Head Above Water

19. The Underbelly

“Hey Gemma, wake up,” a voice urged quietly. Fingers brushed my cheek lightly. The pleasant sensation caused me to shiver and I woke up groggily. “We’re here,” Rick murmured.

I sat up and looked around drowsily, finally remembering where we were.

Rick chuckled. “You were out like a light.”

I cast a glare his way as I stood up and shuffled off the train. “You want my company, you get all of it,” I grumbled. “The good, the bad and the unconscious.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said earnestly, making me blush at his candor. Back above ground, he jerked his head in an Easterly direction. “Come on, it’s this way.”

We walked for a couple blocks in companionable silence and I took in the sights around me. I couldn’t help spotting Malcolm’s condo building a few blocks down and wondered if he was there. Maybe sleeping? Since Rick had been present this whole time I guessed he was either asleep or maybe he was actually giving Rick this time by choice. I was curious to ask, but didn’t want to bring it up to Rick in case it affected his improving mood.

It was pretty crowded where we’d exited the station downtown, but as we walked the area became less and less populated. Buildings shrunk from lofty corporate towers to a few stories, until finally we entered an industrial area dominated by warehouses. The buildings were generally nondescript, yet somehow interesting in their unique states of disrepair. Some were new or at least well maintained. Those were more boring.

The interesting ones were older; with brick walls and metal roofing so rusted it matched the bricks. A few sported the faded lettering of their former companies, long since out of business. Many had broken windows. A few had them boarded up, but most just left them as is. I supposed these buildings mostly housed raw materials that weren’t really too susceptible to the elements, so they didn’t bother with the cost of replacement glass.

No matter the age or level of repair, the one commonality among the buildings seemed to be that they all wore some bit of graffiti.

I followed Rick into a side alley next to one of the older but better maintained buildings. No windows seemed to be broken, though they all were blacked out and surprisingly I saw no graffiti anywhere on its walls. At the end of the alley I could see a fence and beyond that, a wide train yard.

Rick walked up to a rolling metal door on the side of the warehouse and pulled it up with ease. I was surprised it had no lock and confused to no end as to what we were doing here, but I kept quiet.

He ducked into the warehouse and I trailed after him hesitantly. I was starting to get nervous, but at the same time I trusted Rick. If I knew nothing else about him by this point it was that he wouldn’t hurt me or put me in danger.

Hundreds of identical wooden crates were stacked in neat rows stretching all the way from one end of the building to the other. They were unmarked, so I had no idea what could be inside them, but I was, unsurprisingly, curious.

“Here, take this,” Rick handed me a flashlight from his bag then he pulled the door closed and we were engulfed by pitch-black darkness.

I flicked the light on and directed it toward him, tracking his movement as he walked down the aisles. I followed closely as he turned down the fourth aisle. He walked all the way to the back wall, stopping in front of a large crate at the bottom of the stack to our right.

He stood up on his tiptoes to feel around at the top of the crate. Even though he was tall, the crate was still pretty high up. After a moment he seemed to find what he was looking for and I heard a metallic clank. He pulled at the left edge of the crate with his fingers and my jaw dropped as the whole front face of the crate swung forward. No way!  It was a door…a secret door.