The Setup

Marcus didn't ask questions. He hauled the heavy case out of his truck, the rain plastering his hair to his skull. They ran down the bulkhead steps, splashing into the murky water that now covered the basement floor by three inches.

"The tarp failed," Iris yelled over the sound of the rain. "The water's coming in through the chimney chase."

Marcus waded to the wine rack. He shone his flashlight on the steel door. "This isn't a standard install," he shouted. "It's a custom job. Reinforced frame. We can't kick it in."

"Drill the lock," Iris said. "Drill the hinges. Just open it."

Marcus set the case on the highest shelf of the wine rack, well above the water line. He pulled out a heavy-duty hammer drill and a set of cobalt bits.

"The hinges are internal," he said, examining the door. "But the locking mechanism is external. If I can drill out the core of the slide bolts, we might be able to force them back."

He pressed the drill against the top bolt. The whine of the motor was deafening, a high-pitched scream that cut through the sound of the storm. Metal shavings flew, hot and sharp.

Iris held the flashlight steady, her hands trembling. "Hurry."

The water was rising. It was up to her calves now.

"The brick is acting like a cistern," Marcus shouted over the drill. "The water has nowhere to go. It's filling the void from the bottom up."

The drill bit snapped.

"Dammit!" Marcus swore, fumbling for a replacement.

"Marcus!" Iris grabbed his arm. "Look."

She pointed to the bottom of the door. A thin stream of bubbles was escaping from the seal.

"Air is being forced out," Marcus said, his face pale. "The water level inside is rising faster than out here."

He slammed a new bit into the chuck. He attacked the bottom bolt this time. The drill screamed again.

Iris paced in the water, the cold seeping into her bones. She thought of Elias. Trapped in the dark. Cold water rising around his ankles, his knees, his waist. Was he awake? Was he drugged?

"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."

The bottom bolt gave way with a metallic *clunk*.

"Top one," Marcus said, sweat mixing with the rain on his face. He stood on a milk crate to reach the upper bolt.

He drilled. The metal groaned.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

The storm had knocked out the power.

They were plunged into absolute darkness, the only sound the roar of the rain and the gurgle of the rising water.

"Flashlight!" Marcus yelled.

Iris fumbled for her phone. She turned on the light. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating Marcus's frantic face.

"Almost there," he said. "One inch."

He leaned into the drill. The motor whined, struggling against the battery limit.

Then, a crack. The bolt snapped.

"Open it!" Marcus yelled.

They both grabbed the edge of the heavy steel door. They pulled.

It didn't move. The water pressure inside was holding it shut.

"On three!" Marcus shouted. "One. Two. Three!"

They heaved. The door cracked open an inch. Water sprayed out, a high-pressure jet that hit Iris in the chest, knocking the breath out of her.

They pulled again, bracing their feet against the slippery floor.

The door swung wide.

A wall of water rushed out, carrying debris—a plastic bucket, a sodden pillow, a shoe.

Iris shone her light into the room.

It was small. Eight by ten. Cinderblock walls. A cot in the corner, now floating.

And huddled on the highest shelf, pressed against the ceiling, was a figure.

He was soaking wet, shivering violently. His eyes were wide, white circles in the darkness.

He looked at Iris. He didn't speak. He didn't move.

But before she could reach him, a light flared at the top of the bulkhead stairs. A flashlight beam, bright and blinding, cut through the rain.

"Is someone down there?"

A voice. Sharp. Suspicious.

It wasn't Julian.

Iris shielded her eyes. "Mrs. Gable?"

The housekeeper stood at the top of the stairs, a yellow raincoat reflecting the light. She held a phone in her other hand. Her thumb was hovering over the screen.

Before they started, the doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Gable.