CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cyrus’s backpack—and Henry—broke his fall.
They lay in a drain, tangled in each other.
Four hands pulled them apart—Jenae and Zane.
“You okay?” Jenae asked, Cyrus’s headlamp shining on her face.
Cyrus felt his arms and legs. Nothing broken. Thank God.
Zane was nearby, looking up into the well.
“I’d say we’re f****d,” Zane said. “The middle set of steps are unstable and unmoored from the wall. Well, Doc?”
“Is everyone okay?” Thurston asked.
“We’re fine,” Cyrus said. “Luckily, we didn’t fall too far.”
He swept his light across the drain. It was pitch black down here, and barely enough room for them to stand upright. His shoes sloshed in sticky mud and water. The stale air stunk like decomposing waste and old rainwater.
“I’ll call for help,” Thurston said. “The gua
