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Days stretched by with painful slowness.
Five entire days.
After the night she and Pierce kissed, he’d kept this distance. Every evening, he retired to his cot across the shop. But in the middle of the night, more often than not, she woke sandwiched between Pierce and Raszta.
And still, he didn’t say anything about the kiss.
And by morning, she always woke to find him gone, retreated to his own space.
She tried not to let it bother her, but the silence between them grew heavier with each passing day. She caught him watching her sometimes, those dark hazel eyes intense and unreadable. When their gazes met, he’d quickly look away, his jaw tightening as if fighting some internal battle. She longed to reach out, to bridge the gap he seemed determined to maintain, but she wasn’t sure how.
On the sixth day, Rhiannon woke to the sound of shifting rubble. She blinked away the grit in her eyes, her body aching from another night on the hard floor. The little bit of sunlight that filtered through the rubble cast fingers of pale gold light across the dusty floor. The smell of unwashed bodies—and, she feared, decay—was becoming intense. She thought her nose would become numb to the scent after a while, but the stench only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. She wrinkled her nose and sat up, stretching her stiff muscles. Her gaze immediately sought out Pierce, but his sleeping mat was empty. Again.
She found him in the back corner by the hallway, his lean form silhouetted against the dusty air as he worked to clear debris. His movements were precise, deliberate. Even after nearly a week trapped here, he maintained a soldier’s discipline.
She made her way over to Pierce, careful not to disturb Dottie, who was still asleep in her makeshift bed of blankets and souvenir t-shirts.
“What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Pierce’s hands stilled on the chunk of concrete he was lifting. He set it down carefully before turning to face her, his expression guarded.
“Trying to clear a path,”he signed, his movements quick and terse.“If we can get through this hallway, we might find another way out. Dottie mentioned there’s a loading dock back here, which means there could be other exits that aren’t blocked.”
Rhiannon frowned and stepped closer to peer down the rubble-filled hallway. She remembered their trek through to find Gareth. It had been difficult, and they hadn’t gone that far in. “Is that safe? What if it causes a collapse?”
Pierce’s jaw tightened. Obviously, he had considered the possibility and still deemed it a necessary risk.“Our supplies aredwindling faster than I expected. There are just too many of us trapped here.”
She saw frustration in his eyes and understood his need for action. They were all feeling it— the restlessness and claustrophobia, the gnawing fear that help might never come.
She decided to switch to ASL so nobody would overhear their conversation.“You don’t think rescue is coming, do you?”
Pierce’s hands hesitated in mid-air for a moment before he replied.”It’s been almost a week. If they were coming, they’d be here by now. I don’t think they know we’re in here.“
A chill scraped down her spine. She’d been trying to stay optimistic, to keep everyone’s spirits up, but deep down, she’d had the same fear. “So what are you saying? We’re on our own?”
His eyes met hers.“We have to be prepared for that possibility. Our supplies won’t last forever. We need to find our own way out.”
She nodded, swallowing hard against the lump of fear rising in her throat.“Okay. So what’s the plan?”
“We work on clearing this hallway. If all goes well, we’ll make it to the loading dock and find a way out. If not, we’ll at least have access to the other stockroom, so more supplies. Either way, it’s worth the risk.”
Rhiannon glanced back at the sleeping forms of the others.“Should we tell them?”
Pierce shook his head.“Not yet. At least, not the whole truth. I don’t want to cause a panic, so we can just say we’re trying to get to the other stockroom.”
There was something he wasn’t saying; she could feel it.“There’s more, isn’t there? What aren’t you telling me, Pierce?”
His gaze shifted away, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then his hands moved, forming the signs slowly, deliberately.“I’m worried about Dean. His behavior isbecoming more erratic. If we don’t find a way out soon, he could become a danger to all of us.”
Her stomach clenched. She’d noticed Dean’s increasing agitation, the wild look in his eyes that seemed to grow more intense with each passing day. “You think he might... hurt someone?”
Pierce nodded grimly.“Withdrawal is making him unstable, and the alcohol is only making it worse. He’s paranoid. I overheard him muttering about how we’re all conspiring against him. He’s going to snap, and when he does, it’ll set off a chain reaction. It’ll be chaos.”
“God,” she breathed. Nerves were already frayed to the breaking point. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if he snapped. She looked for Dean and found him sleeping in the back corner of the camping section, curled up on his side, clutching a fresh bottle of whiskey to his chest. He’d been going through one a day, but Dottie’s one attempt at trying to stop him by locking the cabinet ended in disaster when he took a swing at her. Pierce had intervened, pinning Dean against the wall with a forearm to his throat. Since then, everyone had given him a wide berth.
“What should we do?”
Pierce’s eyes hardened. “We get out of here before that happens. And if we can’t...” He trailed off, but the implication was clear. They might have to take drastic measures to protect the group. “For now, we keep a close eye on him.”
