Page 64 of Jonah’s Lure

“I know.”

“Frank. Look at me.”

Frank didn’t look at him. He was working the latch with a focus that contained nothing but urgency and fear in equal measure.

“You’re panicking,” Angus said. “Think.”

Frank stopped. His jaw was tight. For a moment Angus thought he might say something that would cost them time they didn’t have. Then he exhaled through his nose and looked at the latch properly.

“Counterclockwise,” he said. “Left-hand thread.”

He worked it correctly. The latch fought but moved, and then Angus had his hands on it too. Together they worked it until the hatch gave way with the sound of something breaking free that had been stuck for a long time.

The crawl was narrow. Three feet wide at most. Cold water flooded the bottom—ankle-deep, pressing in from the foundation. The smell was overwhelming. Rust, brine, and old oil.

Frank went in first.

The iron wheel was against the back wall of the crawl space, four feet in. He reached it and tried to turn it.

Nothing.

He tried again, both hands, body braced against the crawl wall. The wheel didn’t move.

“He said the wheel would seize,” Frank said.

Angus wedged himself close behind him in the dark.

“What else?”

Frank closed his eyes once, hard.

“He said not to force it clockwise. Back it half a turn first.”

Angus reached past him and grabbed the wheel beside Frank’s hands.

“Half a turn counterclockwise.”

“Yes.”

They pushed together in the direction that felt wrong—backing the wheel off instead of forcing it open—and for a moment nothing happened. Then the wheel gave a fraction—grinding. Old iron reluctant and corroded but not fully seized.

“Again,” Frank said.

They pushed. The wheel moved half a turn.

Then they reversed, and it turned.

The building responded with a groan that rose from below and moved through every surface at once. Somewhere deep in the foundation the old relief gate opened and water found its way out. The crawl surged, cold water rushing up and then retreating as the chamber began to drain. Frank lost his footing, and Angus caught him by the arm and held him against the wall until the surge passed.

“Out,” Angus said. “Now.”

* * *

In the lower chamber, the water fell.

Jonah had stopped counting. He’d stopped most things. The water had been at his chest when he’d last tried to knock, his arms hadn’t answered correctly, the sound had come out wrong, and then not at all. He’d put his back against the wall and held on.

He heard Frank’s voice before he understood that it was real, distorted through old metal and stone and pipe, arriving somewhere between sound and vibration. His name. Then not his name, but something older and deeper.