Page 115 of Captured Immune

A minute later, he pops his head up the hatch and holds a hand out to me. “Watch your step, babe.”

Once my feet touch the carpet, Trey points at the hatch door. It shuts with a light thump, drowning us in pitch black. A new fireball brightens the room. He tosses it into the air, then searches the wall until he finds a light switch. The ceiling lights flicker on with a light buzzing sound.

I spin to examine our surroundings. “How is there electricity down here?”

“No clue.” Trey slashes a hand in the air, then his fireball disappears.

Against the wall sits a small couch with a recliner next to it. They are covered with protective plastic sheets. In the middle of the room stands a coffee table with a layer of dust on it so thick, I can’t see the surface. Everything looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. Probably as many years as Trey’s parents have been gone.

Trey drops our backpack onto the dirty carpet at his feet. “Let’s look around.”

I follow him toward the small kitchen, where a thick layer of dust and dirt covers everything from the countertops to the appliances. He peels the fridge open. The inside looks like a science experiment gone wrong. It smells like it too. Whatever was in there before is now unrecognizable lumps of black goo.

Trey slams the fridge shut. “Let’s never open that again.”

“Agreed.”

We head down a hall, where he flips on another light. Trey opens a door on the right to reveal a small bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a one-person shower.

“How is there plumbing down here?” I ask.

“Babe, did you forget thatyou’rethe one who found this place? I’m seeing it for the first time, just like you are. I don’t understand how anything works down here.”

I point at my chest. “Ididn’t find this.Wefound it together.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you solving my mom’s riddle.”

“And I couldn’t have gotten here without you telling me which way is east.”

He smirks handsomely. “Glad I could contribute.”

Across the hall is another door that creaks as he opens it. A bedroom greets us with two queen beds covered with protective plastic. A large dresser stands against the opposite wall. Trey pulls open the drawers. They’re full of clothes for an adult man and an adult woman. The bottom drawers are full of clothes for a seven-year-old boy.

“It’s good to know they weren’ttryingto abandon me,” Trey says. “That doesn’t change the fact that they set up this entire safe house because they knew there was a chance theycoulddie but continued on with their mission anyway.”

“You also knew there was a chance you could die when you came back to the Ridge to save me, yet you did it anyway.”

Trey shakes his head as he slams the drawers shut. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t have a child waiting for me at home.”

That’s a good point.I can’t imagine what it’s like to be Trey, to have lost his parents at a young age in a traumatic way, only to discover that they chose their jobs over him. I don’t know the full story, so that statement might be oversimplifying his parents’ decision, but the bottom line is that they chose to risk their lives, knowing they could be abandoning their son in the end. What could have possibly been more important than him?

I leave Trey’s side to go explore the nightstands. In one of the drawers are some passports and ID cards. I recognize Trey’s mom in one of the passports, but the name next to her face isn’t Suzie Grant; it’s Linda Johnson. Trey’s dad—I mean, the man he thought was his dad—is pictured in the other passport. The name next to his face is Michael Johnson. There are two other passports as well. One is for Aunt Debbie, and the other is for seven-year-old Trey. They have fake names next to their faces too.

“Looks like your parents were prepared to leave the country,” I say.

Trey comes up behind me and glances over my shoulder. “Daniel Johnson? What? Do I look like a fucking Daniel to you?”

I place the passports back where I found them, then head toward the closet. I slide the doors open to reveal an air mattress, extra pillows, linens, towels, and cleaning supplies.

Trey doesn’t waste a second to grab the towels. “Let’s clean this bedroom up so we can sleep in it.”

I roll out the vacuum. “Good idea.”

Together, we work to remove the layer of dirt and grime from... well, everywhere. I vacuum the carpet three times over, but it still feels grimy on my feet. Meanwhile, Trey wipes off every surface in the bedroom and cleans the bathroom.

---