes, but she didn’t have the healing powers to fix the damage that had already been done. And from the aching alone, I could tell it was extensive.
I didn’t need X-rays to tell me that I’d probably broken every rib in my body or an ultrasound to confirm internal injuries. The pain was excruciating, and it was all I could do to keep a brave face in front of her. But now that she was gone, there was nothing to hold me back, and I let out a groan that rattled the already besieged parking garage.
To my surprise, the walls threw back an echo. Or was it a voice…? I quieted, momentarily considering that I wasn’t the only trapped soul in this wasteland.
“Hello?”
Nothing, not even an echo.
“Is anybody there?”
I waited, hoping. I’d always been a fairly private guy, but even I could appreciate a little companionship at what could, very well, be the end of my life. When no reply echoed forth, I reluctantly turned toward the task at hand, which was to not sit by idly like some eternally trapped jack-in-the-box and accept my fate. I might no longer be alive when the rescuers found me, but at least they’d know I tried.
In an effort to free myself, I placed my hands at my side and attempted a backward push-up. That genius idea did nothing but bring a fresh wave of nausea and pain, making me wonder what was worse, the pain I could feel or the pain that I couldn’t—which was anything south of my shin. My eyes tracked down, settling on my stone prison. With my left ankle crushed under a block of concrete, I understood that even if I did survive, there was a real good chance I wouldn’t be leaving here with all my body parts.
With brute strength not working, I adopted Dani’s approach of digging dirt out from my hole in an effort to free up some space around the concrete block and wiggle my way out. But the farther down I got, the more concrete my raw, bloodied fingers met.
Frustrated by the futile effort, I slammed my fists down onto the earth and screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Fuucckk!”
What followed was a volley of F-bombs that rivaled the time Dane had thought it was a good idea for us AnyDayNow boys—at the height of our fame—to toilet paper Tucker Beckett’s vacation house in the Hamptons without realizing he had security guards and a pack of attack dogs protecting the place.
“Please,” came a muffled sound, beset with pain. “Enough.”
A voice. Wait… a voice? Holy shit… it hadn’t just my voice echoing; someone else was in here with me.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“Albert. The old guy in apartment 140,” he said, his voice so withered I had to strain just to hear him. “Who are you?”
“RJ, the young guy in apartment 426.”
“You’re not the one who looks like a Manson follower, are you?”
His comment was so random, I couldn’t help but chuckle… and wonder if with my wayward hair maybe I was the guy he envisioned. “Honestly, I might be.”
“Wonderful.”
Not to be upstaged, I asked, “You’re not the old guy who smells like cat litter, are you?”
I swear I heard the faintest laugh. “I might be.”
“Delightful,” I mimicked.
And then there was silence. I waited. Worried. “You okay there, Albert?”
“Uh… no, not really,” the man said, drawing in a gurgled breath between each word. “I’m afraid I’m not long for this world, son.”
The way he said it with such certainty brought a lump to my throat.
“Don’t say that. Help is coming.”
A prolonged silence followed, making me wonder if Albert was drifting in and out of consciousness. Please. Don’t die. I didn’t even know this man, and already I was immeasurably attached. He was my only link to the living world, and I didn’t want to lose him.
“Albert, stay with me.”
He grunted.
“Albert! I’ll start swearing again if you don’t answer me.”
“I’m here.”
“Good,” I exhaled. “Because I can swear in eighteen different languages.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he responded, his voice tapering off.
I waited patiently for more.
“You know, I’m eighty-two years old. I’ve lived a long life. Didn’t think I was scared of dying. Turns out I am.”
“I’m twenty-five, and I didn’t think I was scared of dying either.”
“You young’uns never do. So fearless. Then you get old, and suddenly you’re no longer invincible.”
“I don’t know, Albert. I’m stuck in the same predicament you are, and right about now, I’m not feeling entirely invincible.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Can I give you a survival tip?”
“Okay.”
“Preserve your energy.”
“My leg is crushed under concrete. I’m about as immobile as you can get.”
“I meant stop swearing like a sailor. It’s not going to get you out of here any sooner. Besides, it’s not becoming of a young gentleman.”
“I’m no gentleman.”
“You might have been, had your mamma washed your mouth out with soap once in a while.”
“I was raised on foaming soap. Not sure if it’s as effective as the old school bars at curbing bad language.”
Albert commenced a minute-long coughing fit, and by the time it was over, the old man had barely any breath left.
“Hang in there, Albert. Help is on the way.”
“There’s no helping me, RJ. I have a piece of rebar skewered through my gut. I’m bleeding out.”