The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

upward on all fours. Slowly, she reached up over her head each time she made a move, in hopes that she wouldn't first bonk her head. Joule slowed down as she remembered the short crowbar that held the doors together. It was old and rusted, but the pry edge was still relatively sharp. She moved her hand around above her head again before moving slowly up another step.

This time when she reached up, she felt her fingers slide along the elastic of the bungees, as she felt for the hook at the end. Jerry had wound it tightly and it took a few moments in the dark to get it undone. Behind her he’d stayed quiet. So he'd either stayed put or had skills she didn't know about.

She unwound the bungee cords slowly with her right hand, one by one putting them into her left to hold onto. When she had all of them off and the pry bar was the only thing holding the handles together, she grabbed it and twisted it over her head until she got it oriented the right way and it slid free.

With a deep breath, she grabbed the handle of the cellar door and pushed upward.

It didn't give.

She tried again.

Nothing.

Then she wised up and tried the other handle. But it also didn't budge.

“Jerry?” she asked. “The doors don't move. Do you want to try this?”

He was larger than her. He had to be stronger. At least this made Jerry useful. She heard him moving around behind her and then felt the steps flex under her feet as he stepped on the bottom rung.

“Hold on, let me get down the steps first,” she told him, shuffling her way backwards. At the bottom, she brushed past him, not quite gauging how close it was. With her feet on the floorboards, she could feel the equipment in her hand, feel the soft weight of Toto sleeping in her pocket, and she could hear Jerry going up the steps. But she couldn’t see anything, just the ghost edges of lines teasing her in the dark.

Before she'd watched the ladder-style stairs sag as he stepped on them. Now she heard them creak in protest under his weight. She wondered what would happen if he broke through them. How would they get out?

She heard the banging sounds of him pushing upward on the doors, again and again, until he declared, “They're blocked. I can't move it.”

Joule’s shoulders sagged with the news. Her breath huffed out in a half-hearted “shit.”

But then Jerry turned to her and said, “This is all your fault.”

44

Cage stood back, letting William Butler direct a few of the men he knew to unbolt the lid to the shelter. It slid back on creaky hinges, making a slow arc into the open air above them.

Holy shit, Cage thought as he looked up and saw only a blue sky.

It was possible that part of the house was still standing. But he could see that at least a good chunk of it was missing.

“Well, fuck,” Butler muttered, issuing the least likely curse Cage had expected of the older man. Now he motioned to the others to stay as he passed them, walking reverently up the stairs and into the space beyond. It was his house and his shelter, after all.

Cage could see Butler’s feet, standing on the floor just beyond the door. He gave a little bounce, as if testing the integrity of the floor, before turning in a full circle.

His feet returned to the opening, shiny black shoes making a statement as he walked back down. He carried himself like an actor or politician coming to address the people below. But then he pulled up short, as if coming back into the shelter was simply too much for him.

Leaning over, William Butler placed his hands on his knees, bringing his head into sight to those waiting below for his proclamation. The position looked awkward, but no one cared. They all hung on the silence waiting for any announcement.

“The house is completely gone.”

Gasps greeted him from the people in the corner, who hadn't seen what Cage had. He worried about his car, and his first thought was shoving his way up the steps and past the older men, onto the surface of the foundation to see the yard. But in the same heartbeat, it occurred to him that everyone here had a car to check on, if not a home or a family member.

Even as he thought that, Butler began instructing them. “Let's all make a nice, orderly exit. These are your neighbors, so be kind. Before anyone moves, who has family they need to find?”

Butler had clearly thought this through before, but it was the wrong question. All but five of the hands went up.

“All right,” he backpedaled a bit. “Who's missing small children?”

Only two hands raised up this time. A couple, it looked like.

“Come on.” Butler waved them up as the first ones out, reaching toward them as though he was going to hold their hands and direct them up the stairs. The two other men still standing on the staircase took that upon themselves.

“Who has teenagers to find?” Butler asked. This time four hands went up, and they were escorted up.

“Is anybody willing to wait and go last?” he asked next.

Cage and Deveron weren’t in this category either. However, the mother with the two small kids pointed out that they were asleep—sweaty and breathing raggedly, but asleep. She motioned that she was willing to wait right where she was, as did several other older people. So did the woman who was there with her father. They would be happy to go slowly and be last, she told them.

Cage and Deveron awaited Butler’s motion for their chance to go, though it was hard to wait patiently in the small line and try not to push their way forward.

When he reached the top, Cage saw that people hadn’t scrambled off in different directions. They’d been stopped by