Moe said, “Maybe if the three of us push and pull on the door we can move it enough to dislodge whatever is leaning against it. You know, cause it to slide down the door to the floor.”
I said, “Unless it’s a boat, like Justin thinks.”
Justin said, “I don’t know that it’s a boat. I just said that is one possibility. I don’t think we’re going to be able to dislodge whatever it is, but I’m willing to try anything. You sure your head’s up to something as physical as that, Moe?”
Moe turned toward the door. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we.”
The three of us put our shoulders against the door and I put my hip against the round paddle that trips the latch from the inside. Justin called out a rhythm and we alternated between pushing against the door while I tripped the latch and then me using the paddle to pull back. After several cycles with no movement of the door, Justin held up his hand in a stop signal. We all gasped to catch our breath. I turned and took the short journey back to the table and slumped in a chair. Moe and Justin followed my lead. No one spoke.
Julia looked up from the lantern that was disassembled in front of her on the table. She said, “I’ve taken this thing apart as far as I can. There’s no spare bulb. You’re right, Jack, the filament in the bulb is broken, but there’s no spare.” She didn’t mention our failure to open the door.
Moe muttered, “Damn cheap Chinese, can’t even include a spare bulb.”
Based on that comment, I thought Moe must be feeling somewhat better. I looked across the table at Justin. It was as if he hadn’t heard anything Julia or Moe said. No doubt his mind was racing in the analysis of our current problem. Good, I think we’re going to need some of his magic.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The three of us spent a few minutes discussing our situation. Julia busied herself with her lantern project in an obvious effort to ignore our discussion. Couldn’t blame her, facing the fact that we were trapped in this small space was difficult enough for me and I’ve never experienced any feelings of claustrophobia. I can’t imagine the mental hell she must be battling.
We decided that if we couldn’t figure a way out, and none of us had a clue what that might be, we would just need to wait for the storm to pass and rescuers to find us. We had plenty of food and water. We’d just need to wait it out. Julia looked up from her lantern and asked, “And what if they don’t find us before we run out of oxygen?” Her voice had a hint of relief in it. I thought maybe she looked at asphyxiation as an escape from her mental prison of claustrophobia.
Julia’s question prompted me to scan the room, as if I could calculate the volume of oxygen available to us. Obviously, if I knew the volume of oxygen available, and the rate at which the four of us were consuming it, I could calculate our life expectancy. Of course, I knew neither of those numbers. I mentioned my failed analysis to Justin and found his answer less than comforting.
Justin replied, “The carbon dioxide we’re producing will kill us long before we run out of oxygen.”
“Thanks, Justin, that’s comforting.”
“Facts are facts.” Damn, I hate it when he’s so pragmatic, especially about my death.
Moe looked around the room and asked, “Any idea how long we have, Justin?”
Now it was Justin’s turn to assess our small space. It appeared he was calculating something. Finally, he looked Moe directly in the eye and said, “Best guess, given the size of the room and the fact that there are four of us producing carbon dioxide, it won’t be long before we start to feel sluggish and drowsy, maybe six to eight hours before levels are high enough that we lose consciousness. Few more hours, we’ll be dead.”
Julia said, “I don’t understand. How can those astronauts travel for months in space capsules? Why don’t they die?”
Justin replied, “They have scrubbers that remove the carbon dioxide from the air. Same as submarines.”
“Will it be painful, our death?” asked Julia.
“No, because we’re not going to die.” I was even surprised at the firmness of my response.
Justin added, “Jack’s right. We’re not going to die. I really think that rescuers will get here in time,” he paused before adding, “but as a backup plan, let’s figure out a way to get some fresh air in here. We may not be able to get out, but maybe we can get some air inside. Fresh air will reduce the carbon dioxide levels.”
I asked, “How do you propose we do that? Get air in here.”
Julia pointed at a return air vent near the top of the cooler, “Can’t we get air through that?”
I replied, “Unfortunately not, that’s the return air vent,” I pointed at a similar vent near the floor, “and that’s the cold air vent, but they don’t communicate with fresh air anywhere. It’s a closed system that recirculates the air over the cooling tubes. It’s more efficient that way, it’s not always attempting to cool hot, humid air from outside. Think of the duct as just an extension of the interior of the cooler.”
Moe started to stand as he said, “There is electrical running in here, maybe we can use those penetrations. Maybe we can somehow enlarge them.”
Justin was firm as he said, “Sit down a minute, Moe. We need to plan exactly what we’re going to do and how we’re going to do it. We need to be very methodical. The more we exert ourselves, the harder we breathe, the more carbon dioxide we produce.” Moe returned to his seat and nodded his agreement.
I looked around the cooler and said, “Looks like there is power coming in from two points. The middle of the ceiling where the light is located and the back wall where the outlets are fed.” There were electrical outlets on each wall, but the ones on the side walls were fed by a surface mounted conduit. The outlets were what Mickey was talking about when he had told me about the cooler being constructed like a bunker. For some reason, he decided he needed outlets available in the cooler. I have no idea why, to my knowledge we’ve never used them, but at the moment I’m thankful for his decision.
Justin held the lantern aloft and scanned the walls. “Where is that conduit fed from, Jack? Do you know?”
“Yeah, it’s fed from behind the outlet in the center of the back wall. I remember Mickey telling me about the problems drilling through the wall.”
Moe said, “So, we need to remove the outlet and box and push the conduit back out through the wall. Maybe then we can somehow chip the edges of the hole and enlarge it.”
Julia spoke up, “Yeah, all the while not exerting ourselves. Not breathing hard.”
Justin replied unemotionally, “Exactly. That’s why we’re going to plan through each step. First step will be to remove the outlet and the box.”
Moe grinned and asked, “Aren’t you afraid of getting a shock?”
That’s two quips by Moe. I think he is on the mend. Just in time to die of carbon dioxide poisoning. Come on, Jack, that’s not the attitude of survival.
I asked, “There aren’t any tools in here, are there, Moe?” He shook his head no.
Justin withdrew his hand from his pocket clutching one of those multi-tools. Those gadgets that fold up small but open to provide pliers, screwdrivers, and knives. “I’ve got this.” Of course he did.
We spent a couple of minutes talking through the approach to the first steps of the project. One real bonus to the location of the outlet we were going to attack was the fact that it was a couple of feet above the shelf that Julia had been sitting on earlier, so a person could sit on the shelf and work on the outlet. Justin pointed out that a seated position would require less exertion than standing, and thus less breathing. Comments of that nature only served to really drive home the fact that we were in a serious predicament. We decided to have Justin take on the removal of the outlet and box. He would breath less than Moe and be much more competent at the task than me. Diplomatically, Justin mentioned that he didn’t think Julia would be strong enough with the limited tools available. She didn’t seem to be offended at her exclusion from the project.
Justin moved to the shelf and began to work on the outlet. He had his back to us, so we couldn’t see how he was progressing. His body was blocking most of the light from the lantern on the table so he had one of the flashlights somehow propped between his legs. We knew he was making progress when he tossed a handful of parts to one side. There was nothing for the three of us to do except attempt to breath as slowly as possible.
I started to think about Justin’s six to eight hour prediction. I’ve read the philosophical musings asking what would you do if you only had a few weeks to live. Certainly, many people face that very dilemma when they receive bad news from their doctor. I’ve never really thought much about what I’d do if I only had months, weeks, days to live and I’ve never thought at all about what I’d do if I only had hours to live. Hours to live without the ability to contact the outside world. Maybe this is the point where I should look for some type of writing instrument, in order to leave some thoughts behind.
“Eureka,” was the call from Justin. He moved aside and we could see that he had gotten the outlet and box free from the wall and the connected conduit. He was shinning his flashlight on a piece of wire sticking out of a conduit coming through the wall. He turned toward us and said, “Now we need to find something that we can use to push the conduit back through the wall. And hope it isn’t attached too firmly on the other side.”
We were all scanning the cooler for anything that might be utilized. It was Julia who spoke up first. “Can you use one of the legs from the table or maybe one of the chairs?”
Justin replied, “Good idea, let’s take a look.” He came back to the table and tipped the chair he had been seated on earlier upside down onto the table. The legs were formed in a large “U” shape that was welded to cross bars connected to the second set of legs. The whole set was attached to the bottom of the chair with screws. It didn’t take Justin but a few minutes with his multi-tool to remove the screws. He set the chair bottom with the attached back aside and held up the four legs. He frowned and said, “We need to figure out some way to get one of these legs bent away from the others in order to be able to use it as a ram.”
Moe held out his hand. “May I?” Justin handed the legs to Moe. Moe stood and stuck one chair leg between the upright support and a shelf. Firmly gripping one of the other legs, he leaned back, utilizing his body weight and leg strength to bend the trapped chair leg as if it was a stick of licorice. He casually sat back down and handed the twisted leg structure back to Justin.
Justin nodded and said, “Yeah, that’ll work.” He returned to his perch on the shelf and began to attempt to drive the conduit backward through the wall with his oddly shaped tool.
Julia looked up at me and said, “Justin never answered me, do you think carbon dioxide poisoning is a painful way to die?”
I had no idea the answer to that question, but I said, “I don’t think so. I think you just lapse into unconsciousness, fall asleep. Regardless, we’re not going to find out. Justin’s plan is going to work. We’re going to get some outside air and rescuers are going to find us.”
“Rescuers can’t even look for us until after the storm is over.” Her comment caused me to notice that the din of the storm had abated some. In fact it was noticeably less noisy. With our focus on Justin’s project, I hadn’t noticed.
I said, “Listen, I think the storm is letting up. I’m sure rescuers will be on their way soon.”
Justin would work on attempting to drive the conduit back for a few minutes and then take a break. He said he was attempting to keep his breathing rate as low as possible. Moe and I offered to take turns, but he said the work wasn’t difficult. He was chipping the concrete away around the conduit, but progress was very slow. He said that he felt that the more lateral movement he could get in the conduit where it came through the concrete, the more likely he could drive it back.
I was starting to feel a dull headache come on. I looked over at Julia and her eyelids were drooping noticeably. I couldn’t help but think that we were already experiencing some effects of the rising carbon dioxide level. I watched Justin for a few minutes and it looked to me like his movements were not nearly as well coordinated as they had been previously. I started to stand, I was going to help him whether he wanted it or not, but a wave of dizziness came over me and my legs felt like jelly. I slumped back down into my chair. Moe folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them without a word.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PJ stood in the shower until she completely drained the hot water heater. Everyone else in the house will probably be less than pleased with her, but that was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She was totally focused on developing a strategy to find out how Jack was faring. It was 6:00 a.m. and from the news reports PJ was confident that the worst of the storm had now moved past Hollywood. She dressed and returned to the kitchen. The shower had cleared the cobwebs from her sleep deprived mind, but she still needed caffeine. She found a Coke in the refrigerator and settled down at the table to continue her efforts to locate Jack.
Her first call was to Mark, the Hollywood PD sergeant, but it went to his voicemail. She didn’t know if that was because cellular service was down or because he wasn’t answering. Scrolling through her phone, she found the number for the Hollywood PD desk at the city’s emergency operations center. The call was answered on the second ring by an officer PJ didn’t know. Of course, in a department of over four hundred, PJ hadn’t known everyone, even when she was working there. The officer’s voice was officious and his demeanor formal until PJ identified herself. There was no Hollywood officer, past or present, who didn’t know of PJ and the violent shootout that had taken the life of her partner, prompting her to cut short her career.
PJ told the officer what she had learned from Mark about the discovery of Jack’s car. She explained that she was still unable to contact Jack and that she was hoping to learn when rescue operations would reach the area of Cap’s Place. The officer explained that no physical operations had been undertaken east of the Intracoastal as of yet. He stated that as soon as the wind speed receded a little more, a drone was going to be sent to provide video reconnaissance before sending rescuers into the area. He told her that several areas of the city had sustained severe levels of damage and that expectations were that the areas closest to the ocean might well have experienced catastrophic damage from the combination of storm surge and winds.
PJ processed what she was told and then asked the question she had dreaded since their conversation began. She asked if he would check his database of victims for Jack’s name. He replied that he had already done that while they were talking, that Jack’s name was not listed as injured or killed, but that responders had only just begun to locate victims. PJ knew from experience that the process would likely go on for several days before the entire area could be considered thoroughly searched. She also knew that every hour that passed without hearing from Jack meant that the likelihood of him being among the victims was increasing.
The frustration of being unable to do anything to help was consuming PJ. She realized that for the sixteen years she was with Hollywood PD, she had always been involved in any large scale crisis in the city. Involved in one capacity or another. Now she was merely a spectator, a distant spectator at that. She knew it was the right decision to get Angela and her in-laws out of harm’s way, but she regretted not being involved in the efforts to protect all of those persons remaining behind. Especially one person left behind. That was it, she realized it now. While she had done right by most of those closest to her, she had failed to protect one person. Yes, she had failed. As hard headed as Jack Nolan is, she could have persuaded him to leave with her if she had pushed hard enough. Of course, she didn’t know until now, until it’s too late, that he was that important to her. Was . . . damn it, PJ, don’t say was.
PJ jumped up from the table and headed upstairs to change into her running clothes. She needed to do something to burn off some of the energy that wa
s roiling inside her. Besides, she didn’t want to be here when everyone else got up, she just couldn’t fathom making small talk. Not in her present frame of mind.
***
When PJ came in the back door from her run, she was dripping wet. Even after her cool down walk, perspiration was still streaming down her face and dripping off the end of her nose. Between the perspiration and the high humidity of the morning, her clothes were clinging to her like opaque cellophane. She did feel like her head was clearer than it had been in the past twelve hours though. Her mother-in-law looked up from her seat at the kitchen table and said, “My goodness, look at you. You’re soaking wet. Is it raining out there?”
“No, Mary, I was just running to blow off some energy. Did you sleep well?”
“I did, honey. The bed is very comfortable. In fact, Will is still asleep.”
PJ took a large glass from the cabinet and filled it with water before sitting down at the table with Mary. “I’ll drink this and then go upstairs and shower.” She thought to herself, This better be a quick shower, otherwise I’ll turn myself into a prune. Pointing at the crossword puzzle book in front of Mary, she added, “Already at your puzzles?”
“I am. It helps to get the old brain going.” Mary looked at the open page of the book and then said, “Oh, here’s a phone number I jotted down for you. Your cell phone rang, I hope that you don’t mind that I answered it. I didn’t know where you were, but with the storm and all I thought it might be important. It was a sergeant from Hollywood named Mark. I didn’t get his last name, sorry, but he gave me this number. He asked that you call him. I asked if I could take any kind of message, but he said no, just to have you call him. It sounded like it was important.”
For the first time, PJ realized that she had been so distracted that she left for her run without her phone. That was wrong on so many levels, including the fact that she had missed Mark’s call. She glanced at the number Mary had written on the top of the crossword and recognized it as Mark’s cell. She grabbed up her phone, scrolled through her contact list, and hit the call button. The call went to Mark’s voicemail. She left a message asking him to return the call as soon as possible.
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